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There is a profound sadness that lingers over my generation. A loneliness so pervasive it has settled into the marrow of our existence. We were promised a world more connected than ever before, where friendships would transcend borders, where technology would bridge the gaps that once kept us apart. Yet, here we stand, lonelier than ever.

“Staying in touch” such a cruel irony. The very tools designed to keep us close have, instead, placed us in glass cages, peering into each other’s lives from a distance, but never truly reaching through. Social media, a supposed utopia of connection, has only left us yearning for something more. Something real. We scroll through curated lives, perfectly filtered, polished like museum exhibits of what existence should look like. FOMO tightens its grip, whispering that we are missing out, that our own lives are too dull, too insignificant. And so, we retreat further, watching instead of living, speaking but never being heard.

The cruelest part? We know. We feel the hollowness of it all, the aching gap between online interactions and real human presence. Many of us have begun to resist, reaching out for something tangible, only to find that the real world offers little solace. Where do we go when every space demands an entrance fee? Cafés, bars, restaurants, all built on the expectation of consumption. Gone are the communal spaces where simply existing was enough. There are no longer corners of the world where one can just be with others, free from the transactional nature of modern socialization.

Perhaps, when we inherit the world. When the cities are ours to shape, the spaces ours to define, we will create something new. Perhaps we will build places where connection is not contingent on capital, where being together is enough. Perhaps we will learn from the aching loneliness of our youth and carve out sanctuaries for those who come after us.

Perhaps, one day, we will finally find each other.

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