<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8" standalone="yes"?><rss version="2.0" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom"><channel><title>Loneliness on Soaibuzzaman</title><link>https://soaib.me/tags/loneliness/</link><description>Recent content in Loneliness on Soaibuzzaman</description><generator>Hugo</generator><language>en-US</language><lastBuildDate>Thu, 29 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000</lastBuildDate><atom:link href="https://soaib.me/tags/loneliness/index.xml" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><item><title>The Lonely City: Adventures in the Art of Being Alone</title><link>https://soaib.me/posts/the-lonely-city/</link><pubDate>Thu, 29 May 2025 00:00:00 +0000</pubDate><guid>https://soaib.me/posts/the-lonely-city/</guid><description>&lt;blockquote&gt;
&lt;p&gt;“Sometimes, all you need is permission to feel.”&lt;/p&gt;&lt;/blockquote&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Olivia Laing’s The Lonely City isn’t a cure for loneliness—it’s a quiet companion to it. Part memoir, part cultural meditation, the book explores what it means to be alone in a crowd, tracing Laing’s own isolation in New York alongside the lives of artists like Hopper, Warhol, and Wojnarowicz, who each wrestled with solitude in their work.&lt;/p&gt;
&lt;p&gt;Loneliness, Laing writes, feels “like being hungry when everyone around you is readying for a feast.” It’s more than a lack of company—it’s a lack of belonging, of being seen, of being touched. The book is filled with moments that pierce: the man whose room was discovered, after his death, to be crammed with unseen paintings; the person who likened hell not to fire but to ice—frozen in isolation.&lt;/p&gt;</description></item></channel></rss>