WHINING & DINING | COLUMN | NOSTALGIA
Written by Elle Daji (she/her) | @ellemnopow | Contributing Writer
Nostalgia is an old friend that visits me whenever I’m in a particular lonesome period of life. It makes me romanticise a time when making friends was as easy as showing up to school. When you were surrounded by a group that understood all your idiosyncrasies and bullied you for them. I long for the distant past when it didn’t take three weeks to schedule a coffee date, only to reschedule it twice for a month later. I was calling my gorgeous friend Jack the other day when we realised we hadn’t seen each other physically in three months. We live in the same city.
But I am no longer lonesome. I am lucky enough to court friends who inspire and coax the odd giggle from my throat. And I wish someone had told the first year sitting alone in the library that, eventually, she would be okay.
For some context, here is a brief glimpse into the history of my social life. During my first year of uni, I embarrassingly missed high school. Well, really, I missed the girls I had left behind. My closest friends had taken a page out of every misunderstood protagonist in a coming-of-age novel’s book and fled their hometown. My social life and emotional stability were unfortunate casualties of this phenomenon.
What’s more, I made the crucial financial decision of not staying in halls. So, the opportunities to broaden my circle were limited. I remained largely without friends for so long because I outsourced all my social needs into a relationship. Never do this, by the way. It was only post-break-up that I really lamented my lack of platonic friendships.
Making new friends in the city is diabolically difficult. Most are fed this vision of the university years spent running around a city, spontaneously collecting a myriad of characters to populate our lives with. Instead, I bounced from lecture to lecture, clinging to fickle social interactions with people with whom I didn’t altogether align. When I caught up with some friends who left home, most struggled to find their people in their various cities, even if they stayed in halls. I found myself wondering how on earth the most engaging and remarkable women I know were struggling to make genuine connections with people.
My core female friends keep me sane and out of trouble, well, mostly. To state the obvious, the community around you has a material impact on not only your daily life and identity. During my year of solitude and seclusion, I couldn’t shake the incessant ache caused by the lack of people to share this life with. And so I set out on a bear hunt to try and gather myself some mates. And unlike the picture book, I was so scared.
So here’s some advice gained from my trials and oh-so-many errors in building my current, loving community. The main issue I encountered was finding ways to actually meet people. I mainly met people through work and friends of friends. It’s always reliable to meet others through people you already love because of that existing common ground. But that seems like port of call number one. Unfortunately, meeting people outside your immediate circle takes a combination of confidence and luck. I’ve met some of my current good friends while rummaging at Central Flea, sitting in bars and even, shock horror, at the uni library. Once, I met a girl on Symonds Street because we liked each other’s outfits. The key to her flat now sits on my keychain, and she’s one of my closest confidants.
Meeting new people takes time and way more putting yourself out there than I care to admit. As quite the anxious bean, I often find myself overthinking every single social interaction weeks after the fact. Particularly cringe-worthy things I’ve said will pop up in my brain now and again, just to say ‘hi’ and provoke my existing neurosis. But I’ve had to let a lot of that go or just learn to live with those fears to step out of my social comfort zone and broaden my circle. One of the ways I got over this was realising that not everyone will like you. And that’s fine because you don’t like everyone you meet either. I seem to be having several trite epiphanies lately.
But okay, you’ve met some cool people. How do we go from mere acquaintances to friends? Sometimes, they happen organically, from being in regular, close vicinity to someone. But I’ve had many friendships that I’ve had to work a little harder for. Making an effort to make plans and get to know someone. And sometimes, that doesn’t work. Sometimes, you get to know a person better and realise, ‘You know what, that’s not for me.’ It’s a bit like thrifting. There are a plethora of different styles, all carrying different stories. Some fit perfectly on you and in your wardrobe. Others will suit someone else better. Building a new circle, like a wardrobe, is full of risk-taking, mistakes and hidden gems. You just have to be ready and willing to try the clothes on.
I recently read The Rachel Incident, where the protagonist moves to a city where she knows no one. After spending a year integrating into her new surroundings, she eventually makes a trip back home. Only then does she realise that she has something to leave behind, a life full of people who love and care about her. But it takes time. And Rachel doesn’t fully realise what she has built till she has to leave it temporarily. My takeaway is that the quest for platonic love often seems fruitless, and feelings of Kafkaesque loneliness often seep in. But as time goes on, it gets easier. You get busy and don’t realise how the seeds you’ve planted germinate and grow. I used to think I would be alone forever. Sue me; I was eighteen and emo. But if I, famously eighteen and emo, can do it, a solid social life cannot be completely unattainable.
This shoot came together through the collective mahi of my talented friends:
Shot by - Alice Naish @alicenaish
Models - Sofia Roger Williams @sofiarogerwilliams, Nabeelah Khan @nabeelahkhann, Ngaio Thompsen @ngaio.thompsen
Makeup - Paris Little @musebyparis
Pieces by - Ella Cook @ella.cook.archive
Words (and styling) by - Elle Daji
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