Picture the scene: you are sinking deep into your comfortable cinema seat. The film is about to start. You reach to the left to steal some popcorn from your friend, but there’s no one sitting next to you.

Do you get goose bumps just from imagining this horrific scenario? No wonder.

We live in this bizzare, twisted world, where spending quality time with yourself is forbidden outside of your bathroom or bodouir – public toilets don’t count, as they are  eerie and dangerous places, where you should definitely not make a trip to on your own. Taking at least 5 girlfriends with you is a must.

Although it is something I find hard to comprehend, booking a single ticket to see a movie or having food at a table for one has turned into the universal symbol for loneliness and misery, understandable in the rare cases of shaky pensioners, who probably still only do that because of the special priced senior showings; or beastly businessmen, despised by their coworkers too much to even think about joint luncheon.

Various trips, outings and escapades I’ve previously undertaken as ‘the lonely wolf’, have showed me how weirdly being solo is actually perceived. Only two weeks ago, I came back from an internship in Prague with a huge bag filled with more of such personal  experiences, as I mostly roamed the cobbled streets on my own.

It may sound like it when you read it, but there is no resentment or dissapointment here. I enjoyed my own company more than ever before – the freedom to explore, admire, take a sudden turn, go in this and that direction and then go back to admire again.

I only wish others would also see me simply as the girl who walks alone, not a demented alien in disguise, desperately seeking humans. But that’s exactly what happened on my final big adventure.

As it usually is with trips, the last day holds the biggest suprises to torture you even more about having to leave the next morning, but this time it outgrew my wildest expectations. On my last night, I ventured out to a district further away from the city centre, seeking thrill that would not involve getting run over by a Segway. I found enough to at least start a novel.

I sat down in a local pub, perched awkwardly between a group of merry Czechs, having what looked like their hundredth pint that evening, and a small gathering of German-speaking 60+ year-olds, eating herring.

I would have never imagined that me, my notebook, my lonely pint of Pilsner and single fried cheese  would cause so much disturbance and attention in those people’s daily lives, yet it did. Both groups had to address me promptly in at least five languages, ask about my nationality, the rather not crazy Friday night plans and general life purpose, which brought me into this place.

I became a human attraction of the night,which amused me so much I had to write about it immediately; but it also scared the hell out of me. Not because I was worried they would do something to a sad and lonely girl sitting at a table for one (I’ve been passed that stage for a long time). But because I appeared lonely, even though I was simply alone.

Is there any chance at all someone will be able to the difference soon?





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