two moments, captured
There were two distinct moments in the past week when I just sat back and took stock of it all as I watched the scene around me.
The first one was in a small apartment on the ground floor.
Tiny rooms charmingly crammed with the necessary furniture, and people everywhere, strewn across the room, sitting on the limited floor space. I sit on the window sill, as people sometimes pass me because it’s easier to get to the kitchen by exiting through the window than to step through the crowd - but it’s a little funny every time.
The kitchen has a big pot of chili, rice, pizza and bulgur salad. There’s cake too; a mix of poppy seed and chocolate, with sprinkles on top in the shape of the MtG symbol. The table is filled with mate bottles, glasses of water and soda. There’s beer, but no one wants it. Someone has brought garlic bread. We decorate with balloons and ribbon paper, and throw the balloons around, not letting them hit the ground. Some things never change.
I can hear different conversations from all corners and rooms of the home. There’s a group just talking, a group outside playing a game, a group in the bedroom, and a group partially kneeling on the floor around the living room table, playing Magic.
In the background, an emo/punk playlist is playing the entire night.
No one is on their phones.
The second moment was at my place.
We had pulled one of my tables to the center of my living room and brought another chair to fit four people around it - my wife, two friends and me. We’re playing Commander now.
That’s when I thought about how I sat alone on my sofa during the first year of the pandemic with absolutely no one in my life. I had only recently moved to the area, I had a breakup the year prior and I was very offline for those years previously, so I neither had real life connections or online connections, really.
I remember how lonely I felt as my classes were cancelled, we trainees were sent home from work for a month, and the people from class were all busy holed up with their parents while I was just in my apartment, alone. I remember the pain, the fear, and the realization that if something happened, no one would come to check on me. That if I got Covid, no one would be able to help me or my dog. I wondered if anyone else would ever even enter this apartment again while I live here.
Now flash forward to today, and I am married. She moved here (over 400km) to be with me after we met online. The other friend at the table is from that area, too, and staying for a few days. The other one took at least two hours by train to be here and will stay the night also. They are here, in my apartment, and we’re all playing games together.
I always thought my time had run out for parties like the one in the tiny apartment. TV told me this is the type of party you get as a teen and maybe during early 20s. I know I’m not alone in this yearning and insecurity; plenty of others were as lonely, isolated, abused or sick as I was during the time it was supposed to happen and now wonder if they will miss out on it forever. Everyone seems to have best friends of 10 years, but what if you don’t? Is it too late to build friendships as an adult approaching your 30s? But I’m now almost thirty, and the friends I have now, who are around thirty, throw parties like that. And I was there.
It’s a good reminder that while things can fall apart suddenly beyond your control, they can also improve quickly without you having to do anything for it, too.
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Published 23 Aug, 2025