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.