In my love story

Notes from January 2018 onward…

I was so lonely.

Especially if I was home alone, I would cry at various times. At night especially. I cried every night. I resisted messaging him at night time a while ago. I don’t know how long ago, but I got the habit to stick. Time with him has been so warped, a year and half is an undeniably long time, but with regards to our souls, it felt like I’d known him for centuries. Except recently he felt like this different person. Every week I would start feeling the distance. It happened to me with A. But this felt different, this felt like it was all in my head, our distance was in my head. Sometimes because I felt weak, and sometimes because I was the one who insisted we needed to stop, and often because it felt like the wrong time to talk since he had so much going on on his plate. Regardless it was hard.

I joined a few dating apps. The League, Bumble, Tinder. I would listen to girlfriends’ stories of fun dates, successful matches, pages of conversations. Trying to be strategic I would ask “which one do you think is the best”? Logically I knew I had to put myself in situations where I could meet someone. To open myself up. It didn’t matter what I used. But I wasn’t ready to meet anyone. I wasn’t interested to feel something for someone else. I concluded because I wasn’t on the right app it wasn’t working for me. The effort to leave the house for multiple dates, to make small talk, knowing I would find the smallest fault, would clog my throat; it seemed so taxing, stressful, below me. One day pretending I was helping myself, I was being independent and taking steps, I logged in. I made a better profile, made sure my pictures were cute. I couldn’t write an about me though. God I had trouble talking about myself to friends let alone thinking of what 500 words could explain why someone should date me. Sometimes I thought I should write something honest like: “looking for marriage and babies” or “basic bitch with blonde hair” or “newly single, extremely fragile”. Then I would imagine him reading it, and I would die inside. Of all the things to care about, I imagined he would read it. I would swipe through all the pictures, I would often open the app swipe left on 20-30 guys. Then in a fit of anger, or tears, depending on the night, click my phone shut and throw it to the side.

I didn’t want to meet someone online. It felt so unnatural, so meaningless but also so final. I just didn’t want to meet anyone. I often wanted to ask him if it was okay if I started dating. Or I thought of telling him that I was going to start using dating apps. I definitely wanted permission from him, I wanted him to give me the okay, or really fight with me over it, in some ways I inevitably wanted him to let me go.

He needs to let me go. You need to let me go. You can’t keep reeling me in like this and then not have time for me.

(May 1,  2018: inspired by Love Story, Indila.)

Miss Mess,


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If you lose, I haven’t won

He was an incredibly smart person. Thorough, quick, logical. Anything he did, his mind was two steps ahead but still expansive enough to sufficiently consider his bases.

But when it came to the ins and outs of our relationship he was steps behind. It was disheartening, he couldn’t see the practicality of what he was doing with me. Loving me within his boundaries.

Maybe he didn’t want to think about it because he was worried if he did, and he still didn’t know how to fix us, that would mean he had lost.

I thought I needed to stay around, as he took some distance, let him figure things out. As if there was one puzzle piece lost amongst a handful of others, and he would eventually find it. He would fit us back in. He would not lose this.

But there was no piece lost, it was always missing. We alluded to it’s lack of existence, we just couldn’t admit it had never been there.

Miss Mess

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2017, a year in review

Some people are so attached to their significant other that they are nothing without them, that they feel like they are nothing without them. I never learnt that, never experienced it. I am nothing with someone. I have never known the feeling of being someone more. I am always just, on my own.

Well, then I met him in San Francisco. I was everything and more with him. He made me be more. Better, kinder, smarter. Quick to talk and feel and want everything and anything beyond my reach.

Miss Mess


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A short story about separation

[from A’s memory]: She looked me in the eye and told me how much my words hurt her, how my actions and lack of effort effectively left her feeling unwanted. That our time spent together, she could only cringe when remembering: what we did, what we didn’t, how I seemed impassive. I watched a single tear roll down her cheek and I felt the cold blow of reality hit me across the face.

I wasn’t completely oblivious, despite what I portrayed, my carefree mannerisms. Under the surface our problems had been on my mind for some time; but right then, hearing her say them out loud, and seeing her so beautiful and vulnerable in front of me, I felt so unreservedly ashamed.

For a while now, I had realised my mistakes, I had wished I had acted differently, but bad habits and male ego are something so thickly etched within our personalities that they are impossible to get away from. Until we finally look up and see the result of our actions piercing our heart with honest words. Until it was too late.

I tried to reach for her soft hands, but she moved them off the table, away from me. I searched her face to answer her confusion as to how we had gotten to this endlessly distant place. I found it hard to express myself but attempted to, I tried to formulate my sentences. Opened my mouth to start, closed it. I wanted to tell her she had been continuously on my mind, wanted to tell her I’m sorry for the way I had made her feel. I needed to make it all better, I needed to make her feel better. She put her finger to my lips. I closed my mouth, my words unformed; I slumped back into my chair. She was oblivious to the spark that ran down my body, as her touch brought back all the memories. She shook her head, I saw the lump in her throat. I lost all my words.

In that moment, I saw the full extent of her pain; her closed heart as she looked listlessly into my eyes, said a resigning ‘oh well’ without ever speaking the words. She stood up to leave. I couldn’t concentrate, she was saying her goodbyes, I racked my brain to understand how we had gotten here, how such friendship and longing for one another had ended so abruptly; how I was suddenly so immobile, so lost for words, for action. I wanted to tell her how I felt, to pull her into me, to stop her from walking away. But she wouldn’t give me the chance. Somehow she was slowly disappearing into the crowd.

