An Ordinary Break-up (1995)
I was clearing my room yesterday of a decade of accumulated debris, when I chanced across one of my articles written in 1995 for Teens Magazine. I felt that it was one of the better pieces I wrote, especially since I was only 19 when wrote it. So, feeling all narcissistic, I've decided to reproduce it here. After ten years, it still applies to my life. Sigh. LOL.
Thoughts
I find myself thinking of her once in a while, pretty often actually. Odd things, little things, like how she would sit in the bus, I see in the girl sitting across the aisle. How she would draw designs in the chilli sauce with her fries, I would see in the child at the next table. Sometimes, it doesn’t even take such reminders. Thoughts of her would surface unbidden in my mind. It doesn’t take too much to get them to go away, but like a buzzing bumblebee they come back unbidden during my most unguarded times.
I tell my friends how I feel and what I can’t seem to stop from thinking, and they cluck consolingly and say I have not recovered from the break-up. They introduce me to new friends and try to spend time with me. I am grateful, but I still wish I was back with here. It is hard not to think of her when almost everything reminds me of her. I won’t pretend that I’ve cried buckets over her. I haven’t. I’m not even sure whether I’d loved her or not, or whether I still love her. But I cannot deny that I still miss her.
I cannot say that she is always on my mind, often would be a better word. I am sure that had we remained together for a longer period of time, the memories would be more and the loss, greater. As it is, it is bad enough. I make it a habit not to regret anything I have done. But if I knew what I did wrong to drive her away from her, I am sure I would regret it.
Before
We were once happy, and I had always placed her first on my list of priorities. I would do everything for her, if only she said the word and she knew it. I was happy that way, so long as she did not take me for granted. And oftentimes, she did not. I liked placing her on a pedestal; she was everything I’d ever wanted for a girlfriend. To others, she may have been nondescript and unexciting, but to me she was as special as anybody could get in my life. Call it love, infatuation, obsession, crush or plain besotted with her, it was great just having her around.
I was never quite sure that she was happy; all I know was that I was happy when she was around, and now that she is not, I find it very hard to be as joyful again. She never told me how she really felt, but I must have meant something for her to blow almost two years of her life on me. And we enjoyed each other’s company, if nothing else. Every shared activity, be it active or passive, from careening wildly around on rented bikes to simply vegetating in a nearby park, held special meaning to me.
She never did say those three words to me, and it took me a long time to say it to her too. Perhaps we were just overly cautious, and I just wanted to make sure that what I was feeling wasn’t some flash in the pan thing. Then again I wasn’t too worried that she never said, “I love you” to me. I put it down to her usual reserve of character, and was content that someone like her could enjoy the time we’ve had together.
I was never too sure of what changed her the way she did. I only know that it happened.
During
I trust her enough to say that she did not leave me for a third party. She is not the sort. And I suppose that it was through no fault of either one of us that she chose to leave. She told me that she needed time for schoolwork, family and hostel activities and I understood. I truly did. It was simply a matter of a difference in priorities and a person cannot be faulted for having different priorities from me, can she? Yes, that was how I rationalised everything, but still it did not make it any easier that she was not with me anymore. It is a variation of the fact that the ends do not justify the means, I suppose. In this case, justifying the end result does not make the process of breaking up any easier.
I tried to be the boyfriend that she could be proud of. That she could never want for more in any other person. I tried to do everything I thought she would like, that most girls would like. Perhaps I did wrong. But God knows I tried. And yet it still happened. And till now I still do not know what I did wrong. I am not one to believe in retribution, although I’ve done many a callous thing in my life. Yet when she requested for an end to the relationship, she did it without malice and (I believe) after a significant amount of soul-searching. And yet already, it hurts so much on my side. How much more so would it hurt somebody on the receiving end of an impulsive and arbitrary decision to break a long-standing relationship.
It didn’t really sink in until now that she was no longer with me. I was thinking that perhaps now that I am single again, I could rebuild my social life. But all the multitudes of new friends and acquaintances cannot make up for the loss of one precious person. And so, I feel lonely. I am not alone, not by a long shot; every day brings new people into my life. But I feel lonely, because there is emptiness, a void replacing the space where she once held.
Perhaps I became too dependent n her. She was my best friend, girlfriend, escort, lover, all rolled into one. I am sure many out there know the risk of having your better half and your best friend in the same person. If one loses a best friend, he can always turn to his steady; if he goes through a break-up, there is always his best friend. I? I have neither now. When she left, I became lost. Now I have to try to rebuild a social life that has been dormant or non-existent for the past two years.
