Everyone Found Their Place. I’m Still Finding Mine.
On moving to a new city, missing your people, and learning to be alone..
A few months ago, life looked a little different.
I was finishing my training at Infosys, looking forward to what came next, and preparing to begin a new chapter of my life. Like most people starting their careers, I had my own expectations about what life would look like after training.
A new job, a new city, new experiences, and a little more independence.
And then it happened.
I completed my training, received my location, packed my things, and moved to Hyderabad.
It was supposed to be an exciting beginning. And in many ways, it was.
But there’s something nobody really prepares you for when you move to a new city: the feeling of starting over without the people who made your previous chapter feel like home.
I didn’t just move to another city.
I moved away from the little things that made my days feel familiar.
And I don’t think I realised how much I would miss them until I was here.
When Everyone Has Their People Except You
Growing up, you spend so much time looking forward to becoming independent.
You want to graduate, get a job, move out, explore new places, and build a life of your own.
But somewhere along the way, you become attached to the people who are part of that journey.
Your college friends become the people you tell everything to. Your training friends become the ones who understand what you’re going through. Ordinary days turn into memories because you have people to share them with.
You get used to having someone around.
Someone to have lunch with. Someone to walk with. Someone to make random plans with after a long day.
You don’t always need a reason to meet. Sometimes, being together is the plan.
And then life happens.
After training, most of my close friends ended up in the same location.
They get to experience this new phase of life together, figuring things out, spending time with each other, and slowly building their new routines.
And then there’s me, in Hyderabad.
Trying to figure things out on my own.
It’s not that I’ve lost my friends. We still talk, share updates, and stay connected despite the distance.
But there’s a difference between talking to your people and actually having them around.
A phone call can make you feel closer to someone, but it can’t replace sitting beside them after a long day. A message can make you smile, but it can’t replace the comfort of meeting a friend without having to plan everything in advance.
Sometimes, I see my friends together and imagine what it would be like if things had worked out differently. Maybe we’d explore the city together. Maybe we’d find our favourite cafés, make random plans after work, or spend weekends doing absolutely nothing.
Maybe this phase of life would feel a little easier if I had one of my people here.
I’m genuinely happy that my friends have each other. They deserve to enjoy this phase together, and I love seeing them make memories.
But sometimes, I wish I could be part of those ordinary moments, too.
I think that’s something we don’t talk about enough.
You can be happy for the people you love and still wish things had worked out differently for you.
You can want the best for them and still miss having them around.
Both feelings can exist at the same time.
And sometimes, all you can think is, I wish my people were here.
Everything would feel a little easier if they were.
The Loneliness Nobody Sees
I used to think loneliness meant being alone in an empty room.
Now, I’m learning that you can be surrounded by people and still feel alone.
Sometimes, it’s something as simple as lunchtime at the office.
I see groups of friends sitting together in the cafeteria, laughing about something that happened earlier, sharing stories, teasing each other, and enjoying their break.
They seem so comfortable around each other.
They have someone to sit with, someone to talk to, someone to laugh with while eating.
And then there’s me, wondering whether I should go and eat alone.
It’s such a simple thing, isn’t it?
You get your food, find a seat, eat, and return to work.
But when everyone around you seems to have their own group, even something that ordinary can suddenly feel awkward.
You start thinking about where to sit. You notice the groups around you. You wonder whether you’ll feel uncomfortable sitting alone while everyone else is laughing with their friends.
Sometimes, you hesitate.
Not because you can’t eat alone, but because you wish you didn’t have to feel so conscious of doing it.
I know there’s nothing wrong with eating alone. I know most people are probably busy with their own conversations and aren’t paying attention to me.
But knowing these things doesn’t automatically make the feeling disappear.
Because sometimes, it’s not really about eating.
It’s about missing the ease of having your own people.
The kind of people you can walk into the cafeteria with without thinking twice. The ones you can save a seat for, share your food with, or talk to about absolutely nothing.
When you have that kind of companionship, you don’t think much about it.
You just live.
But when it’s missing, you start noticing all the little things you once took for granted.
And the strangest part is that nobody around you necessarily knows what you’re feeling.
To everyone else, you’re just another person at the office, going about your day.
They don’t see the little hesitation before you enter the cafeteria. They don’t know that sometimes, you wish you had someone to walk in with.
It’s such a small moment in an ordinary day, but somehow, it stays with you.
I’m learning that eating alone isn’t something I need to be embarrassed about. I’m learning to find a seat, enjoy my food, and stop worrying so much about how I might look to other people.
But I’m also learning that I don’t have to pretend it never bothers me.
I can learn to be comfortable on my own and still wish I had company.
Because there’s a difference between choosing to spend time alone and feeling like you have no one to spend it with.
And I think I’m still learning how to navigate that difference.
Coming Back to an Empty Evening
If someone asked me what the hardest part of living alone is, I don’t think I’d have one particular answer.
It’s not always the big things.
Sometimes, it’s the little things that happen every day.
It’s returning to my PG after a day at the office, putting my things down, and realising that there’s no one here to ask how my day went.
There’s no one to tell a funny story to. No one to complain to about something that happened at work. No one to sit with while talking about random things.
Of course, I can call my friends. I can message them and tell them what’s happening in my life.
But sometimes, I don’t want to explain my day over a phone.
I want someone to be here.
I want to be able to walk into a room and start talking without wondering whether someone is free to talk.
