Latest news with #urbanlife
Independent Singapore
2 days ago
- General
- Independent Singapore
'Is it just me, or is Singapore a lonely place to live?'
SINGAPORE: Singapore is well-organised, secure, and hyper-connected. High-rise buildings glitter, public transport buzzes with accuracy, and cafes buzz with elegant customers scrolling through glowing cellphone screens, but underneath this lustrous exterior, a noiseless, more imperceptible current exists in the lives of many — a profound and increasing sense of isolation and loneliness. It began with a Reddit post, open and truthful, simply titled: 'Lonely in Singapore, who else feels the same?' The poster depicted an image many are familiar with but hardly talk about — the pain of feeling invisible in a city bursting with people. 'Alone in a crowded city, surrounded yet unseen… Loneliness has slipped into households filled with people, hidden behind busy schedules, polite small talk, and tired eyes. Even the married, even parents with children, speak of the silence, the emptiness.' This is not just about eating out alone or walking unaccompanied through Orchard Road. It's about emotional remoteness, regardless of status, age, or upbringing. Loneliness turns out to be a silent but rampant 'illness' even in homes full of babble, in rooms where individuals sit shoulder to shoulder. The post resonated with many people, who voiced similar opinions. One commenter admitted, 'Modern society is constantly rushing… everyone glued to their phones. We crave connection, but real intimacy takes vulnerability, time, and effort—and people today don't always have the energy for that.' Singaporeans, according to the commenters, frequently appear candid, but are, in reality, guarded. Relationships and attachments are shaped early and inclined to stay taped up. Friendships built while in school, the army, or long-held workplaces seldom make room for strangers. Even in public spaces such as cafes, gyms, and churches, connections tend to be operating on a 'surface level.' A grin here, a like or heart on Instagram there, but very few deep conversations. Another commenter grieved how hard it is for one to feel that you truly belong, even after trying so hard: 'We join meetups, try apps, attend hobby classes. Still go home feeling unseen.' Many responses led to an uncomfortable truth — meaningful connection demands emotional risk, something that many don't want to dive into. One netizen who founded several communities in Singapore perceived a pattern—people usually sign up but stay inactive or unreceptive, expecting a connection without input or involvement. See also Singaporean asks if there's a loneliness epidemic going on 'The ones who benefit most are those who show up and give, not just take. They participate, share, and make space for others. That's how bonds are built—through presence and patience.' Others were more open and critical, saying what they saw as shallowness in social dynamics. 'Singapore is a very superficial place to me… people are always rushing or trying to outdo others. Even some community groups only 'welcome' you to boost their numbers or make their leaders feel powerful.' Still, most believed that the solution is not simple. Finding meaningful connections or real friendships as an adult is difficult anywhere in the world, but particularly in cities reinforced by speed, efficiency, and sophisticated appearances like Singapore. That's why that Reddit post hit a chord because in that thread, strangers connected, not through elegant bios or curated pictures, but via shared 'frailty.' And one candid question unified them: 'Do you feel lonely too?' In a city where displaying vulnerability is frequently dodged, perhaps the path forward starts with honesty. With tiny acts of courage—an authentic question, a candid response, an offer to connect past the superficial. Loneliness may be hushed, but it doesn't have to be experienced all on your own.
News.com.au
4 days ago
- General
- News.com.au
How many close friends do you really need?
