A Love Song, a Typewriter, and the Art of Being Single

A serendipitous record-store find and a poem about singlehood remind me that there’s romance in living life on my own terms

 

If I’m not catching up on laundry over the weekend, you’ll likely find me wandering through night markets and browsing pop-up shops. There’s something lovely about these little excursions—the unexpected finds, the creative people you meet, and the feeling that a perfectly ordinary afternoon might turn into a story worth telling.

 

Recently, I found myself at a pop-up event at Neighbor Cafe, where Eulvintage Recordstore and the Iloilo Typewriter Poets Collective offered two very different kinds of nostalgia: Japanese and US-pressed vinyl records for music lovers, and personalized poems composed on an old-fashioned typewriter for the romantics among us.

 

Naturally, I was drawn to both.

 

When the Vinyl Finds You

 

Among the records, I spotted a John Waite album featuring Missing You, one of my all-time favorite songs. I didn’t think twice about buying it. Finding a copy had always seemed like the sort of thing that would require a little luck and a great deal of searching. Yet there it was, waiting for me among the stacks.

 

I have a soft spot for discoveries like this. In a world where almost everything is available at the tap of a screen, stumbling upon something you’ve long wanted feels wonderfully old-fashioned. There’s the thrill of the hunt, the joy of holding your find in your hands, and the quiet satisfaction of knowing you didn’t have to chase it after all.

 

The vinyl found me. And somehow, that made it all the more special.

 

A Poem for the Solo Romantic

 

At the same pop-up, the Iloilo Typewriter Poets Collective offered personalized poems for a small donation. You could share a thought, a feeling, or a little piece of your life and have it transformed into something written just for you.

 

I requested a poem about singlehood.

 

Perhaps it was curiosity that prompted me, or perhaps I simply wanted to see what a stranger might make of this particular chapter of my life. Whatever the reason, I didn’t expect a few lines typed on a sheet of paper to leave such a lasting impression.

 

What I received was a gentle reminder of the freedom that comes with being on my own. Singlehood, after all, need not be defined by what is absent. It can just as easily be about the life you choose to create: the places you explore, the interests you pursue, the quiet weekends you enjoy, and the decisions you make entirely for yourself.

 

There is a certain romance in that kind of independence, too.

 

The Beautiful Thing About Being on Your Own

 

Perhaps that is what I loved most about the experience. I arrived looking for little treasures and left with something more meaningful than a record and a poem. Both reminded me that life has a way of surprising us when we leave a little room for spontaneity.

 

One brought back the familiar ache of a favorite love song; the other offered a fresh perspective on a life lived independently. Together, they made an unexpectedly fitting pair.

 

I still believe in romance—in the songs that stir old feelings, the handwritten notes we keep, and the little things that make an ordinary day feel extraordinary. But I’ve come to appreciate that romance doesn't always have to revolve around another person. Sometimes, it is found in a record you weren't expecting to find, a poem written just for you, or a weekend spent following your own curiosity.

 

And if that isn't a lovely way to spend a Saturday afternoon, I don't know what is.