I want those ordinary evenings when you sit with your friends, talk about your day, laugh at something silly, and somehow feel better without even knowing why.
I miss that kind of comfort.
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And I think that’s something people don’t always understand about being away from your close friends.
You don’t necessarily miss doing something special with them every day.
You miss doing nothing with them.
You miss the random conversations, the familiar voices, the silly jokes, and the feeling that you don’t have to make an effort to have someone around.
You miss being able to share the smallest details of your day because those details matter to the people listening.
Some evenings are fine. I find things to do, talk to my friends, watch something, or simply enjoy having time to myself.
But other evenings feel different.
The day is over, and there’s nothing particularly wrong, yet something feels missing.
Those are the days when I wish I could meet my friends after work, go somewhere together, or simply sit beside someone who understands me.
Sometimes, I wonder when this place will start feeling like home.
When will I have people here whom I can call without planning everything in advance?
When will I have familiar places, little routines, and memories that belong to this chapter of my life?
I don’t know.
For now, I’m still getting used to the city, the routine, and the feeling of coming back to a place where everything is new.
And perhaps that’s okay.
Not every place feels like home immediately.
Sometimes, it takes time, people, and ordinary moments before an unfamiliar place begins to feel like somewhere you belong.
I’m just hoping that, one day, Hyderabad will feel a little less like a place I’m living in and a little more like a place where I’m actually living my life.
Learning to Be Alone Without Pretending It’s Easy
There’s a lot of advice about learning to enjoy your own company.
Take yourself on dates. Explore places alone. Romanticise your life. Become independent. Learn to be happy by yourself.
And honestly, I think there’s value in all of that.
I’m learning to manage my life on my own. I’m learning to make decisions, take care of myself, and find my way around a city that’s still unfamiliar to me.
There are moments when I feel proud of myself.
I’m doing things I might never have had to do in the same way if I were still surrounded by my familiar people.
I’m figuring things out, handling responsibilities, and slowly learning that I can manage more than I sometimes give myself credit for.
But I also think we sometimes make independence sound much easier than it really is.
We talk about how beautiful it is to be alone, but we don’t always talk about how much you can miss having someone beside you.
We talk about becoming comfortable with our own company, but not about the days when you don’t want your own company.
You want your friends.
You want familiar conversations. You want someone to share a meal with. You want to feel like you belong somewhere without having to work towards it.
And I don’t think that makes you weak.
You can be independent and still need people.
You can enjoy spending time alone and still feel lonely.
You can be grateful for the life you’re building and still miss the life you had before.
Maybe learning to be alone doesn’t mean reaching a point where you never need anyone around you.
Maybe it means learning to take care of yourself while accepting that you’re human, that connection matters to you, and that missing people is a perfectly normal part of loving them.
Maybe it means learning to go to the cafeteria alone, even when you wish you had company.
It means returning to your PG after a long day and finding ways to make the evening feel a little better, even when you wish someone were there.
It means giving yourself time to adjust instead of expecting yourself to feel at home immediately.
I’m still learning all of this.
Some days, I handle things better than I expected.
Other days, I wish life were a little easier.
I’m learning not to judge myself for either.
Maybe I’m Just Finding My Place
I wish I could end this by saying that I’ve figured everything out.
That I’ve found my people in Hyderabad, that I love my new life, and that I’ve finally become completely comfortable with being alone.
But that wouldn’t be the truth.
I’m still getting used to the city.
I’m still learning how to spend my time here, how to make new connections, and how to feel comfortable in situations that sometimes make me feel awkward.
I still miss my friends.
I still wish I could have lunch with them, meet them after work, or spend an ordinary evening talking about absolutely nothing.
And I still have days when I wonder when this phase will finally start feeling different.
But I’m beginning to understand that I don’t need to have all the answers right now.
Maybe I can miss my friends while slowly making new ones.
Maybe I can enjoy my own company without expecting myself to enjoy every moment alone.
Maybe I can stop treating loneliness as something I need to overcome immediately.
Because even though this isn’t the life I imagined when I completed my training, it is still a part of my life.
These ordinary days count, too.
The lunches when I hesitate before finding a place to sit.
The evenings when I return to my PG and wish I had someone to talk to.
The moments when I see my friends together and wish I could be there.
And the little moments when I realise that, despite everything feeling unfamiliar, I’m slowly learning to manage on my own.
Perhaps, years from now, I’ll look back at this phase and realise how much I learned from it.
Or perhaps I’ll simply remember it as a time when I was trying to find my place in the world.
Either way, I don’t want to spend all of it waiting for things to change.
I want to make memories here, too.
I want to discover places I love, build friendships, find little things that make my days better, and slowly create a life that feels like mine.
I want to give myself time.
And I want to remember that missing my friends doesn’t mean I’m incapable of building a life without them beside me.
It simply means that they matter to me.
Everyone seems to be finding their place.
And I’m still finding mine.
Maybe I don’t need to rush.
Maybe I don’t need to have everything figured out before I can feel okay about where I am.
Maybe this is just one of those chapters where I’m learning to stand on my own, miss the people I love, and trust that my life is still unfolding, even when I can’t see where it’s going.
I don’t know when this city will feel like home.
I don’t know when these unfamiliar evenings will become ordinary.
But I’m here.
I’m trying.
I’m learning.
And for now, perhaps that’s enough.
