Having a ‘third place’
I have never felt such insurmountable loneliness in my early adulthood until recently. I regularly work from home, unlike all of my friends. They either go to a government office every day, visit their corporate offices twice or thrice a week, meet up with people to work at a café or co-working space over plates of expensive pastry, or drive together to wherever their bosses need them to be every other business day.
Whatever their setup is, as long as they’re working with others in a physical space, they have lunch in the presence of people with similar experiences and woes. They announce their departure from their respective seats at the end of their shifts. They fall into step next to the people they promised to grab a quick drink with after work. They change into the clothes they will sweat into until the earliest hours of morrow—whether it’s a sparkly dress or a shirt with their surname and number at the back.
They have a third place.
But what exactly is a “third place”? A third place, a term coined by sociologist Ray Oldenburg, is a place where people build social connections willingly outside of home and work. Coffee shops, churches, and gyms are some of the most popular examples.
As it turns out, at this very crucial age of needing a third place, I don’t have one.
Instead, I’m at home, using my bedroom both as a place of rest and of work because it’s the only space where my senses are generally void of overstimulation. My bedroom is my first and second place and, on the days when I excitedly hop into bed after taking my second bath and prepare to tell my girlfriend about my emotional rollercoaster of a day, my scarecrow of a third place against impending existential dread.
Being an early twentysomething is lonely; I’m certain everyone agrees in some way. We mourn the short-lived childhood we went through trying to feel more of an adult, annually look at pictures from a year back and think about how we looked much better then, scroll through our feed and feel that creeping and ever-growing green monster when we look at strangers living our dream, and borrow huge heaps of grief from the future. We can’t seem to enjoy the present as much.
That is, until we’re surrounded by the people we love.
When we spend time with our friends, we think that there’s not one problem that can’t be solved with a cup of iced coffee and repetitive gossip about people we agree will never experience character development for the rest of their lives. Such is the power of friendship.
Ultimately, the power of third places rests on the rapport that we form in these spaces. Whether it’s sitting down for overpriced matcha with an old friend every other week, going to the cinema with other members of our college organization whenever an A24 creation screens locally, playing badminton with the unofficial club we formed at work, singing our heart out every Friday night at a KTV bar with a mix of lovable and detestable colleagues, or enjoying the company of strangers and a bartender at a quaint bar near home who knows our drink like the back of their hand, we need a third place.
I need a third place.
I used to have one. Or several. In high school, I would save up my allowance to have ample budget for a trip to the mall or the nearest McDonald’s after school. In college, I loved one of my college organizations so much that I made sure to attend every weekly meeting. On weeks when we didn’t have any, I would slip on my thickest jacket and pretend to study with my friends at the ever-freezing Starbucks right next to the campus entrance, popping a Cetirizine into my mouth whenever the hives started popping on my sensitive skin.
Now, all my friends have their new third places after college. I may just be the only one left trying to convince myself on most days that I’m doing just fine without one. But I desperately need one.
The solution seems easy, I know. You might be thinking along the lines of “Why don’t you just find hybrid work?” or “You’re working from home so that means you have more time for that third place” or “Don’t you have a partner?” or “Why can’t you just ask your friends?”
Not everyone can afford a third place, especially when social media promotes overconsumption as the only way of curbing loneliness among confused young adults. It’s so draining to try to explain that it’s financially, mentally, geographically, emotionally, and physically difficult to seek a third place for now.
So, if you already have a third place, cherish it. Even if things aren’t always good in your third place, as long as it makes you feel safe, you’re in the right space. I’m happy that my friends have theirs. As for me, I’m wholeheartedly admitting that I need my third place. I won’t lose hope trying to find it. Who knows? I might have already been acquainted with that certain space and I just need to make another trip to recognize it as the “third place” that it actually is.
If this resonates with you, I hope you find your third place, too.
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Mary Joyce Bernal, 24, is a queer writer and artist from Parañaque City. She loves eating mangoes and watching movies that feel like a warm hug.
