letter to an ex-lover.

When you left,

I made up my mind to do a couple of things, that I may not have been able to do immediately; but I knew I would eventually. So I sat around mulling things over (bitterly, I might add) for a couple of months; and in the subsequent months that followed, I doused myself in self-destruction to distract myself from the pain of having lost you/your absence in my otherwise dimming life.

I felt then, and even truly believed that I would probably never get over you. 10 months, it did not seem like such a length in my life and regardless of whether I told people “what’s 10 months to a lifetime”, you still meant the most to me at one period in my life.

Look at me now, almost hitting 6 months in our separation and I probably couldn’t be feeling better. If you’re asking why, the answer is simple and rather brutal – I learnt to live with myself, without you and the hard way.

I felt like I had a lot of things to say to you. Unspoken things, things I never got to say, things that I felt after our nasty break up and things that I probably will never be able to say.

For one, I would never be able to call you mine again. And neither would you be able to call me “yours”.

I poured over the collection of things you gave to me and wondered what I could do with it. I hid them at the back of my closet and in the deepest confines of my cupboard. I put them out of my mind, avoided them and brushed past them when I encountered them. I filed all the letters you wrote me, and shoved them into the stack of files I already had piling up – I didn’t bank on it spilling out all over the floor (as dramatic as it sounds) one day, just like in the movies; and I made myself go through the painstaking effort of reading through every single letter you wrote. I cried. And I can shamelessly admit to crying, bawling and sobbing over it.

I stared at the one (and only) polaroid photograph of us during happier days which I had pinned to my mood board. I told myself that I would take it down when I was ready. The night before we hit 4 months of separation, it was still pinned there, behind newer photographs of more recent and pleasant memories. I wondered then, if I would ever have the strength to take it down.

I did, eventually. At 5 months, I took one look at it and told myself that enough was enough, I would never be ready and I would just have to deal with it. So away that photograph went, into an envelope filled with other photographs of my past.

I couldn’t seem to stop writing to you. I wrote you countless letters addressed to you, ones I knew you’d never read. All unfinished, because I would end up breaking down halfway through them. I’m almost halfway through this, and I’m nowhere near sad over you.

I wrote and wrote and wrote – all of it, was about you. Of us, of the tragedy of our romance and what I would dub the “greatest love of my life”. I wrote anguished letters addressed to you, but kept them hidden on a folder of my computer. I wrought havoc within the prison walls of my own head, I was prisoner in there. And although they say heartache is a horrible and dreadful thing, I still believe it is one of the most beautiful and wondrous things.

I prayed hard for the day that I would wake and no longer be moved by your smile, or your tears or even bothered by you. That day and has passed, but I still write about you, because throughout this entire experience, I still draw inspiration from our history and the ordeal that we went through. I am no longer bitter and this newfound flow of happiness could not make me any happier than I am today.

For the longest of times, every single thing I did or saw reminded me of you. Everywhere I went, every time I tried to start afresh, it was like you had a hold on me even if you were no longer in my life. I resented that hold you had on me.

I wondered why my heart kept giving way whenever I listened to songs about heartbreak, or the mere thought of you could send me into a grief-stricken phase. It was miserable. I wasn’t even doing me anymore. I was paralyzed with grief, burdened by my inability to let you go.

Each time I met someone new, all I could think about was how they weren’t you. And I hated myself for feeling like I could not move on, could not be someone better – not for your sake, but mine. I was tired of the sympathy the people around me displayed whenever you were brought into the conversation. I anticipated with such longing the day I would one day wake and not be affected by you, one bit.

But until then, I knew that I would still be haunted by the lack of closure we had; and the lack of cordiality you display whenever we meet. Your desire to keep me at arms-length both offended and insulted me. Did I not mean anything to you that you no longer want to be friends?

It bothered me for a very long time.

But it doesn’t bother me anymore.

Just as I think I’m about to get over you, I relapse back to step one. Many a night, I spent wondering why the hell you couldn’t leave me alone. Why is it that my memory of you is so strong, that even though I despise the person that you turned out to be, I was still in love with the idea of you.

I grieved for you. In my own way. And in my grief, I have done many wrong to myself.

I dreaded the day I would see you with another girl. I can’t say I anticipated it would be this soon, but I am sure, neither did you. I think I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to hold myself together; that I wouldn’t be over you and more importantly, that I would be reminded that I was alone and still sad.

When it did happen though, I never imagined that I would be smiling and laughing as though my heart were afloat. When I saw you kiss her, I cannot describe the unimaginable relief that flooded my being. It came with the simultaneous realization that I had let you go in more ways than one – I had let you go completely, and I no longer had any other expectations of you.

Armed with this renewed sense of comfort and strength, I knew I had survived the worst time of my life.

