There’s a Saturday Night Live sketch that I really love, “Food and YouTube.” In it, SNL cast members Chris Redd and Bowen Yang spoof their favourite evening activity in a music video: eating alone while watching YouTube. For them, the two activities go hand in hand, a reminder of the solo dining experience. (Lizzo even makes an appearance as the YouTube algorithm recommending content to watch, an inclusion I especially appreciate as I study the Internet here at Oxford.)
I could relate. As a freshly minted MSc student, I, as I’m sure many else have, have found it a bit difficult to transition back into the mindset of being a student. I spent two years in the workforce. Despite still being fairly in tune with my college years, it’s an entirely different experience coming to a new country and all the new cultural norms that come with that. That often means facing a slew of changes.
Yet, if there’s one thing that’s stayed the same, it’s the practice—and for me as an introvert, a privilege—of eating alone. When I first started my job, I found it a bit overwhelming having to sit with a different group of people every day for lunch, having to introduce myself and answer the same questions over and over again. Of course, now that I’m removed from it, I realise how grateful I am for that experience. Los Angeles was and still is a city of networking, after all. To have that opportunity to meet so many people working in the film and TV industry is one I won’t ever take for granted, even if I’ve stepped out of that industry for a year here at Oxford. There, over salads and Erewhon smoothies, I would talk about what I was currently watching and my dream to work as a creative development executive in Hollywood. My co-workers, my lunch mates, would nod enthusiastically. They’d volunteer their tips and advice for how I could fulfill my dream, because most of them had similar dreams.
That answer’s changed a bit (although I still consider my former Hollywood dream a fundamental part of my current identity). Coming to Oxford, I’ve realized that I’ve been having similar conversations over lunches with my new classmates. During the first few weeks, I ate lunch with a changing group nearly every day. We asked the questions characteristic of introductions, albeit different from my time in Hollywood. Instead of what kinds of movies and TV we were watching and what our dreams in the entertainment industry were though, it seemed like the dominant topic of interest was what we were thinking about for our thesis.
I won’t lie and say that hearing about my classmates’ worldly experiences and accomplishments, so different from mine, didn’t contribute to my imposter syndrome a bit. It’s an experience that I think is probably very common across the university. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was a place for me here, someone whose work in entertainment seemed to contrast with academia and whose extensive knowledge of popular culture was just a footnote—whereas in Los Angeles, it was a necessity for the industry.
In a situation where it seemed like I was so far removed from what I knew, I struggled to find my footing. I found it whilst eating alone again.
If that sounds strange and a bit misguided, let me clarify. One aspect of my work experience I forgot was that after the first week of being a new employee, everyone settled into their respective lunch groups and appointments again. I panicked a bit, having not found a group. Then, I chose to eat lunch alone. After hours of speaking to my co-workers, of learning about them and their work ethics, I would go to a nearby food market and just sit by myself eating a chicken wrap. I’d watch YouTube videos on my phone, just like in “Food and YouTube,” and revel in the alone time I had where there was nothing between me and the wonderful garlic sauce in my chicken shawarma.
(It wasn’t always chicken shawarma, of course. Sometimes it’d be ramen. Other times, it’d be a burger. There were lots of different options around the office.)
I think there’s often a pressure to have meals serve as a social experience. I’m not arguing against that. Our Oxford dining halls exist for a reason, and to have intellectual debate over meals is a privilege, one that truly exemplifies the spirit of the university. It was through eating with others that I became awestruck by just how impressive and intelligent my classmates are, and how privileged I am to have been placed in a course alongside them. I love the experience of learning about others during meals. It truly shows how food can oftentimes be a means of connection.
On the other hand, it can also be a means of connection with yourself. In certain moments after induction week, I panicked similarly at the thought that everyone had already settled into their respective meal groups. It was just like work, except this time, I felt a bit more isolated. In Los Angeles, I could simply go back to my apartment after six. If you’re an international student studying at Oxford, oftentimes Oxford is your whole life. It’s the university that got me a student visa. It’s the university that I live at on a 24/7 basis. It’s the university that I fundamentally appreciate being able to learn at and to hopefully receive a degree from. To even briefly consider that you might not have a regular group to eat with — in the setting that will define your identity for the next year, no less — can feel alienating. For me, I wondered if that was a sign that I still hadn’t found my place. That I didn’t belong here.
Then I realised that I had already found my place. Instead of racing after my classmates, pleading to infiltrate their group and have dinner with them, I walked the other way. I settled at a table for one in a restaurant where I enjoyed a bowl of noodles and watched Bollywood stars on my phone. I liked having that time to reflect, to exist without worrying about if I was interacting with others the “right” or socially acceptable way. I had a flashback to when I was in Los Angeles during my lunch break. It was a reminder that some things stay the same.
Eating alone, I could better savour the spiciness of the chilli oil and the crunch of the scallion pieces. Maybe tomorrow, I’d find another group to eat lunch with. Maybe tomorrow, I’d marvel at their brilliance again over chicken and chips. But that would be another day. For that moment, there was a kind of joy in just me, food and YouTube.