For my last semester at Southern, I had a secret resolution to invite my friends over an undisclosed number of times and cook delicious, aromatic Asian food for them. It seemed like a safe, simple and wholesome goal, but I quickly realized that this was going to be a lot more challenging than I expected.
Putting aside the normal obstacles — scheduling conflicts, missed assignments from senioritis and the fact that I’m an introvert — the hardest part of this resolution was finding friends to host for a meal.
I know that some of this is simply due to circumstance. Some of my closer friends had graduated and since moved away, and my new friends are so fresh that I struggle inviting them over to try my Indonesian stir-fry.
But mostly, I’ve drastically grown and changed over the last couple years in ways many of my old friends would struggle to accept. This never involved any infighting or drama between us. Instead, I gradually spent less and less time with these friends. I still haven’t found anything with which to replace this old community.
It’s so easy to blame the pandemic. Not only has it been so influential in the ways I’ve changed, but as restrictions are slowly lifted and as society begins to rebuild, I know my social connections haven’t been able to go through that same rebuilding process.
There’s apparently a term for this kind of experience: ambiguous grief.
According to the official Ambiguous Grief website, it’s “the feeling experienced from the loss of a loved one who is still living, accompanied by a change in or death of the relationship.”
This experience isn’t limited to just the pandemic. However, it’s an experience many of us share, as illustrated by a recent study in Australia, where participants felt more disconnected post lockdown.
While reading online stories about ambiguous grief made me feel less alone, it also made me realize how much this experience surrounded my own life.
During the few times my cooking-for-friends resolution actually panned out this semester — whether it was between breaks of homework or driving back from an ice cream run — my friends and I almost always found a time to sit in silence before admitting to each other, “Yeah… we need friends.”
In a weird way, I think we connected most over those words. They served as an acknowledgement of the past relationships we’ve lost and are mourning, despite those people remaining alive and well. Those words also formed a connection over the awkward pressure of “Wow, I haven’t casually socialized with another human since longer than I care to admit.”
It may seem depressing, but I look at these experiences with a hopeful lens. Even though it can be awkward and mournful, this is what rebuilding my social network looks like for me.
I don’t know what that rebuilding process will look like for you. But it’s okay if it takes a while for you to find your new normal. The world is taking its pretty time after a traumatic pandemic. It’s okay if you take your time too.
(Also, if you think re-socializing yourself might involve allowing me to cook up tasty rice and tofu for you, please send me a DM.)