As I emerged from the fiery trial of this heart-wrenching experience, I believed that I should no longer indulge in such seriousness in brief encounters I would have otherwise labelled “relationships”. I would no longer address them with a potential future in mind, I would dabble in them, draw the best out of it and move on. You taught me a valuable lesson, that emotions are fickle; and so are people. Some will treat you best when it’s fresh, and once the feeling of novelty wears off, it is a downward spiral to the end – at least until someone cuts it off.

I learnt many lessons from this fiasco of a relationship. I learnt not to dive into anything with any sense of expectations, I would no longer surrender myself emotionally, nor would I give in easily. I would give the benefit of doubt to everyone. Trust and loyalty are earned, friendship above all. That heartbreak should not be romanticized – it is a kind of death; but it is also one of the most devastatingly beautiful things around.

The most important thing of all, I learnt that happiness should not be determined by others. Because people are not consistent, because people leave. And while we pursue happiness, we should always start by being content with ourselves and satisfied with our journey to pursue it. In doing so, we must be happy alone, we must be happy with solitude.

There is a saying about youth, how youth determines the seriousness of anything – so I have decided not to take anything seriously. That I should indulge and enjoy in my youth, and even in my mistakes. For if it’s meant to be, it will be.

Having said all this, I wish to end on a more solemn note. I would like to thank you for showing me what it is like to be in love, and for all the wonderful things you have done for me and taught me – for allowing me to realize my flaws; I shall now focus on working on them. I also owe you an apology, for not allowing you to be wholly and unapologetically yourself.

Although I am no longer in love with you, I will always love you. As a friend, as a person and as one who was previously in love with you. I will always care for you, and sincerely want you to be happy.

And with this, I wish you well.

Goodbye.

Love always,

Steph.

the new guy

My mother always says, nobody is indispensable.

I used to think otherwise.

So imagine my surprise when I replaced the one person I thought I would never get over in the blink of an eye.

It wasn’t without difficulty though.

We met while he was intoxicated and stumbling around. I turned away in disdain, unimpressed. So how was it that his smooth words crawled their way into my heart?

I felt my gaze soften under the intensity of his stare. I stared back, perplexed, confused and skeptical. There wasn’t anything about this guy that stood out particularly to me, except the fact that he wouldn’t let go of my hand and still wasn’t saying anything.

I find myself smiling. Smiling, because for once, I am absolutely and utterly clueless as to what I ought to do.

I don’t have to do anything though. His friends fly in a series of rescue, urging him to let me go and to participate in their group photographs. Still, he smiles and pats my hand. His fingers clasping gently on my wrist. “I’ll come back,” he says, “I’ll come back for you.”

My, I think. The fellow is too handsome for his own good. And mine.

He does, “come back”. And like he promises, he wants my name, number and to know what I like. But against all odds, I say no. I say no because I don’t want him to forget. And he will.

He insists. He doesn’t leave me alone. He smiles at me and whispers in my ear, holding my hand again. Persistent, this rascal.

And as I watch him leave, I know I am in trouble. Because for the first time since I had my heart broken, I am now looking at the next one who will break it. 

road to recovery.

Shakespeare once wrote, “don’t waste your love on somebody who doesn’t value it.”

Now, the road to recovery is likened to the path to paradise – hellish. It is anything but of ease, riddled with challenges, obstacles and obstructions that continuously make you feel like giving up. Some people do, others persevere and press on, working towards a higher purpose. The end result is promising, and beyond satisfying.

I never imagined I would be saying this so soon.

2015 thus far has been the most difficult year of my 20 years. I learned and discovered in ways I can’t even begin to describe.

Here’s the better part. As May merged into June, found myself away from home. Miles away from the city, in the middle of the jungle, amidst the ruins of temples that once held majestic reputations in the ancient world. I have never experienced peace in such a way before, but my trip to Cambodia made it possible for me.

I found peace once more, in a place of worship. Even if the building wasn’t dedicated to that of my religious upbringing, there was a sense of peace and serenity in the air that hung around me. And for once, I was the happiest and most carefree that I had ever been in a very long time.

I navigated the ruins with a sense of ease and hope. I touched the remnants of 11^th century architecture and dreamt of the many stories untold held within the walls of the temple. History is beautiful and rich.

For once, he didn’t fleet into my conscious at 2pm in the afternoon or 3am when I lay awake. In me, I had a renewed sense of thirst for life. I lay in bed, thinking of all the excitement that had occurred during the day, reflecting upon the sights I had seen – and I realized, let no more misery be borne on my shoulders.

I should not confine myself to anymore grieving. 

Letting go does not happen immediately. Nothing will ever hold more truth than time healing all wounds. I no longer think of him, I no longer am concerned about what he does, if we are friends, or with him – I no longer write about him. The victory may be small, but small is a start.

I have come to accept that we are no longer the same people we were, and we will never be. Circumstances have shaped us into who we are and it has been a blessing to face this journey alone.

And so, 5 and a half months down the line, I smile for myself once more.