Hello, my name is Wlla. I find it hard to talk to you and I especially don’t like talking about myself. But you have asked, so I will tell you a few things to assuage your curiosity. First of all, I like being on my own, that is, I like to spend my time in my own company rather than the company of other people. I just wish people would understand that being alone does not make me lonely. I know that well-meaning people are just trying to “help” me, but I really don’t want to join a club, or take up a sport or hobby and I’m just not interested in meeting new people. I think someone’s need to be surrounded by other people speaks more about their loneliness than my desire to be alone.

You see, I am never truly alone when I am by myself. I once heard that people are judged by the company they keep, and I guess the company I choose may not really be accepted or understood by people. I will try and explain but its okay if you don’t really understand.

When people see me out all they see is a small person, hair bleached by the sun, walking barefoot usually along the beach. You wouldn’t believe how many pairs of shoes have been left outside my front door! All very kind but totally unwanted. How to explain that when I’m walking on the beach, I have the company of the golden sand under my bare feet, each step like a caress from a dear friend. I talk the language of the sand, wet, sucking, slapping sounds where the sand meets the water or maybe squeaking chatter as I thrust my feet into the soft dry sand. The sea’s conversation changes with the tides and the season; the sighs and whispers of the soft susurrating ebbing wave, the steady rhythmic beating of its flow and the emphatic, crashing of storm-driven conversation.

I have the company of the little crabs that suddenly appear from their sandy homes, waving their upraised, oversized claws at me as the skuttle sideways to the sea. The birds call out to me in myriad voices; the harsh throat-clearing of the sea gulls debating who has foraging rights to the still green seaweed gifted to the beach by the tide; the plaintive whistle of a sea eagle calling to its mate as they hunt for food for their chicks.

The creatures within the sea are also my companions, albeit we commune from a distance. Far out to sea, a whale surfaces, shooting its spume in greeting before sucking in air and disappearing under the water. A steady greeting of whales ensues until I can no longer see them. I often think how people are criticised for being able to talk under water, but if their conversation was like that of the whales there could be no criticism.

My beach companion gives me gifts too, just as good friends do, but it never waits for a birthday or supposedly special occasion. A beautiful shell, its pearlescent colours impossible for any artist’s palette to replicate; a sculpture made of driftwood, shaped and smoothed by the sea and baked by the sun; a piece of green glass, discarded from a passing ship perhaps a hundred years ago, polished by the ocean until there could be no brighter jewel gifted by the sea.
So, if you see me walking barefoot along the beach, don’t wonder if I am lonely or feel sad for me. Wonder instead of how fulfilled I am as walk with my companions; the sand beneath my feet; the waves that tease and tickle as they play their games of tag, touching my feet and then retreating, inviting me to follow; the birds, the sea creatures and the vast blue sky over head.

I am not lonely, I am complete!