[OPINION] Solo dining isn’t social suicide
I don’t know what this says about me but I’ve become the kind of person who believes she has to go to a restaurant or cafe at least once a week to feel like a functional member of society.
This is how my visits normally go: I walk the respectable distance between my drop-off point and the establishment. I push the heavy door open, stand awkwardly for a few moments, and wait for a server to acknowledge my existence. They ask me, “Table for how many?” and without fail, I note the sympathetic smile as I tell them it’s only me today.
At first, I thought I was imagining things. Maybe I was projecting, I convinced myself one time. But I forget that eating alone is no longer one of the many mundane activities that make up a day and that it has taken on multiple meanings since becoming the subject of online discourse. For some, it’s a radical act of self-love; for others, a concerning indicator of depression. If the diner happens to be old, it’s a reminder to call our grandparents and tell them we love them before it’s too late. For me, though, it is and has always been just a part of life.
The rewards that come with solo dining and savoring everything in my surroundings outweigh the drawbacks by a long shot. In each encounter, I witness the little joys of everyday life.
Eating has always been seen as a social activity, more so in the Philippines. Meals are all about fostering togetherness, whether between friends or family, and function as a way to catch up and connect with one another. “Kumain ka na ba?” can so easily be dismissed as a lousy pick-up line from a potential talking stage, but when asked by the right person, it’s practically a love language.
In other parts of the world, eating alone was especially frowned upon for women, who were thought to be “selling their services,” for the lack of a better term. As late as the 1960s, establishments banned those who didn’t come with a male companion—and even when these restrictions were lifted as they entered the workforce, men were often relentless, bothering them when they so obviously didn’t want to be disturbed.
Needless to say, there seems to be something so scandalous about someone—more so, a girl!—who is so sure about who she is that she would choose to keep herself company. This security I feel in my independence, this exercise in agency is one of the best benefits I get from dining by myself. I’m an only child, which somehow comes with the innate talent of knowing how to keep busy without relying on anyone’s availability or attention. Though I accept (and enjoy!) all offers to hang out with old friends and meet new people, I take pride in the fact that I will survive if plans are canceled at the last minute and can stomach being around no one else without feeling FOMO.
As a creative, eating alone also allows me to process and reflect on feelings I may have missed amid the bustle of my 9-to-5. Sometimes, I get to witness new ideas come to life as I people-watch, eavesdrop in conversations, or engage in friendly small talk with my waiter. And as an introvert, who usually needs three to five business days of rest after meeting up with someone, the inner peace that comes with a solo meal is a healing balm. Every visit ends with at least one filled journal page, several food photos, and sometimes a finished article.
This kind of solitude is one we can all benefit from if we reframed the act of eating alone as an enjoyable experience and prepared for it like we would for any social gathering. Instead of treating it as something dreadful that we have to “get over with,” we could put on our best outfit with a full face of make-up, treat ourselves to a menu item with a name that’s hard to pronounce, or choose a seat with a great view.
If we’re not yet confident in being completely in the moment, that’s totally fine! Maybe we could bring headphones to drown out the sound or a book to bury our noses in. If we try to make our "mouse moment" as pleasurable as possible, we won’t notice we’re not sharing it with anybody else. We’ll finally ignore the unfounded fear we have that everyone is secretly judging us. In reality, they’re probably busy entertaining those they came with or wondering what others are thinking of them. We have no solid proof that we’re the object of ridicule at any particular moment—and even if we did, what does it matter?
The rewards that come with solo dining and savoring everything in my surroundings outweigh the drawbacks by a long shot. In each encounter, I witness the little joys of everyday life—the first bite of what I know will be my new favorite meal, the smile on the face of a newly-arrived patron as they reunite with a pal, the unexpected chat with a waiter who reminds me of my lola—and remember that while I may have arrived by myself, I’m still part of a community so I’m never truly alone.
Disclaimer: The views expressed in this article are those of the author and do not reflect the opinions of PhilSTAR L!fe, its parent company and affiliates, or its staff.
