Why I Solo

Reading Time: 10 minutes

I’ve always been an independent soul, so it’s no surprise solo travel is something I latched onto without hesitancy.

But, I have to be honest here as well: my impatience and my attempt to mediate boredom with others played a huge role in how I stumbled upon the path solo-traveled.

When I was younger, I’d often stray from my group of friends when we went on day trips to the mall. They’d be interested in stores that I didn’t care for in the least, and I thought it’d be the most time-efficient for everyone if we parted ways for a few hours to explore what we wanted.

This usually ended up with me being alone in the end, since my sister and our best friends had similar tastes in clothes, recreation, and even food. They’d be happy with hours spent in Barnes and Noble, grabbing fries and a burger from the food court, and maybe popping into Forever 21 or H&M for their cheap, fast fashion needs.

I usually found myself at the “higher end” side of the mall, taking my time trying on designer jeans, and treating myself to a more “sophisticated” mall treat like pineapple froyo with mochi and popping boba.

My friends came out with bags of books, seasonal sweaters, and bellies full of fast, filling food. I on the other hand, brought out a bag small enough to place on my lap, containing my long-awaited, pricey prize.

As I approached my late teens and early twenties, I realized I thrived as an early riser. This new-found trait of mine was probably exacerbated by my eating disorder, since I was often awake as early as 3AM trying to pass the time until I allowed myself to eat breakfast. But even as I recovered, my inclination towards rising with the sun and starting my day with a morning run hours before the rest of the world was slamming their alarms was something that persisted—and further isolated me from my peers.

It seemed like everyone around me was a freaking night owl, and I was a lone, morning lark…

So when it was time for me to finally move out and start a “new life” in Los Angeles for graduate school, I was more than ready to live on my own terms. Wake up when I want, eat when I want, and explore all of LA as much as I wanted to on the weekends…I didn’t have to worry about asking my Dad to drive me from one place or another, I didn’t have to worry about appeasing the tastes of my friends. I could do whatever I wanted!

In my first apartment! Los Angeles, August 2014

And I did do my fair share of exploration in LA. Monday through Friday was devoted to classes as a first-year PhD student. There were also some weekend mornings devoted to studying, but I made it a priority to get out every single weekend.

I’d take the metro and the bus, and frequent neighborhoods like WeHo, DTLA, Koreatown, NoHo, Santa Monica, Culver City, Sawtelle, Pasadena, etc. I had a list of all the cafes, restaurants, and dessert shops I was eager to visit and sample treats from. I would even travel to go grocery shopping—there was that one time I bought a handful of items from a Erewhon near The Grove (yes, on a PhD student’s budget 😅). I’d make sure to bring a number of reusable bags, taking pride in my grocery hauls as I’d saunter onto public transit like a real bag lady.

At the time, I deemed these days as successful. I achieved what I set out to do—I was living life on my own terms, solo and free.

But as much as I was an expert on doing things on my own with confidence, a part of me always wished that the friends who comprised my social circle would share my interests and passions. I never did meet the right group of people to go out and “party” with. My friends ended up being introverts like me, and perhaps were even more farther down on the introverted spectrum…

Meet-ups did happen here and there over the following years. Despite our supposed mixed schedules, my sister and one of our best friends were able to plan a girls’ trip to Seattle. Then there was the Iceland/London/Cardiff/Paris trip my sis, Dad, and I took the following year, and some weekend trips not too far from LA. Company is great, but juggling fatigue, hanger, anxiety, and the preferences of others isn’t what I’d include in defining my dream travel adventure.

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My first opportunity for international solo travel however, was something that came up out of the blue, thanks to work. In the third year of my PhD, I was one of six students part of a group fellowship for one year, and one of the stipulations was using some allocated funds to attend a conference.

Without going into too much detail about the situation, I ended up having to pick a conference urgently due to some misunderstandings. I ended up submitting an abstract to two conferences—one of which took place on the (US) East Coast, and the other in Barcelona.

Guess which one I “ended up” going to because the other one declined my submission…

Barcelona, August 2017

It took me a full day to warm-up to the idea that I was in a whole ‘nother country on my own. I had left the lab in mid-September, after an exhaustive series of weeks of intensive experiments. Technically, this was also my first “business” trip, but I still felt out of sorts for being away from work on a trip that was planned last minute.