[from my memory]: I walked away from him. Each step was the hardest I had ever taken in my life. My feet felt heavy and my legs shaking as the finality of the situation consumed me. Head down I moved through the crowd, everyone was a blur. With every breath I took, my tears collected in a pool in my eyes. I tried to stare at the exit so I didn’t crumble and turn around, beg him to want me, to hold me, to make everything okay again. My confidence shattered, my throat raw from last night’s shouting. I was both physically and emotionally seconds away from crashing to the floor.

Despite expecting too much from him, I could not believe the nerve of him to just watch, to not make me listen to his reasoning. Even if it was me who had silenced him, he stayed impassive, still, like his usual self, wall-like, ignorant.

However hard it was to see any glimmer of good in my current state, I knew I had done the right thing. Love or not, nothing should be this painful. Being the bigger person is never easy; spilling your heart out is even harder; worse yet being met with immature silence. But seeing it in this light, admitting the reality of his personality, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

I knew it was time to move on, and I was happy it was done. I could now start the healing process, and stop blaming myself for things not working out. His reserve was terribly heart-breaking; his ability to remain seated and not stop me walking away was beyond accepted norms. That was the final harsh slap I needed to be able to step out. That is who he was and not what I wanted.

That’s what he never realised.

Miss Mess


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Did you develop a bad habit because of a past negative experience?

2 years post London; 6 years pre San Francisco:

whenever i get annoyed at you, i start missing you within the hour and i forget all about your hurful behavior. i tell myself to ‘be cool’, to not say anything because you don’t like it. and i pretend that all the fleeting fun times we had together, makes me happy. but unfortunately it was never enough for me. the day i tried to tell you that you hurt me, you wouldn’t listen to me.

during the week it’s easy for me to stop loving you. it’s easy-er to be okay with not seeing you. but those five days building make me give you everything by Thursday evening.

my tears are flowing continuously now. if only i could express myself. if i could just stop these sporadic tears. talk and tell you about the crushing.

how is there so much to tell you when i start talking to you in my head, but all these words seem immaterial after you take me to dinner and ask me to sit next to you.

i imagine i know what i want, that exact feel of your hand on my neck in a secret moment. but does that fleeting shiver really make me happy? you know i just can’t bare to lose you, but i know i can’t continue in the shadows of your rare moon either. does this mean i should leave you?

tell me who made you feel that way?
tell me why you would do this to others?
tell me who else has been here.

Miss Mess


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An oldie, but goodie

Here is your ending. You will walk there too.

It was like we both happened to be walking in the same direction, against the whispers of the wind, parallel to the rising ocean. It was a beautiful sunny day, we hadn’t planned to meet, or to trail side by side on that promenade. We were both headed that way, and soon we naturally fell into step. Our footsteps tapped at the same time, our stride equal. It felt odd at first, like one of us had to speed up without making it offensive, just to mitigate any mindless awkwardness. And the other felt a surprising urge to keep the pace, lest we lose that destined harmony. So eventually, we both relaxed and allowed what was happening, the path we were walking, to take its course. Neither of us had any meaning by it, any plan for when we reached a crossroad, any thought beyond being in-tune.

Those walks didn’t last. I fell in love with something in him. He fell in love too, I never found out how deeply, but he loved me, that much I know.

Whenever I spoke about him to others, I truly believed people wouldn’t understand the relationship we had, and the feelings we shared. We didn’t have anything beyond the ordinary, or even extraordinary; but it felt like what we had was more special than what others had. Of course I knew millions of people around the world had been similarly in love, were in love; I understood that, but I still believed something more in us; like what we had between us was unique. Unexplainable. Exact.

Months later, after the rose colored tint faded, I realized everybody thinks that about their relationship. Especially the days after they lose it, in those periods they feel like they’re fighting for it. This inexplicable, deep, connection of their two hearts.

Miss Mess


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Please tell me what I should do

We’re halfway into our relationship, and I’m helpless.

I saw what life is like without you.
And all I want is: you.
The only person I think about being with is: you.

It’s true, really. Sure, I wonder about someone from my culture, and consider the introductions, the simplicity, and imagine laughing at their charm, but they are tidbits, not enough, not loyal, intelligent, generous, in love, with me.

I wish we could go back to how things were.
Just like the Royals, back to July ’16.
And the fun months that preceded.
Dinners as friends that turned into dates, drinks with friends that turned into dates. Our unplanned trips spontaneously to LA. Mornings and nights of multiple rounds. God you were the best.
The ease of knowing nothing, being consumed in your everything.

That was before I stumbled, exaggerated and crumbled it all.
I was so scared of loving you, so scared of having my heart broken;
So it made sense, I cracked it myself.
I couldn’t endure the loneliness that seemed bound.
Well its bound.

And now I’m obsessed, but I need distance.
I want babies, but I can’t fathom a happy aisle.

And I don’t know if we’ll recover if we break up again. Again.
I don’t want to show you my soul, then runaway, then 3 months later come back to you again.

Can you do the thinking, this time too.
Can you just tell me what we should do.

Miss Mess

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