A friend recently wrote a melancholic post. She particularly shared her sentiments over the man she used to
(and I believe she still) love and how she felt after learning that he will soon be married. I’ve never been to her shoes. But surely, I know how it feels to be depressed.
Her post was so infectious so I ended up contemplating of my own pathetic and stupid love story. Or should I slap myself to remind me that I never had a real one anyway.
For those who have been reading my blog, you can perhaps feel that I seldom write about this aspect of my life. For two reasons, I never had a movie or a novel worthy story to share. I’m also afraid that the person will be able to read me and I just can’t imagine the succeeding events that are about to unfold. Lastly, a number of my students have discovered this blog. I wouldn’t know to react when a kid will suddenly utter something that would remind me of my blog.
But since I started this post, let this count as one of the rarest instances when I finally had the courage to write everything. Allow me to share my first story.
We were never introduced. It was me who took all the means to know him. When I shared him to my friends, most of them gave me one advice: better to try and fail than regret because of never trying. Nothing can be more painful than saying, it could have been. Though I have one friend who strongly opposed everything, she never appealed to my senses.
It went like a year of chasing and enabling all means for our paths to cross. I intentionally maneuvered situations for us to be given the opportunity to at least talk. That was my only wish then, a chance. After some months, I felt that time is no longer on my side. Those counted sight seeings will not work out. My good old friends even connived with me for that one great dinner. However, things obviously never get in the way. I was also placed in a situation when I thought that my life would be over. So I did the last pathetic thing, I sent the text message that changed everything. I gave my self false hopes. I held on to something I know wouldn’t work. I ended enduring self inflicted wounds.
It was a tragic story on my part and obviously the opposite for him. I committed something unforgivable and I guess, everything was later beneficial to his relief.
There was no point of getting over him because who am I to claim ownership to something I never had anyway? But each month after the incident became a silent struggle to forget and forgive myself. I felt so insecure, bad and the ugliest. My self imposed suffering and hatred further made me stereotype all men. I conditioned myself that men only care for outer looks than the inner nooks. I’m still firm in carrying such belief. It’s just that the main difference now is that I learned how to not become so much affected by the painful reality.
The painful past I made will be there forever. However, time and distance contributed in my much needed stage of moving on and finally closing that chapter of my life. I was able to finish my MBA, opportunities in my career came, I rediscovered blogging, and I accomplished things I never thought I could. I gradually forget and forgave myself.
Fast forward now, I thought everything was over. Destiny wanted to test me and our paths crossed again. I was given another opportunity to rekindle and work out everything. If this happened years ago, I would have reacted differently. But things are no longer the same. I believe I’ve changed. I admit that he still affected me. But I was firm of not giving in to the temptation. At this point, I believe I’ve done my share. God knows that as well. If there will be second chances, if it was meant it, I’ll let destiny work on its own now.