But I eased up to the idea after a day of rest and a full day exploring the city—from Park Guell to Sagrada Familia to sampling vegan paella, I felt a new-found independence I was slowly allowing myself to enjoy.

In the following days, I left the city for a beach town where my conference was held. I fell in love with the architecture, the views of the Mediterranean Sea, and the kind people (well, kind person—the BNB host I was staying with was a sweet woman who was warm, engaging, and generous enough to give me money for a return train ticket when they wouldn’t take my credit card!).

Sitges, September 2017

When I came back from Spain and went back to work (seriously, I went to lab the next day after landing in LA the night before…), I had intense Spain withdrawals and wished I could have extended my stay to do more exploring post-conference.

That trip was what got me pondering about going abroad after my PhD. I was toying with the idea of learning Spanish and applying for a fellowship in Spain for many months after that trip…

Since I was still knee-deep in my PhD however, I made it my mission to do at least one international solo trip a year. Even though I initially invited my friends to join me, they were quick with their excuses. So, it was me and my lonesome yet again, planning my adventures from scratch.

Since Spain, I’ve traveled to Germany, Sweden, and Vancouver, Canada for my international solo trips. Technically, Germany was to meet my lab bestie, who returned home after 3 years in the US (where I met her), but Sweden and Vancouver were purely solo, and very different experiences.

Exploring Muenster in Germany

In Sweden, I spent 10 days exploring Stockholm, Gothenburg, Malmo, and even a day trip “across the pond” in Copenhagen. I went in thinking it would be a trip full of friendships made in hostels, nights out on the town with these supposed friends, and happy memories to return home with.

Unfortunately, Sweden was the trip that reminded me that solo is only a few letters off from lonely. I stayed in hostels, but came across independent and introverted travelers like myself, who were not too keen to extend an invitation for company. I spent many of my days walking aimlessly around these cities, because my heart wasn’t into stopping inside museums or paying for tourist attractions. Even the food was sub-par…

Stockholm, August 2019

My trip to Vancouver was shorter in comparison, and while still very much an isolated experience, it was one I remember fondly. I stayed in an Airbnb room the size of a walk-in closet, but I remember walking around the city in a warm, puffy jacket since it was November and the weather was crisp and cool. Memories of warm vegan poutine, hot cider from Granville Island, getting nauseous on Capistrano Bridge, and even resting inside a movie theater to watch It’s a Good Day in the Neighborhood starring Tom Hanks as Mr. Rogers were all delightful moments of the trip.

Enjoying that cold weather gear in Vancouver, November 2019

Despite the varied experiences of my trips to-date, I have a new-found appreciation for ALL of the moments I experienced, given that we now live in a COVID-affected world…

After Vancouver, I squeezed in a trip to India with the family, right before COVID struck. Obviously no trips were in my plans for 2020, except figuring out how to get to Italy to start my new post-doc position.

And coming to Italy has been my biggest “solo adventure” yet, and it’s hard to believe that it has only just begun! Right now, work demands and my energy levels have limited me to staying within Milan and the northern areas of Lombardia, but I have hope that I will soon find the time to safely travel the rest of the country—which I hear is much more beautiful the farther out from Milan you go 😉.

I don’t consider myself an intense traveler, but I am proud of my abilities to plan solo trips and feel confident about them. I’ve had friends and acquaintances ask me with wide-eyed wonder, “So you went to ____, by yourself?!”, as if to say, something must be wrong if you can’t find anyone to travel with.

But I relish in it, and you shouldn’t be afraid to do so either!

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If I’m going to give my two-cents on solo travel, here’s what I think you should consider for planning your next solo trip—especially if you are an introvert like me 😉:

💗 Make a day out of walking

I’ve had days where I felt bored out of my mind while walking around cities I visited while on vacation (like in Sweden), but this was also influenced by my mood at the time. My time spent afoot in Barcelona and Vancouver were the exact opposite!

By making a day out of walking, meaning not relying on public transit or cars to get you places, it allows you to feel like a local in a short amount of time. And as an introvert, it feels nice to not have to call attention to yourself when dealing with the stresses that come with transit (although, public transit is great for covering more places in a day).

I feel as if I am able to understand the vibe of a city/place more after spending hours afoot because all of my senses are at work. I keep Google Maps handy (and also make sure my phone is juiced) so I don’t get completely lost.