In 2025, many of us are living alone. Or we live with housemates, cotenants, flatmates – people who may share a fridge, a lease, even a dog, but not necessarily our inner world. While the population swells in our cities, and digital devices keep us constantly connected, many of us live in a kind of emotional isolation. We go to work, we cook our meals, we scroll our phones, we answer messages – and still feel deeply alone. For generations, it was a given that our romantic partner, our spouse, was also our closest confidante – the person we could cry in front of, confide in, lean on when the day had simply been too much. But for some, the presence of a partner only throws the lack of connection into sharper relief. Intimacy cannot be assumed. And for the growing number of people living solo, the question becomes starker: if not a partner, then who? The answer, it turns out, is friends. Not a friend. Friends – plural. Research from News Corp's Growth Distillery with Medibank reveals that those with the best self-reported mental wellbeing are also those with the most people in their corner. On average, people with high wellbeing have five people they can rely on; those with poorer mental health report just over three. Australia is in the grips of a mental health crisis, and people are struggling to know who to turn to, especially our younger generations. Can We Talk? is a News Corp awareness campaign, in partnership with Medibank, equipping Aussies with the skills needs to have the most important conversation of their life. That gap might sound small, but in practice, it's enormous. It's the difference between feeling like there's always someone you can call, and running through a dwindling mental list of names when things start to unravel. The data is compelling. It confirms what many of us know instinctively, but sometimes forget to prioritise: that connection is not an optional extra — it is vital. Friendship is not decoration for a busy life. It is one of the structures that hold us upright. And yet, many Australians don't feel able to build or rely on that structure. The research also found that nearly half of us feel unprepared or unsure how to talk about mental health – even when someone turns to us for help. And when it comes to talking about our own struggles, we hold back out of fear: not fear of judgement, but fear of burdening others. We silence ourselves to protect the people we care about, not realising that this silence builds barriers where we need bridges. What emerges from this research is not just a picture of loneliness, but a profound uncertainty about how to connect in meaningful ways. Many of us are deeply social in practice – attending events, replying to group chats, showing up for work drinks – but feel emotionally cut off. We keep things light. We're funny, dependable, generous. But not vulnerable. Not fully ourselves. And in doing so, we miss out on the nourishment that true connection can bring. It's tempting to try to solve this with another app, a new social initiative, a government-funded campaign. And those all have their place. But there's something more elemental at stake here – something that doesn't require policy or innovation, but courage. We need to talk to our friends. Really talk. We need to be brave enough to say, 'I'm not okay.' Or even just, 'I'm struggling today.' We need to listen to each other without scrambling for solutions. To be present, even if we don't have the perfect words. Of course, that kind of honesty doesn't appear overnight. It takes time, and trust. But the alternative – isolation, both physical and emotional – carries its own costs. Mental ill-health is not just a personal issue. It's a public one. It affects families, workplaces, healthcare systems, communities. And it's growing. We cannot afford to pretend that mental wellbeing is something people can cultivate entirely alone. The most resilient among us still need others. That's why the link between support networks and mental health is so powerful. It gives us something tangible to work with. If we want to improve wellbeing, we can start by expanding our circles. That might mean reaching out to old friends and suggesting a catch-up that's more than just a walk-and-talk. It might mean gently probing when someone gives a breezy 'I'm fine' that doesn't ring true. It might mean noticing who is always the listener and never the speaker – and inviting them to take up space. These small actions don't always feel like mental health interventions, but they are. A text message that says 'thinking of you' might be the first step out of someone's emotional fog. A regular coffee catch-up might become someone's only appointment they truly look forward to. We don't need to be therapists to be impactful. We just need to be consistent, and willing to show up – even imperfectly. And we need to remind ourselves, too, that we are not burdens. If someone cares for us, they probably want to know how we really are. It is not weak to need others. It is human. In a culture that prizes independence and stoicism, this may feel radical. But if the research tells us anything, it's that no one thrives in isolation. We thrive in connection. We flourish in friendship. So maybe the real message from all this data isn't about mental health campaigns or social trends. Maybe it's simpler. Maybe it's this: pick up the phone. Send the message. Make the plan. Build the net before you fall. Because one day, you might need it. And so might someone else.
