Moja Tu

‘Moja tu’

Or in translation from Kiswahili: only one

Yes, that’s what I awkwardly said to my waitress after she’d set out two menus, two waters and asked what “he” wanted for dinner. *side eyes*

Let us first dispense with the cringe and mortification of the matter; I love dining alone, I love my own company and, seeing as I am on a solo weekend getaway, being awkward about taking myself out for dinner would pose a significant problem. Let us second dispense with the, innocent, presumption that the second person at my table, my table, would be a he.

‘Will the real life partner please stand up? Please stand up, please stand up’

(It’s Eminem. I’m a millennial. And what.)

I am confident that at the right time I will be sat at a table with someone other than my imagination and I’m sure it will be delicious. Do I need it right now in my life to be whole and content? Hell-to-the-nooo. (Yes, I have seen the meme about waiting for the perfect partner to teleport into one’s living room. Hush).

What I am, however, is quite tired of the scrutiny, expectation and, frankly, judgement of the world around me. And the complete lack of one person place settings at tables in hotels. Let us also not forget I’m currently living on an island in the Indian Ocean, and the past year has been intense and uncomfortable enough that anyone who does not bring ease, solace or a good wine into my life is not necessary. This perceived shame of being alone is so pervasive, so deep, that an entire sub-genre has emerged to defend and promote the truly wonderful experience of being alone in public. I have known people who are so attached to the idea of being validated by other peoples' company that they will not go to places alone. The dangerous narrative here is that one can only experience certain aspects of life in partnership with someone else, that there is a before and after in being witnessed in your own damn life. Why would I stop (or not start) experiencing the wonders of this world simply because I don't have another convenient human to be photographer?

I call huge bollocks to that.

Eating alone, coffee with a book, the cinema, people watching, writing, daydreaming - these are all things that can be done solo and, not only can, should be. For who can I be with others if I cannot first and foremost be me with me? If my own thoughts and emotions are unbearable company, then in what world can I consciously, equitably and healthily share myself with another equally complex human? My experience can only be my experience precisely because no one else is me. Putting validation of this experience on someone else is both unnecessary and potentially dangerous. Putting this precious kernel of your existence into someone else's palm, they may rejoice in the trust you have shown, they may crush it under their heel. That's not to say never do it, it's to say you don't need to do it. And when you decide to do it, do it with discernment.

The point of this is not to berate nor judge. It’s actually to celebrate. To celebrate the incandescent simplicity of being alone at dinner and feeling such contentment and relaxation to revel in it. That I don’t feel lack or a missing piece, because that implies that I am missing something just by being me. And a reminder to anyone who hovers outside the restaurant, or walks past the door of that place they’ve wanted to try for ages multiple times: go in. You are enough. Your company is the most precious thing you could keep. Nothing is missing.

Go in.