I tried to save it. I tried everything I could. Discussions, arguments, pleas, begging, threats, tears, tantrums, cold treatment, go-betweens, jealousy. But her perspective has changes since she entered university, and like it or not, I could not change it back. I asked for advice from so many others, others whose advice I held in high regard. I looked through magazines, peering for advice from anonymous writers professing to know a great deal about such matters. But the answers were always the same: Talk to her, talk to her, talk to her! How could I talk to her if she refused to answer? And so I meandered along.
Now
And now? Now I am lonely. I tried to date again, but friends warned me of “rebounds”. Was I trying to find a substitution? Yes, I was. I still am. I feely admit it. There would come a period of pure bliss with someone new, and then the novelty would wear off, leaving a realisation that she was still here, still in my heart. And till now it seems, nothing or no one can dislodge her from my heart. It seems that nothing short of a whack on my head to induce amnesia would do.
Sometimes, in a fit of male-bonding, a group of us all males would go for a drink or two along the riverside, feasting our gullets on good spirit and our eyes on the flesh of the fairer sex. And once in a while, a particularly attractive specimen would be appreciated with watchful glances and a low whistle or two. Like all the other wolves, I stare also. But sometimes I wonder: what are they like underneath all that surface beauty? Are they like her? Only heaven will know.
I look normal: I haven’t lost any weight, nor lost (much) sleep, nor started rending my clothes. I act normal: I haven’t been admitted into the psychiatric wards yet, nor gone on eating/drinking/drug binges. Half the time I feel okay, no outwardly depressive state, no compulsion to slit my wrists. It is just a nagging feeling that something is wrong, and something is afoot tat I can’t put right. How I wish I can tear my cloths, pt n sackcloth and mourn the passing of something wonderful. But the rational part of me tells me that such behaviour is absurd and childish and most of all, self-destructive. Twenty years of civilised upbringing and school=room veneers refuse to be stripped away so easily. And so the tears remain in my heart.
And so only the memories, and a few mementos remain. Someday perhaps the hurt will pass, but the memories will stay. They are all I have left.
Parting
This is a quiet break-up, not much drama and definitely no vase-throwing exploits. The proceedings were all conducted in a calm and dignified manner: she put forth the proposition and I accepted without preamble. But although feelings were not shown, they were there, just below the surface. Small things, the trembling of my hands, and the glistening in here eyes as we embraced and said goodbye for the start of what was to be an everlasting parting. Yes, the feelings were there, and in me, they are still there. And if I had the choice, yes I would still want her back.
There are probably so many other couples out there who are going through the same quiet agony as I am. I am sure they know too, that the choices made are never entirely theirs alone. And someday (hopefully someday soon) we might recover to love again, but for now, let there also be a time to mourn.
Thoughts
I find myself thinking of her once in a while, pretty often actually. Odd things, little things, like how she would sit in the bus, I see in the girl sitting across the aisle. How she would draw designs in the chilli sauce with her fries, I would see in the child at the next table. Sometimes, it doesn’t even take such reminders. Thoughts of her would surface unbidden in my mind. It doesn’t take too much to get them to go away, but like a buzzing bumblebee they come back unbidden during my most unguarded times.
I tell my friends how I feel and what I can’t seem to stop from thinking, and they cluck consolingly and say I have not recovered from the break-up. They introduce me to new friends and try to spend time with me. I am grateful, but I still wish I was back with here. It is hard not to think of her when almost everything reminds me of her. I won’t pretend that I’ve cried buckets over her. I haven’t. I’m not even sure whether I’d loved her or not, or whether I still love her. But I cannot deny that I still miss her.
I cannot say that she is always on my mind, often would be a better word. I am sure that had we remained together for a longer period of time, the memories would be more and the loss, greater. As it is, it is bad enough. I make it a habit not to regret anything I have done. But if I knew what I did wrong to drive her away from her, I am sure I would regret it.
Before
We were once happy, and I had always placed her first on my list of priorities. I would do everything for her, if only she said the word and she knew it. I was happy that way, so long as she did not take me for granted. And oftentimes, she did not. I liked placing her on a pedestal; she was everything I’d ever wanted for a girlfriend. To others, she may have been nondescript and unexciting, but to me she was as special as anybody could get in my life. Call it love, infatuation, obsession, crush or plain besotted with her, it was great just having her around.
I was never quite sure that she was happy; all I know was that I was happy when she was around, and now that she is not, I find it very hard to be as joyful again. She never told me how she really felt, but I must have meant something for her to blow almost two years of her life on me. And we enjoyed each other’s company, if nothing else. Every shared activity, be it active or passive, from careening wildly around on rented bikes to simply vegetating in a nearby park, held special meaning to me.
She never did say those three words to me, and it took me a long time to say it to her too. Perhaps we were just overly cautious, and I just wanted to make sure that what I was feeling wasn’t some flash in the pan thing. Then again I wasn’t too worried that she never said, “I love you” to me. I put it down to her usual reserve of character, and was content that someone like her could enjoy the time we’ve had together.
