“Collective Solitude”

Around a decade ago, I fell in love with a girl who was enchanted by the idea of moving to New York City one day. I had never been to New York at that point, and even though I wasn't unfamiliar with the energy of big cities, her description of New York was something else. She painted it as a magical place where "everyone is alone, but alone together." We called it "Collective Solitude."

As time flowed forward, our fairytale fractured, and we became strangers to each other once again. Despite the many times I visited New York in my late teens, I never grasped the essence of "Collective Solitude" she had once spoken about. Not until now, that is. After spending years in the city, experiencing the highs and lows of life here, her words finally make sense to me.

Since moving here, I've found solace in solitary walks around the city, to clear my mind and reconnect with myself. In these walks, I never felt alone. This feeling was something hard for her to articulate back then, but now, as I sit at the Amph on Little Island, I begin to understand.

I notice others, too, enjoying their solitary moments. Their eyes, like mine, locked onto the setting sun, each wearing an expression unique to them, reflecting emotions and thoughts only they can comprehend. It's in these moments that the concept of "Collective Solitude" truly unfurls before me.

We are alone, lost in our thoughts, dreams, and struggles, yet we're united in this very aloneness. Each of us, carrying our unique stories, are tied together by this shared experience of isolation in this buzzing metropolis. It's a paradox only understood when you're part of it, an enigma of being alone but together in the city that never sleeps.

"Collective Solitude" – it wasn't about feeling isolated in a crowd; it was about being part of a silent, introspective orchestra where everyone played their own tune, yet the music blended in harmony, in the rhythm of this city we've come to call home. She was right; New York City is magical. And now, I finally understand why. I just wish I could tell her.