Condé Nast Traveler
5 days ago
- Condé Nast Traveler
How Gentrification Continues to Change Mexico City—and What Comes Next
Mexico City has always been a complex destination. As the son of Mexican immigrants from Veracruz, I don't remember my first trip to the Mexican capital—a place where some of my closest friends and family members have been born, raised, and in some cases, buried. But as a child, I remember it being a non-destination with a gritty exterior; a smoggy behemoth of urban sprawl that other Mexicans would joke about never wanting to visit. Still, the oldest and largest metropolis in North America—and a primary gateway into Latin America for travelers worldwide—has always emitted a type of magic, with live folk bands roaming Plaza Garibaldi; the world largest collection of Mesoamerican relics in the heart of Parque Chapultepec; and lard-rubbed Gaonera tacos slung from crammed streetside stalls. There's an unvarnished vibrancy of Mexican life, beside a swirling mix of global influences and ideas that have historically been embraced. Everything from the food to art of this metropolis has the fingerprint of immigrant communities who have arrived from overseas and within the country. But in recent years, the influx of Americans and Europeans specifically has reached a crescendo. Now, it seems the city has become too beloved for its own good. In early July, hundreds of Mexican nationals took to Mexico City's streets to protest the current realities of a city that now seems to embrace foreigners at the cost of locals' needs. The protests were concentrated in the upscale neighborhoods of Roma and Condesa, where the biggest cluster of international visitors and residents have flocked in record numbers since the pandemic, drawn by internationally acclaimed restaurants and bars, designer boutiques, and Instagram-friendly façades—and where the cost of living has risen exorbitantly in response. A number of interconnected factors can be blamed (Airbnb, digital nomads themselves, government policy), but demonstrators are clear that their way of living has been altered by this massive influx of people, and something has got to give. In the past five years alone, the average rent costs around Cuauhtémoc, a desirable municipality that encompasses the trendiest zip codes, have swelled by 30%. During that same window, the amount of US citizens who initiated or renewed their residency visas in Mexico City increased by nearly 70%. Yet, as rent and property values have skyrocketed, wages have remained relatively stagnant and in some cases decreased for the Mexican workforce. Some estimates on the average American salary place it at between double and triple the average Mexico City salary. In neighborhoods like Condesa, rents in many apartment buildings are now reflective of what foreigners with higher salaries can afford, rather than what locals are able to pay in pesos. The effects on everyday Chilangos are devastating as the market adjusts to US dollars and euros, and businesses overly cater to the tourists who earn in those currencies. Many blame the government primarily for overreaching in its attempt to transform the city into a global hub. In 2016, El Distrito Federal de México (DF), as it was formerly known, was legislatively renamed as Ciudad de México (CDMX) to more closely resemble its English-sounding name, Mexico City. It signaled the early stages of a judicial overhaul to clean up the city's image. The corporate-coded rebranding came packaged with a glossy paint job, in which the city's taxis and public letterings were cast in bright pink as an effort to soften the city's appearance for incoming visitors. (The color was selected based on study groups and the perception of safety). The Condesa neighborhood in Mexico City has been one of those most impacted by gentrification in recent years, with the cost of living surpassing what some longtime residents can pay. erlucho/Getty As locals are pushed from central neighborhoods to the outskirts of the city, "the social fabric of the place starts to deteriorate over time' says resident Paul Lara. Linka A Odom/Getty In a capital known for its gastronomic wonders, restaurants have been a focal point. The city's hardest-to-get tables are often dominated by foreigners, some of whom make restaurant reservations at destination-worthy spots before even booking their flights there. It raises an even bigger question: Who are these restaurants for? At times, the city's beloved restaurants have served as harbingers of oncoming gentrification. In others, they've remained as symbols of an enduring past.