I was never too sure of what changed her the way she did. I only know that it happened.
During
I trust her enough to say that she did not leave me for a third party. She is not the sort. And I suppose that it was through no fault of either one of us that she chose to leave. She told me that she needed time for schoolwork, family and hostel activities and I understood. I truly did. It was simply a matter of a difference in priorities and a person cannot be faulted for having different priorities from me, can she? Yes, that was how I rationalised everything, but still it did not make it any easier that she was not with me anymore. It is a variation of the fact that the ends do not justify the means, I suppose. In this case, justifying the end result does not make the process of breaking up any easier.
I tried to be the boyfriend that she could be proud of. That she could never want for more in any other person. I tried to do everything I thought she would like, that most girls would like. Perhaps I did wrong. But God knows I tried. And yet it still happened. And till now I still do not know what I did wrong. I am not one to believe in retribution, although I’ve done many a callous thing in my life. Yet when she requested for an end to the relationship, she did it without malice and (I believe) after a significant amount of soul-searching. And yet already, it hurts so much on my side. How much more so would it hurt somebody on the receiving end of an impulsive and arbitrary decision to break a long-standing relationship.
It didn’t really sink in until now that she was no longer with me. I was thinking that perhaps now that I am single again, I could rebuild my social life. But all the multitudes of new friends and acquaintances cannot make up for the loss of one precious person. And so, I feel lonely. I am not alone, not by a long shot; every day brings new people into my life. But I feel lonely, because there is emptiness, a void replacing the space where she once held.
Perhaps I became too dependent n her. She was my best friend, girlfriend, escort, lover, all rolled into one. I am sure many out there know the risk of having your better half and your best friend in the same person. If one loses a best friend, he can always turn to his steady; if he goes through a break-up, there is always his best friend. I? I have neither now. When she left, I became lost. Now I have to try to rebuild a social life that has been dormant or non-existent for the past two years.
I tried to save it. I tried everything I could. Discussions, arguments, pleas, begging, threats, tears, tantrums, cold treatment, go-betweens, jealousy. But her perspective has changes since she entered university, and like it or not, I could not change it back. I asked for advice from so many others, others whose advice I held in high regard. I looked through magazines, peering for advice from anonymous writers professing to know a great deal about such matters. But the answers were always the same: Talk to her, talk to her, talk to her! How could I talk to her if she refused to answer? And so I meandered along.
Now
And now? Now I am lonely. I tried to date again, but friends warned me of “rebounds”. Was I trying to find a substitution? Yes, I was. I still am. I feely admit it. There would come a period of pure bliss with someone new, and then the novelty would wear off, leaving a realisation that she was still here, still in my heart. And till now it seems, nothing or no one can dislodge her from my heart. It seems that nothing short of a whack on my head to induce amnesia would do.
Sometimes, in a fit of male-bonding, a group of us all males would go for a drink or two along the riverside, feasting our gullets on good spirit and our eyes on the flesh of the fairer sex. And once in a while, a particularly attractive specimen would be appreciated with watchful glances and a low whistle or two. Like all the other wolves, I stare also. But sometimes I wonder: what are they like underneath all that surface beauty? Are they like her? Only heaven will know.
I look normal: I haven’t lost any weight, nor lost (much) sleep, nor started rending my clothes. I act normal: I haven’t been admitted into the psychiatric wards yet, nor gone on eating/drinking/drug binges. Half the time I feel okay, no outwardly depressive state, no compulsion to slit my wrists. It is just a nagging feeling that something is wrong, and something is afoot tat I can’t put right. How I wish I can tear my cloths, pt n sackcloth and mourn the passing of something wonderful. But the rational part of me tells me that such behaviour is absurd and childish and most of all, self-destructive. Twenty years of civilised upbringing and school=room veneers refuse to be stripped away so easily. And so the tears remain in my heart.
And so only the memories, and a few mementos remain. Someday perhaps the hurt will pass, but the memories will stay. They are all I have left.
Parting
This is a quiet break-up, not much drama and definitely no vase-throwing exploits. The proceedings were all conducted in a calm and dignified manner: she put forth the proposition and I accepted without preamble. But although feelings were not shown, they were there, just below the surface. Small things, the trembling of my hands, and the glistening in here eyes as we embraced and said goodbye for the start of what was to be an everlasting parting. Yes, the feelings were there, and in me, they are still there. And if I had the choice, yes I would still want her back.
There are probably so many other couples out there who are going through the same quiet agony as I am. I am sure they know too, that the choices made are never entirely theirs alone. And someday (hopefully someday soon) we might recover to love again, but for now, let there also be a time to mourn.
posted by ekkie at 11:50 am
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