In mid-2024, I found myself in a period of uneventful singlehood, enduring repetitive and mundane questions about my relationship status while watching my peers get married one by one. It felt like salt was constantly being rubbed onto an already open and bleeding wound. To break out of this stupor, I forced myself to leave the comfort of working from home and spend more time in public spaces, like cafés and libraries, in search of solace.
Fortunately, I discovered a nearby spot called Amp Café that offers good food and reliable Wi-Fi. What started as an occasional visit quickly became a routine. The café serves a unique fusion of Western and local cuisine, all set against an industrial interior with a touch of Japandi style.
Over time, I developed a casual fondness on one of the waiters—just a harmless distraction that added a little zest to my otherwise monotonous work sessions. It’s funny how our minds work, seeing this subconscious process unfold. Attraction is, in many ways, a reflection of our innate desire for connection. Humans are fundamentally wired to seek love, support, and a sense of belonging. For now, this low-stakes crush is a space to daydream about connection without the hard truths of a real relationship (which I’m pretty sure many can relate to as well).
But beyond my personal musings, I also began to notice a cultural shift: coffee shops and cafés had evolved far from being just spots for Instagram-worthy snapshots—they were becoming part of a lifestyle for many. Other than the aesthetic interiors, it was the food quality, ambience, and access to Wi-Fi that drew in both cafe hoppers and remote workers like myself. These cafés had transformed into "third places"—social spaces that offered a respite from the pressures of home and work, where people could enjoy intimate gatherings or simply be alone without feeling lonely.
Similarly at the library, I began to notice others around me seeking the same sense of connection. There was the elderly man who came in every morning, reading the newspaper by the window. A group of students huddled over their laptops in the corner, alternating between study sessions and happy chatters. In these small, quiet moments, I realised that while we may not speak to one another, we were all part of a subtle, unspoken community—strangers bound by the simple need to be among others.
Before I made cafés and libraries as my third places, I tried to fulfil my social needs through online platforms. But while it provided a sense of connection with my friends, it wasn’t the same as the in-person interaction I had with them. Weirdly enough, the overuse of social media only deepened my feelings of isolation. In fact, an article revealed that youngsters who spent more time on social media and less time in real-world interactions reported higher levels of loneliness. The more I immersed myself in these third places, the more I began to understand the limits of social media.
For instance, scrolling through my feed, I saw only curated versions of people's lives—filtered moments of happiness or success, carefully picked out for public attention. In the café, however, I saw the reality: the tired waitress forcing a smile, the couple silently scrolling through their phones over coffee, and the man sitting alone with a distant look in his eyes. These moments weren’t curated for likes or shares; they were raw and honest. And somehow, they felt more real to me than any online interaction ever could.
Over time, I came to cherish these spaces—not just as places to work or pass time, but as sanctuaries where I could observe life unfolding in its unedited form. These experiences highlight the importance of third places in fostering community and connection. Even in an age of unprecedented digital connectivity, the irony is clear: loneliness has reached epidemic levels.
Sure, social media has made communication much easier and cheaper, not to mention that it is a great platform for creative self-expression, but it is definitely not a replacement for genuine, meaningful interaction. Digital connections tend to feel momentary and fleeting, much like a quick dopamine hit from scrolling through Instagram or X. They give a brief sense of pleasure, but the effect fades quickly compared to the lasting fulfilment that comes from real-life interactions.
The question of how social media affects psychological well-being is a common one too. However, the question is complicated in part because there are so many different variables at play, including individual characteristics such as a person’s level of self-esteem and whether they are prone to depression, the strength of their offline social support networks, and how exactly they engage with social media. Thus, the effects of it may not be as generic or universal as they seem. The more compelling question is: what are the circumstances?
Ultimately, finding balance is key. While digital communication can enhance our connections, it shouldn't replace genuine in-person interaction and experiences. In a hyper-connected society where isolation has quietly become a part of our daily existence, the simple act of being present—among strangers or with friends—holds more value than any like or follow ever could. Perhaps the true antidote to modern loneliness isn’t more screen time, but simply stepping out, sitting down, and allowing ourselves to be part of the world around us.
By,
Marsya Mahfis,
Journalist,
Charisma Movement 23/24.
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