There is a World Outside the Cave Too

I am someone whose ideal weekend routine involves staying in the comfort of my home, absorbed in solitary hobbies and carefully conserving my social energy. And yet, every once in a while, it is deeply illuminating to rediscover the quiet joys of social life — in the company of people who feel safe.

As someone who guards her personal time and space like air, I often fall into the illusion that social engagements bring nothing but exhaustion. I realise now that this belief came from a narrow understanding of learning — one that valued only intentional effort and overlooked how experience itself can shape you, often more gently and profoundly.

These reflections emerged over the past two weeks, after I agreed to act in a play my classmates and friends were staging. The cast was made up mostly of familiar faces, along with a few new ones I gradually grew comfortable around. Our after-class practice sessions in the shaded lawn beside one of the college halls have become some of my most cherished college memories.

The open space, the absence of crowds, and the safe bubble of my friends around me coaxed out the hyperactive child still living somewhere inside me. Between rehearsing lines and scenes, I wandered around collecting feathers and sticks, slipping easily into playful games with everyone else.

We played catch with a tennis ball, took turns zooming around on a friend’s cycle, challenged each other to throw higher and run faster, and staged ridiculous sword fights with fallen branches.

But what surprised me most was this: even within the group, I remained fully myself. There were long stretches when I drifted into my own world — drawing shapes on the ground and decorating them with grass, leaves, and stones; crouching to watch ants and insects; or simply sitting quietly with my thoughts. And yet, I never once felt out of place. I have rarely felt so free and accepted within a group as I did with this team.

One afternoon, I lay under a tree a little distance from everyone else, headphones on, watching the canopy shift above me while we waited for the rest of the cast to arrive. When I eventually walked back, no one asked, “Why did you go off alone?” or “What happened?”

Instead, they asked: “Did you enjoy your alone time?”

That question revealed something profound. My tendency to withdraw inward was not seen as aloofness or disinterest, but simply as part of who I am. In that moment, I felt completely seen and gently accepted.

Spending those afternoons with them also made me confront a quiet truth: some experiences come only once. I will have a lifetime to retreat into my own company, but only a few more months with these people and this campus.

Had I chosen to go home and bend over books, I would never have heard my friends’ stories of campus life. Had I left early, I would not have seen the majestic deer eating leaves from our hands, or the small owl darting between branches. Most importantly, I might never have stepped far enough out of my shell to project a line across an open lawn instead of forcing listeners to lean in toward my hesitant mumble.

Sometimes, the world outside the cave does not demand that you change who you are. Sometimes, it simply widens the space in which you are allowed to be yourself.

Photo credits to Milind Suraj Philip