What does loneliness feel like in London?
People ask me that sometimes. The answer isn’t what they expect.
Loneliness has many shapes. You can be in a relationship and feel lonely. You can be surrounded by people and feel lonely. But London? Lonely? Those two words don’t belong in the same sentence for me.
I once read The Lonely Londoners by Sam Selvon — a brilliant novel if you want to understand what loneliness meant for his characters. But I didn’t experience loneliness in London.
Being alone and being lonely are two different things. I prefer solitude. And walking around London never allowed loneliness to settle in. I was in my city. I heard the buildings sigh. I smelled the Thames. I listened to the traffic and the sirens wailing somewhere far off. I felt the air on my skin. I wasn’t lonely. I was alive. Walking through London is like walking with your most special person. She’s there with you — guiding you, pulling you, giving you moments you’ll never forget, moments you can hardly believe happened at all.
Whitechapel. That chaotic little borough with its old streets, cracked pavements, and a smell that’s both intoxicating and rancid — Chinese food fused with weak‑old rubbish. One night, walking with my companions, something peculiar happened. I was stepping exactly where they stepped, foot for foot, when the pavement decided it was hungry and tried to eat me. I let out an “oh shit,” which stopped them in their tracks. They turned to see me two inches lower than they were. Their faces? Utter laughter. Mine? Utter confusion. And honestly, if the roles were reversed, I’d have laughed too.
There were nights I didn’t have companions. But loneliness still never found me. I’d stroll the streets with my headphones, lost in thought. I’d stop by a café for a takeaway. Then I’d head back to my flat and write about my day.
My flat was my sanctuary. I’d dance. Brew coffee. Cook pasta. Listen to a show or music as I wrote into the late hours — my hours. The early morning, when London is quiet. Not asleep, just quiet. Foxes slipping through the streets. Cats pacing the pavement. Random people passing by, knackered from the night shift or a pub crawl.
Loneliness? No.
Alignment.
London met me where I met her — in the fog, guided by foxes and gas lamps.