I also like to keep some kind of prime destination in mind, be it a café of interest or a photo-worthy spot, which brings me to my next point…

💗 Make what you enjoy a priority, and focus around that

When I was “forced” to go on family road trips and vacations (😂) as a child, I often felt upset by the fact that everything felt rushed and my parents were riddled with anxiety (mostly Dad, haha) with trying to fit seeing as many things as possible in a short duration of time. This often meant trips to boring museums, going to the one Indian restaurant in backwoods Montana because Mom would not eat anything else, and appeasing Mom’s additional shop-a-holic needs at every single gift shop we passed through.

Since then, I’ve vowed to make my solo trips pleasant for me, because who else am I doing it for?

This meant no museums or tourist attractions that I would not find interesting otherwise, and paying attention to my energy levels. In Sweden, I was in a consistently low mood, but I was happiest when I was able to check off vegan restaurants from my to-do list and collect a plethora of pics I could use for Instagram posts 😉.

If you are on vacation, YOU deserve to enjoy it! If it means planning your day around local cuisine and making a foodie tour, eat your heart out! If it means collecting trinkets for friends and family by paying visits to the shops of local artisans, by all means, spend, spend, spend! And there is certainly no shame in spending a day taking photos meant for the ‘gram. If it’s fun for you, why should anyone tell you that’s not how to travel?

And guess what? You do need energy for all of this, so please…

💗 Make time for ample rest / don’t shy away from hostels

Invest in a cozy guest suite for one. Or even a luxurious hotel room. Having enough energy to enjoy where you are and what you are experiencing is absolutely necessary.

But there is nothing wrong with a cheap, social hostel either! You’d think that’s a scene to avoid as an introvert, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. My only hostel experience to-date was in Sweden so I can only comment on that, but the places I stayed in were safe, comfortable, clean, and easy on the wallet. It’s the perfect place to hang your backpack for the night after a long day of walking, eating, photo-taking, and shopping—pretty much if you follow all of the above tips 😉.

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Whether you are an extrovert or introvert, a gal with a ton of friends to pick from to accompany you on all of your trips, or a self-identifying “loner” who prefers the sound of silence over the yapping of crowds, I recommend that everyone have a solo travel experience at least once in their life.

There is fear in being lonely, but don’t be afraid of being alone. Experiencing solitude during travel allows us to learn new things about our surroundings, while also allowing the bravery, strength, and tenacity that normally is at rest within us to rise to the occasion.

Eggshells

Reading Time: 9 minutes

Written: April 17, 2020

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Uh-huh, life’s like this
Uh-huh, uh-huh, that’s the way it is
‘Cause life’s like this
Uh-huh, uh-huh, that’s the way it is

-Canadian Kween, Avril Lavigne

Back in the early 2000s, I thrived as an outgoing, bubbly third-grader, known to her peers as a funny, friendly girl with tan skin and long, straight black hair. My laugh was infectious, and I remember picking up mild sarcasm from my Dad, as well as a fascination with puns.

Needless to say, Spongebob was the man.

One of my favorite things about going to elementary school in northern California those days was the fact that seasons had their appropriate weather. On a cold, rainy day in winter 2002, we were blessed with rainy day recess. I was so excited to play “Heads Up, 7UP” or some other fun game that required the sequestering of 8-9 year olds in the same room, with no outdoor activities to distract the more “rambunctious” kiddos.

I HAVE ARRRRIIIIVVVEEEDD!!” I remember screeching as I entered the room giddy with excitement.

I wasn’t expecting the cold look from my teacher, however, and what followed.

“Priya! That is no way to enter a room! Walk back out RIGHT now and enter appropriately!” she yelled.

I was absolutely shocked. Here I thought my vivacious demeanor would be received with laughter and warmth from my “favorite” teacher at the time. Instead, I was left feeling like a fool and ashamed for my actions.

Seriously, Mrs. K?

How dare ya, bitch.

I did exactly what I was told. I didn’t dare question why Mrs. K reacted that way. Perhaps she was having a stressful day that day, and wanted to be anywhere but in a classroom filled with loud, sugar-hyped kids. Still, no reason to take it out on a kid…don’t they teach you that when you get your teaching degree?

