Such a Homebody

On why I always turn down invitations, stay in my tiny apartment and never feel like I’m missing out.

I’m the most boring person alive.

It’s not the first time and I’m sure it won’t be the last. Maybe it's because I’ll go to great lengths to dodge any invite. A dinner? Nope. A movie? Nope. A hangout with friends I haven’t seen in months or even years? Hard pass. I hate going out and I’m not afraid to admit it. But there’s more to it than simply avoiding the chaos of the world.

To me, staying home feels like a hug, the kind I never get from anyone else. It’s like being held without anyone touching me. Maybe it’s the familiarity of my tiny low-cost apartment, where nothing changes except the soft shift of daylight. The walls are bare, not decorated with artwork or curated decor but there’s a sense of peace that comes from knowing exactly where everything is, exactly how everything feels. There’s an unspoken connection to my own space.

This apartment has been with me through it all. The floors have felt the weight of my steps since I was 4 years old. I’ve run through this space as a child, skinned my knees and returned home after the world outside became too overwhelming. The walls still carry the faint pencil marks where I scribbled my name at a younger age that remind me of my past, the way I’ve changed yet somehow remained the same. This space knows me intimately, better than any human could and for that, it has become my sanctuary. It is my place of solitude, my safe haven from the world.

Whenever someone invites me out—a dinner, a movie or even just a hangout with friends I haven’t seen in forever, there’s that nagging voice inside me that whispers, “maybe you should go. Maybe this time, it’ll be fun.” But it’s always drowned out by another voice louder and calmer, that says, “or you could just stay in.” And every time, I choose the latter. I never regret it.

So when my friends invite me out, I would propose something simpler like why don’t you come over? or should I? We can sit, talk, have a cup of tea. There’s no need to put on a show, no need for expensive outings or hours spent in a noisy, crowded mall or bookstores. Just us, in my home, where we can truly connect without distractions. But no. They’re determined to go out, to spend money, to engage in the very act I find unnecessary. I don’t understand it. I don’t need it. I just want to be, in the simplest way possible. Why is that seen as the ultimate form of fun?

The reason is not that I ‘dislike’ people or avoid socializing entirely. There’s a very tiny part of me that craves connection, that understands the importance of bonding with others. But as an overthinker, I’m always aware of everything happening around me. I can’t escape the constant loop of thoughts running through my mind. The injustices in the world, the cruelty we inflict on one another, the unnecessary suffering that feels like a shadow constantly looming over humanity. My mind races, processing everything in hyperdrive. It’s a lot to carry. The more I understand, the more I feel disconnected from the world. I can't ignore it.

And then there’s this societal pressure. We live in a world where the ‘ideal image’ is constantly shifting. People expect you to be outgoing, to dress a certain way, to always be “doing” something. There’s this constant push for the illusion of fun and excitement. It’s exhausting. The more I think about it, the more it feels like a game I never signed up to play. It’s a performance and I’m not interested in it.

Or maybe I’m depressed because I hate the society I live in. Every time I think about it, every time I see how people treat one another, how selfish and superficial everyone is, it just makes me angry. I don’t want to be a part of that world and I don’t want to participate in any of it. That’s why I stay home. It’s not because I “don’t know” how to have fun or connect with people. No. It’s because when I stay home, I can breathe. I can think. I can find peace in the chaos of my own mind. The world outside is too noisy, too frustrating, too stupid sometimes.

A fun fact, though. When I’m at school, people think I’m this big extrovert. I talk to everyone, make jokes. They see the funny side of me and they assume that’s who I am. Well, what can I say, I’ve learned to blend in, to be the chameleon, to adapt to whatever environment I’m in. But know that, I’m not some “social butterfly.” I’m just good at pretending. I can be funny, I can talk to anyone but at the end of the day, it’s all a mask. It’s a way to make things easier, to stop people from prying too deep. People can’t see the real me when I’m out there. They only see the act.

But trust me, I’m perfectly fine. I know what I need, what works for me. I’m not the problem here. I just refuse to give in to society’s stupidity. I’m not going to let the world force me to play by their rules. I’m not going to be sucked into their toxic ideals, into their fake standards of “fun” or “happiness.” I’ll live my life the way I want to and I’ll stay in my safe space when I need to.

If I do go outside, the only kind of outing I’ll consider is a walk in the park. A quiet stroll through nature, where the trees and the earth can ground me. I love to hug trees (don’t ask) though I’ve learned the hard way not to kiss them after an ant bite to my lip taught me that lesson. That’s the kind of “outdoor activity” that fills me with “happiness,” not the chaos of human-made distractions.

And then there’s the whole issue of appearance. As a woman, there’s this constant pressure to look “well put together,” to wear makeup, to dress in a way that conforms to society’s expectations. I’m not interested. I have better things to do than spend hours putting on a facade just to fit in. If I had to go out, my usual outfit is joggers, a blouse, maybe jeans if I’m feeling fancy and a messy bun. I couldn’t care less about what anyone thinks. I’m not here to impress anyone. I’m just here to get things done. (But I’m truly grateful for online shopping because it has made my life so much easier)

Despite all of this, I understand the appeal of going out. I know the joy of laughing with friends over dinner, of chatting in a crowded café, of feeling the buzz of the world around you. I get it. I really do. That’s why my dream is to one day open a café with a planetarium, a place where people can come and gather , drink coffee, look at the stars and just be together. With no expectations. But for me, those moments of shared energy don’t hold the same weight as the stillness of my own home.

At home, there’s freedom. There’s comfort in curling up on my couch with a space and astronomy documentary in the background, doing some math practice (I’m trying to master Algebra), eating leftovers from last night or simply watching the sun dip below the horizon from my tiny balcony. These moments don’t need to be shared or performed. They’re mine, quietly beautiful in their simplicity.

The world outside is chaotic, messy and often feels too demanding. It pulls on me, asks for parts of myself that don’t always feel real. But within these walls, I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to give anything more than what I am. I’m enough, just as I am. And in that, I’ve found my peace.

But hold up, there’s one thing that might just change everything. The moment I get my hands on a telescope, you best believe I’ll be out every. single. night. I’ll be the one standing under the stars, pointing my telescope up to the night sky like it’s a sacred ritual. And trust me, you’ll have to beg me to come back inside. I’ll be out there, so connected to the stars, so wrapped up in the beauty above, that nothing on Earth will be able to drag me away. It’ll be my escape, my peace.

Here’s to the homebodies, we are not broken or hiding. We are just choosing to live on our own terms, without the noise and pressure of a world that tells us we’re supposed to be anything else. And at the end of the day, that peace is worth more than anything society can offer.