Just One Pair of Sandals Outside the Door

Outside the door, just one pair of sandals.
Yesterday the rain blew in,
they got wet alone.
This morning the sun came, they dried alone.

The corridor is crowded every evening:
big sandals, small sandals,
a pink pair set down crooked
belonging to the child next door.

And at my door
only one pair.
Nobody takes them by mistake,
nobody laughs and says sorry.

Some evenings I stand a long time
before the key goes in.
The neighbour's television keeps talking,
talking for the whole row of rooms.

I try saying "I'm back"
to the room.
It sounds silly.
The fan keeps turning.
Today that is enough.

One pair of sandals. One person, home.

This poem began on an evening when I stood in the boarding-house corridor with my key in my hand and suddenly started counting sandals outside each door. Eight doors. The smell of fabric softener from the room at the head of the row, fried shallots from the room at the end, rain still ticking on the tin roof. Outside mine, the only pair lined up straight, as if waiting for someone to inspect them. One evening I tried something different: reached the door, stood still for three breaths, listened to the whole of the neighbour's television, and only then took out the key. It did not help at all. But I remember what the neighbours were watching that night, and that is a kind of company too.

The sandals are not sad. Only the person looking at them is, and it is such a small sadness that nobody counts it anywhere. Loneliness does not always arrive as one big collapse. It sits in small things like this: a pair of sandals, a single cup, one set of keys. Naming them does not make it end, but it does make it less easy to get lost. The same corridor, set on a holiday, is Tet alone while everyone gathers.

The next day the child next door stared at my sandals for a long time.

— Sis, why is there only one pair at your door?

— Because I live alone.

— Oh. Then tomorrow I will put mine next to them so they have a friend.

— No, your mum will scold you.

I laughed, and I meant it. Then I thought: the little one did not offer to fix anything. She only saw it, and said it. Often what I need is just for someone to see, not for someone to repair. If you want to sit with that feeling without doing anything about it yet, five senses, five minutes is a way of looking around with your ears, nose and hands for a few minutes.

When to seek professional support

This article is a poem and a few lines of prose about being alone in a small room. It cannot replace treatment, and I am not promising that writing four lines will make the feeling lighter.

But here are a few signs you should bring to a professional, rather than carrying them alone:

• A feeling of being alone, sad or empty that lasts for weeks and does not ease with time
• You no longer want to leave your room, or answer anyone
• Eating, sleeping or your daily work have started to come apart too
• You think about hurting yourself, even if it is just a passing thought

The last point cannot wait. Speak with someone you trust, today. The Emergency Support page explains what holds true in moments like that.

Seeing a professional does not mean you are weak, just as seeing a dentist for a toothache does not mean you cannot look after yourself.

This article was created with AI assistance.