I wouldn’t say that it was a life-changing moment, but it made me more cautious in my interactions with others as I grew older. This was also around the time that my mom began to show signs for schizophrenia—remarking about voices telling her to do things, distancing herself from people, finding ways to blame others for occurrences that impacted her world—and even as her close family, we were not immune to the effects of her disease.

I had to quickly learn her triggers. Not bring up things to her that involved birthday party invitations or look like I sided with my Dad during arguments they had. Anything to prevent her from yelling at me for hours or sending me to “time-out”.

I wanted peace and happiness more than anything, but I quickly had to master the art of walking on eggshells.

This feeling has permeated into my social life, for sure. As I approached middle school, I hid away the “extrovert” side of my personality—wrapped thickly in a blanket and tucked away somewhere in my heart—until I could fully trust the person enough to share that side of me with them. Instead, I quickly adopted the adjectives of “quiet”, “shy”, and “introverted”, from classmates and teachers alike.

These girls were the only ones in my life who were able to see all sides of me. I could truly be myself around them. No worries about eggshells 🙂

I realized that I hated being asked questions that involved “favorites”, unless it had to do with food or color. Why did it matter what my favorite music or actor or movie or TV show was? Whatever my answer was, it was quickly responded with depreciating laughter from my peers. I didn’t want to explain, and I had no energy for it…

The easiest thing to do was say, “I don’t know”, “It always changes…”, or the classic “Hehe, pretty much everything except country! Eww, country…”

Little did they know that Shania Twain was my lady, and that country music was a part of our family’s roadtrip playlists along with Fleetwood Mac and Celine Dion 🤷🏽‍♀️.

As I got past high school and my college years fighting with the same issues, I naively thought things could change as I planned my leave for graduate school. Given the opportunity to live independently and have full control of my life matters, I thought that I could easily transition into being myself again and feeling comfortable in front of a more general audience. Little did I know that out in the real world, especially Los Angeles, decency towards one another was just a minor recommendation.

After living in LA for the past 5.5 years with roommates and crazy-ass landlords, as well as having to navigate how to handle the crazy personalities of the people I often came across, I learned that a) I have a very high tolerance for dealing with irascible people and b) life is too short to not surround yourself with genuine and caring people.

In my first two years living apart from family, I was graced 🙄 with the presence of quirky roommates. Oil-splayed-stove-top-messy, passive-aggressive young ladies who I’d have frequent air-conditioning wars with.

I’m sorry, but who is able to sleep comfortably in a room 80 degrees Fahrenheit?!

At the time, I wasn’t one who was quick to jump aboard the confrontation train. I tried to compromise at times, and even though we agreed to keep the room at a balmy 75, no more or no less, my roommates were not quick to adjust the thermostat when the number steadily creeped up during the unbearably hot LA summers.

So I thought I hit the jackpot when it came time for my lease renewal, and I found an “out” through a room rental in Santa Monica. Just my luck that it was in a house owned by an older couple my Dad and I nicknamed the “The Onions”, due to their wrinkly, purple-tinged skin 😬.

My close friends are bewildered by the fact that I lived there for two years…surviving on crockpot dinners that were a source of drama when I first moved in (apparently, cooked broccoli made the older man recoil in disgust, yet I didn’t say a word when they cooked smelly fish…). I was used to weird house rules like squeegee-ing the shower door immediately after use, specifically stacking my 3 cups of yogurt on the left side of the fridge, and not using the kitchen for “heavy cooking”…my mom trained me well not to be so shocked by odd-ball orders 😛.

I was given a year of reprieve when my sister and I had a chance to share an apartment in Anaheim soon after, and boy did I cry when she left for Austin. Thinking I would soon be out of SoCal anyways due to post-doc plans elsewhere and graduation, I opted for another room rental to save money.

As luck would have it, I ended up with Cruella (name obviously changed, but well-deserved…), who seemed normal—but was she? Even she seemed like an odd-ball in her texts—writing in caps, misspelling my name even though my signature and rent payments gave her a blatant clue—but I didn’t let it bother me since my rent would be lower than ever before, and I wouldn’t have to leave Orange County.

I was used to weird by now anyways. Heck, I should have gotten my PhD in “handling weird-ass people” because that became my side-job once I moved to LA, unbeknownst to me. As months went on at Cruella’s, I realized that the weirdest aspect of it all was the fact she would only communicate through text. Even if she was in the house.

