Solo Date with Myself: Searching for Peace & Self-Love

Week 3 of 2026 has gone. I buried it with great love. Life is short. We should love each and every day dearly. Since I started documenting my life in 2024, I can honestly feel that life is getting better—literally. I’ve grown especially fond of writing weekly reviews as a way to say goodbye to each passing week. It feels ceremonial, almost sacred.

With the tone I set for 2026—An Amazingly Gorgeous Rhythm—I want to share one high note and one low note from this week as well.

The High Note: First Solo Date This Year

Last Friday, I took myself on a date.

It was cold, but because I was doing something special just for myself, the cold didn’t matter anymore. I’ve decided to rewire my memories of coldness and rain, so I plan to schedule my solo dates every month on days like this whenever possible. I want those kinds of weather to mean tenderness instead of loneliness.

The date—with myself—was sheer peace and beauty. I took myself to one of my favorite restaurants, dressed up cute just for me. The food was, as always, lovely, and I truly enjoyed being there. After eating, I stayed for another hour just to read and soak in the atmosphere.

After that, I walked a few hundred meters to the music room and played the drums. Riding that small musical high, I then went to see a thriller—Return to Silent Hill. The movie itself was just okay; I wouldn’t really recommend it. But honestly, it didn’t matter. When you’re doing things with your favorite person in the world—even if that person is yourself—you feel happy.

I suddenly remembered how many times I’d gone out with other people and come home feeling exhausted. Yet this first date of the year with myself was a full blast. I loved that afternoon more than any other moment last week, and I hope I’ll always remember that this is the kind of dating I’m truly into.

The Low Note: Feeling Unloved

Even in the midst of happiness, storms can appear.

My low point was also about relationships. There’s this guy who once claimed to love me deeply, but when we met again, I could feel that his feelings were gone. I don’t even think I like him anymore, yet it still hurt. There’s a hole there—a quiet absence—and sometimes I feel it.

When he reappeared in my life, I found myself wanting to test whether I was still attractive to him. The result hurt. I felt discouraged, and I hated the thought that nobody might ever love me the way he once promised. Love seemed to disappear for no clear reason.

That realization triggered a deeper sadness: the fear of being unhappy, of being unloved. I’ve always hoped someone could love me forever, but reality keeps showing me different versions of love—shorter, thinner, more fragile. Some people don’t stay even a year or two. Some leave after only a few months.

Is that the nature of love—its inconsistency? Are all those intense beginnings just illusions?

That night, I drowned in self-doubt and disappeared into it. But the next day, I chose to let it go—and I did.

All in all, it was a week filled with love and thoughts about love. We can’t live without it. Humans need love. But if no one gives that love to you, you can always give it to yourself.

Romanticism is not a disease. It’s hope. If you can love yourself with such devotion, then that love must exist in the world. And if it exists in you, there’s a chance someone else will one day love you in the way you wish to be loved. It’s not easy. I know. Beautiful things never are. But don’t lose hope. Before he comes along and dates you, date yourself—like you are the most important person in the world.

Because you are!

Thanks for reading, hope you have a good one.