Candid Days and Solitary Trains
I used to be the kind of person who was always available. One invite—“Gala tayo?”—and I would say yes immediately. No hesitation. No second thoughts. I didn’t even ask myself if I was tired or if I really wanted to go. If someone was going out, I was in.
Maybe it was FOMO (fear of missing out). Maybe I just didn’t want to be left behind. Maybe I thought experiences were only meaningful if shared. But recently, something shifted. There was a day we had plans. Everyone sounded excited at first, but then, one by one, they canceled. Something came up. Something urgent. Something for “next time.” Until it was just me, I looked at my phone and asked myself: Do I really need to wait for other people to live my life?
For the first time, I didn’t cancel my own plans just because everyone else did. I went anyway, alone. I took the train from LA to Santa Monica by myself and as I sat there, watching the city pass by through the window, I felt something unfamiliar, not loneliness, but independence. A quiet kind of confidence.
When I arrived, I started walking without a strict plan. No itinerary. No pressure. No one was asking what was next. I started taking candid photos of strangers. Not posed. Not staged. Just real moments. A man was sitting alone on a bench, completely relaxed, staring at the ocean as if time didn’t matter. The Santa Monica Pier stood strong against the sky, iconic yet somehow intimate in person. People were deep in conversation, unaware they were part of someone else’s frame, and cyclists passed by with effortless motion, their hair moving in the ocean breeze. I wasn’t interrupting anything; I was simply observing.
That’s when I realized: when you’re alone, you notice more. You see details. Subtle expressions. The way light hits someone’s face. The rhythm of strangers living their separate lives. Everything felt almost cinematic, like I was watching the world unfold without needing to control it. Being alone didn’t make me feel isolated; it made me feel present.
There’s a difference between loneliness and solitude. Loneliness feels like something is missing; solitude feels like nothing is lacking. I didn’t have to adjust to anyone’s schedule. I didn’t have to check if someone was bored. I didn’t have to rush because someone wanted to leave. I moved at my own pace. I stayed where I wanted and left when I felt ready. That day wasn’t productive in the traditional sense, but it was productive for my growth, my self-awareness, and my peace.
The following week, I went back again—alone—and I enjoyed it even more. That’s when it truly sank in that sometimes you don’t need other people to validate your experiences. You don’t need a group to make a day meaningful. You don’t need company to feel complete. Sometimes, choosing yourself is enough.
For someone who was always quick to say yes to everyone else, learning to say yes to myself felt powerful. Perhaps that’s the lesson: You don’t always need to wait. You don’t always need permission. You don’t always need company. Sometimes, the most beautiful moments happen when it’s just you, your thoughts, your camera, and a world that keeps moving—with or without anyone beside you.
And in that space, you realize: you were whole all along.