Yahoo
20-07-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Woman Threatens to Move Out If Husband Allows Sister to Move Into Their 2-Bedroom Apartment
With her husband and their toddler in their two-bedroom apartment, adding another person would be too much for this womanNEED TO KNOW A man told his wife that his sister needed a place to stay, and he suggested she crash in their two-bedroom apartment However, with their toddler sleeping in their second bedroom, the wife said no She told her husband that if his sister moved in, she would move outA woman found herself at odds with her husband after telling him that his sister couldn't stay at their apartment. In a Reddit post, the woman shares that she lives with her husband and their toddler in a small two-bedroom apartment. The second bedroom is reserved for the toddler, and they don't have a guest room or spare mattress. However, her husband's sister recently called and said she needed a place to 'stay for a while.' "No details. Just boom, she's on her way. She's not asking. She's telling us," the woman writes. "Apparently she got into it with her roommate and 'can't deal with the drama.' Her words." The woman told her husband "straight up no," not because she doesn't care about his sibling, but because they simply "don't have the space." 'Our kid wakes up if someone breathes too loudly near his room. I'm already running on fumes from the night feedings and the 4 AM cries. The last thing I need is another adult here adding to the chaos,' the woman shares. Her husband then told her that she was 'being cold," noting that family is family and "it's just temporary" — despite not knowing his sister's long-term plans. "I asked how long is temporary. He shrugs. Says a few weeks, maybe a couple months. No plan. No end date. Just vibes and guilt," she writes. "I tried to be clear. I said, If she moves in, I move out. I didn't mean it as a threat. I just meant I literally won't be able to function in this house if she's here full time," she continues. "I'm already stretched thin. This would break me. He looked at me like I'd just kicked his puppy. Said I was forcing him to choose." She noted that it's actually the other way around, as his sister is the one who put them in such a tough place. Still, "now things are tense" and her husband is "barely talking" to her, all while his sister keeps trying to "guilt-bait" him. 'I feel like the bad guy. Like I'm this evil wife keeping his poor sister out on the streets or something. But also I'm tired of always being the one who bends,' the woman confesses. Never miss a story — sign up for to stay up-to-date on the best of what PEOPLE has to offer, from celebrity news to compelling human interest stories. Most Redditors came to her defense, applauding her for putting her foot down. 'She hasn't been evicted. Unless she is in actual danger then she doesn't need the help she is asking for. That kind of help is for emergencies not for not being able to handle the drama,' one person wrote, to which the poster replied, 'Thanks. I agree help should go to those truly in crisis. She's stressed, but this isn't an emergency.' Read the original article on People Solve the daily Crossword
The Guardian
16-07-2025
- General
- The Guardian
My friends made plans without me – is it weird to invite myself?
I'm at the pub with my friend, catching up over drinks, when her friend walks in – let's call her Clara. Clara mentions the party she's throwing next weekend. Our mutual friend is counting down the days, but it's news to me. I arrange my face into an expression of polite interest, imagining that they will soon move on. But they keep going – about Clara's preparations, the drinks she's ordered, the DJ. It's not that I expect an invitation – I don't know her well – but their focused discussion is starting to feel pointed, especially in the small city we share. I can't help feeling left out. Finally, they turn to a new topic, but the interaction leaves me feeling uneasy and insecure, like I'd just been dragged back to high school. Were they really excluding me, or should I have angled for an invite? New research has shed light on the psychology of 'self-invitation', and why people hold back from asking to join others' plans. Psychologists staged eight experiments, involving both hypothetical scenarios and participants' real-life experiences, and found that anxieties associated with 'self-inviting' were rooted in misunderstandings about the organiser's mindset. Namely, the study found that when we learn friends have made plans without us, we tend to overestimate the possibility that they had decided against inviting us, rather than just being preoccupied with other things. We also overestimate how irritated they would be if we asked to join. In fact, researchers found that, more often than not, organisers would prefer we did, and that including us had probably 'merely slipped their mind'. When we jump to the conclusion that we've been deliberately excluded, we're usually projecting our anxieties and insecurities, says Daniel M Grossman, an assistant professor of marketing at the University of Missouri-St Louis, who co-authored the paper. 'We're not very good at reading others' minds and motivations – or even our own, sometimes.' For example, we generally assume that we've been actively considered and discounted when, in reality, organisers are likely to have been busy with logistics such as finding a time that suits everyone or booking tickets. 