Uh…come again?

Again, I didn’t think too much of it. I’d say “hi” to her if I did see her, chat with her in the kitchen if we were there at the same time, and as usual, I kept to myself to avoid any drama. Most importantly, I paid my rent on time without fail.

Damn, I’m the most perfect tenant. Landlords be lucky to have me 🙄.

But then, the most bizarre thing happened. After coming home from work one day, I came across Cruella and her small dog, said hello, and made my way into the kitchen to prep a quick salad to eat in my room, per usual. Her dog came over to sniff me, which I have no issue with because hello, #DogLover right here.

Without thinking of what was to come, I took my dinner up to my room and began to mentally unwind from my exhausting work day when my phone buzzed several times. I didn’t think much of it, until I swiped to find scathing, accusing texts from Cruella saying I had kicked her dog.

Where. was. this. craziness. coming. from.

Where was she getting this from?! My heart began to race, even though I had nothing to be guilty for. My attempts to rationalize with her and figure out why she would make such accusations were futile. To drive a blade even further into my flesh, she left a threatening audio message driven by vitriol and anger, absolutely convinced that I would do something so uncharacteristic of me.

I tried to get her to come out to talk to me, but she wouldn’t budge. What can you do when you try to rationalize with irrational?

The only other way I could think of communicating with her was via a third-party, my hugest advocate in life, my dad.

My poor dad was the recipient of verbal vitriol as well. My heart sunk when I came back into the house after calling him outside in almost tears. I could hear Cruella yelling into her phone—calling me everything from evil to a brat to conniving to mean—these were words that were not describing me, but the bitch that was her. And yet, I felt defeated.

Miraculously, things did cool down. My dad having dealt with his share of bipolar, schizophrenic, mentally-ill people in his life, was able to get her to calm down and “reconsider” kicking me out. She didn’t apologize, but she was willing to “tolerate” me until I was able to move out…

Seriously, what just happened.

For the next six weeks, I did not come across her in physical form at all. Needless to say, the whole situation was freaky, and the definition of walking on eggshells.

Oddly enough, but not surprisingly, she made her appearance again slowly weeks after the debacle had passed, acting as if nothing had happened of course. I still thought she was a psychotic bitch, but with the impending crisis of corona and my new post-doc plans still delayed, I didn’t want unnecessary drama to spark too early…

I didn’t have to worry about that though, because Cruella’s mind was churning. The coronavirus hysteria was definitely freaking out the bipolar bitch…

She began to worry, and her voices probably started talking to her again. The incessant text messages bothering me about one thing or another would not stop.

Also, what is a BATHROOM waste basket if not for things like, um, sanitary pads and I dunno, things you would use in the bathroom 🤔

The reason this message ticked me off? Because I was doing everything in my power to be a good tenant, to NOT cause drama, and most of all, to not have to deal with her psychosis. The way she assumed I don’t like to clean when ha, I’m a stickler when it comes to cleanliness and organization? I was sick and tired of her berating me and having to “put up with it”.

I had had enough, and I tried to respond to her in a professional manner which also expressed my annoyance with her:

The clap back 👏

Despite the professionalism, you can’t expect that from someone who has already exhibited signs of CRAZY. She responded with an audio message calling me all sorts of names (not worth typing out…) and a “30 day notice” to leave.

I gladly accepted. I was absolutely done with her. Couldn’t have happened at a better time.

I didn’t respond to her last comment. The immaturity threshold was beyond off the charts at this point. As much as my blood was boiling, tears were streaming, and emotional trauma stirring. I tried to let it go…I’d be with family soon enough.

It’s true when they say that trying, challenging times bring out the best and the worst in people. Unfortunately, I was a victim of the latter. These situations have made me quite wary of people in general, but at least I have mastered the art of walking on eggshells 🤔? In a way, I’m motivated now more than ever to, going forward, secure long-term financial stability to ensure I can live alone and not have to worry about clashing personalities.

Through all of this, the most important lessons I’ve learned are to be unapologetic for who I am, and that if anyone questions my integrity, you better believe my fighting side will come out.

And yours should to, because no one has the right to judge—or even worse— make false accusations about you.

I don’t have time for impatient, mean, judgemental, crazy bishes ✌🏽

Take care, Cruella.

And I say that with the warmest regards 🙃.

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