Learning to love yourself first

Some evenings nothing happens at all. A floor lamp throws a warm patch into the corner, a few lit windows sit far off in the dark, and she is there. Only tonight, for the first time, part of her isn't listening for the phone.

The chair by the window has a thin blanket folded over its back, creased into shape — because she sits here every evening. Sits and waits. What she was waiting for only has a name now: a message, any message, proof that someone still keeps her in mind. The phone lies face down on the low table, screen off, and still within reach. It turns out the person whose attention she was waiting for was never the one on the other end. It was her own. Tonight she makes a pot of tea, pours a cup, and sits down.

There are two plates on the kitchen shelf. One she uses; the other stands on its edge, pushed to the back, a thin film of dust along the rim. For a long time she just ate to be done with it — instant noodles, a cold box of rice, standing up. Cooking properly was something you did when there was someone, she thought. Until one day she stopped on the word someone and found it funny: she is a someone. That evening the rice cooker steamed in the small kitchen, three little dishes came out, and the bowl and chopsticks were set neatly for exactly one place.

She has been on her own for a year now. That sentence used to be the one she feared most — feared enough to rush into places that never fit, just so she'd never have to say it. Said out loud now, it weighs almost nothing. The morning room is tidy, the blanket folded, one pillow dented on one side. A small round mirror hangs on the wall, and she sees that what frightened her all those years was never an empty room. It was having to sit with herself. Early sun lays a stripe across the floor. She puts a few flowers in a small vase — no occasion — so she has something to look at.

No rush now, and nothing missing. I can wait, because I'm alright.

Those flowers will wilt, and she'll buy more. And you — when was the last time you did something kind for yourself with no reason attached?