'We have this natural, egocentric tendency to overestimate how much people are considering us or paying attention to us in general – not just with invitations but also the clothing we wear, our appearance and our behaviours,' Grossman says. Sometimes, people are left out on purpose, he allows: 'I don't want to say that never happens.' But his study suggests it's more likely that our names just didn't come up, or the organisers didn't think we'd be interested. After all, Grossman points out, if friends had really meant to exclude us, they probably wouldn't be so open about their plans. 'Organisers really can't think about including everyone, to everything they decide to do. I think that's an exhausting expectation to put on anyone.' Likewise, we hold back from asking to join in because we believe that would be irritating to organisers when Grossman found that – not always, but often – they would rather we did. That said, Grossman says, it can be nerve-racking to put yourself out there, even with people you're close to. His research didn't explore individual differences, but he suspects that traits like high self-confidence, low sensitivity to rejection and strong social belonging might make people feel more comfortable asking to be included. Conversely, those high in social anxiety, or 'especially concerned with impression management', may be more hesitant. Prior experiences may also play a part. 'If you had one experience growing up when you said 'Hey, can I join?' and someone said no – these rejections really stick with us, especially when they occur at a younger age,' Grossman says. Feeling left out is the core fear of the teenager – hence why my run-in with Clara felt so adolescent. But we don't have to stick with those internal scripts. Sign up to Well Actually Practical advice, expert insights and answers to your questions about how to live a good life after newsletter promotion I became more comfortable taking social risks when I moved countries – first aged 23, then again at 26. I learned to be quite shameless about asking to join colleagues and acquaintances in their plans because my social life depended on it. Most were more than accommodating, introducing me to friends and new circles. On the occasions when they politely brushed me off, I tried not to take it personally – I'd benefited from taking the chance and flexing my social muscle. Grossman says people routinely overestimate the discomfort, awkwardness or pain of social rejection. Even asking to be included is likely not as difficult (or excruciating) as they may imagine. Across their eight experiments, Grossman and his team tested two approaches to 'self-inviting': asking 'That sounds like a great time – can I come with you?' versus stating, 'I'll join you'. The latter is less common and 'a lot more assertive', Grossman says – even 'a little bit presumptuous'. Yet the researchers found the outcome was no different 'whether the self-inviter asked to join, or simply stated that they would'. Grossman nevertheless recommends asking nicely – with an emphasis on the word 'ask'. (I tend to drop obvious hints, like 'I've always wanted to do that – and I'm free that day!') More from Why am I like this: I'm an adult. Why do I regress under my parents' roof? I like my own company. But do I spend too much time alone? People say you'll know – but will I regret not having children? Grossman's findings don't necessarily mean that 'all self-invitations are going to be met with open arms', he adds: context such as the nature of the plans, the closeness of the relationship and the personality of the self-inviter 'all likely play a role in how the self-invitation is received'. Additionally, the study only looked at casual, everyday plans, like going to see a film or for a walk in the park, rather than formal events with curated guest lists, like weddings. Still, Grossman believes the results should encourage us to take more social risks. 'Overall, our findings suggest that many people are missing opportunities for connection out of this fear that oftentimes we find is overestimated,' he says. Organisers can do their bit by making invitations explicit, instead of assuming that others will infer that they're included or else feel comfortable asking to come. 'Just a 'You're welcome to come' dissipates all of that,' Grossman says.Z After speaking with him, I stumble upon a template on Instagram that lists 'Activities I like being invited to'; it has been shared over 136,000 times, personalised with each user's preferences. Some people signal that they're keen for camping and clubbing but not karaoke; others are open to going for a run, but not to a bar. I am reminded of the different ways there are to spend time together, and feel inspired to take initiative, as Grossman suggested. Connection isn't a zero-sum game, split between organisers and guests. Instead of waiting to be invited, or asking to be invited, we can also create more opportunities for socialising. When my friend mentions she's going to try a new pilates studio, I don't hesitate to ask if I can tag along. I'd have survived a rejection, but she says yes – and when another friend asks me if she can come too, so do I.
