My metaphor is a grenade

I have been single for close to 100 days after having been in a relationship for close to seven years. In the past 100 days, I have experienced varying emotions - anger, denial, acceptance, fear, loneliness, regret and grief. The Han Chinese mourn for 100 days after the death of a loved one. What is 100 days in comparison to 2,000 days or a lifetime of having known somebody? Loss is colossal. Monumental. A life altering event. 

The best diet is called “heartbreak”, you lose kgs without even trying. I googled “heartbreak” the other day. It is apparently a real condition in which your heart literally breaks inside and your physical body suffers the same way as your heart. I should know. I have nights where I curl into a ball and cry into my pillow. I have days at work (when I should be at my strongest because work is the only place that remains untouched) where I find my thoughts flying in between memories and what-could-have-beens. I could not read emails prior to 1 January 2015 because these emails with a time stamp on it reminded me too much of who I once was when I was with somebody who loved me entirely and whole heartedly. And so I drift in and out of time as the seconds tick by, as the days pass by seemingly oblivious to my broken heart. 

I have in the process managed to drag my family and friends into my emotional turmoil and alienate them. To the point that my own mother has contacted he-who-shall-not-be-named to beg / convince / persuade him to reconsider and take me back. She was unsuccessful evidently. On one particular low day, I drove myself to he-who-shall-not-be-named’s house because I wanted to speak to him. I acted like a complete psycho on the loose. What could I possibly have said that will make things better? The word “sorry” appears to be somewhat inadequate after all the destruction I have created. I don’t know. I function on pure impulse and emotion. My genetic flaws. That was the day I was almost issued with a restraining order. The depths of desperation I went to, just to be loved again. I believe I am ultimately worthless unless I am loved. 

I was unsuccessful on all attempts at contact. Thankfully, my mother has given up. We had numerous conversations. Discourses. Discussions. Arguments even. Sometimes I think she is having a harder time dealing with the aftermath than me. She makes it known that I have blown my only chance at happiness and that I have no one else to blame but myself. We dissect my character to great detail - my impatience, my selfishness, my indecisiveness. My inherent inability to love, honour and sacrifice. 

The path to redemption is long and hard. And if there is any lesson at all to be learned from this is - never take people (or love) for granted. They may not be around forever. 

I am sorry, please forgive me.

I can say this a thousand times over and words still won't be enough to fix the irrevocable damage I have caused to to both of our lives. I read somewhere that pain changes people and I know deep in my heart that you will never be the same person you once were. I take full accountability for my actions and if I could turn back time, I would have chosen differently, every time. 

I am an explosion of immense remorse, guilt and regret. Every little thing that reminds me of you sets me off. I thought of the green monster sitting at the dashboard of your car one day and I ended up crying. 

There is a reason why I have never been able to do inversions at yoga classes. I never learned the lesson of letting go. 

these things I'll never say

My six year relationship ended ten weeks ago. A few days before the start of 2015, I told my ex boyfriend that I could not see us sharing a life together. You know what the ironic part is? My mother had just gone to visit his family during Christmas. I will never know why I picked those exact words. The truth is I am a complicated person. I say the most hurtful things to people I love. I once told my father that I will not attend his funeral even if he died. What kind of daughter does that make me in spite of my Confucius upbringing?

The ex boyfriend and I were of different race and faith. He insists that these key differences were the catalysts of our demise. I was in his on words, uncomfortable with the fact that he is Indian and Catholic. I probably was whenever I was with his family (Indians) and friends (Catholics). I am generally uncomfortable with social functions. I get anxious if I have to be around crowds and large groups of people. Sometimes i think it has less to do with race and religion and more to do with my inherent personality. 

I may have once asked him why he eats with his hands. But then again, I could have asked that same question to my brother who only eats nasi kandar with his hands. I get irritated by the smallest of things - noisy eaters, Chinese couples in lifts, fat people, slow and fast drivers, the DJ that gives the traffic report on the radio, bony girls, etc. In retrospect, the question about eating with his hands is inconsequential in the larger scheme of things. It was merely a question made in bad taste. 

While growing up, I’ve always thought i’d have one or two children. I wanted my future children to learn the violin, swim every weekend and speak three languages fluently. I wanted to raise children that would have all the things in life I didn’t; money, material things, a loving home and parents that don’t fight physically. In my mid to late 20s, the idea of children scared me primarily because of how little time i had. Work and the everyday dramas of office life consumed me. I was obsessed with becoming the perfect employee. I would cry myself to sleep if I made a small mistake at work and I wanted to please my boss, my colleagues and (recently) my own subordinates. I was overwhelmed and perpetually stressed. I wasn’t sure if I could handle the responsibilities that came with parenting. But I never made up my mind about not wanting to have children. 

I am self-destructive. This, I have always known about myself. I had a great boyfriend whom I took for granted. And it is true what people say about not knowing what you’ve got until it’s gone. I am not idealising the relationship we had; there were many challenges but for most parts, we were happy. I cannot take back what I said. He has made it perfectly clear that he no longer wants us to get back together and he has threatened to call the police if I ever contacted him again. 

I don’t know how we ended up here. I have been lost for the past few days, damaged by the cruelty of his words and actions. We were in love for six damn years and at the end of it all, he wanted the police to arrest me. How does one recover from this? That night I fantasised that I was dead and he would live in regret. Suicide is however beyond me as I lack courage and I could not hurt my parents who have already suffered so much. I went through nights of extreme guilt and agony. I blamed myself for being reckless, indecisive and fickle. I couldn’t find a single redeeming quality in me. 

I still can’t. I now know what it’s like to be completely alone and broken. 

a tainted memory

You will forever be the one who is infallible. Faultless. Blameless.

And I will live with blood on my hands and words that continuously haunt me.

I find a fatal flaw in the logic of love, The Shins sang in Gone for Good. No truer words have ever been spoken. Love has an expiry date. People love you only for a set amount of time and because love is generally believed to be a decision, people can also choose to stop loving you. I have been told I was loved repeatedly for six years, until one day when I could not give the other person what he desired, he decided to stop loving me. It is an objective and logical choice devoid of any real emotion and feeling. Because love is never an emotion, it is a decision.

That is the danger of love being a choice. Just as much as you can choose to love someone, you can also easily choose not to.