Even though we’re raised to believe in happy endings, the bitter truth is not everyone finds one in this lifetime.
So, we end up settling eventually.
And those of us who are too stubborn to settle and fiercely loyal to our hearts, often end up alone.
I know I’ve fallen for multiple people in my life, but lately, it’s starting to feel like I haven’t really loved any of them. Those past loves are starting to seem less like love and more like different shades of infatuation.
Honestly, I thought of going through with the unthinkable. It happens every time my mother makes me hate living. She does it time and time again, and every single time, I hate that I’m alive.
She makes it unnecessarily difficult. I think of all the things I could have become and continue to be proud of all the things I did become under so many different circumstances, and then there’s my mother, being my worst cheerleader at every turn. And then she wonders why I didn’t want to invite her to my graduation. She’s forgetting all the times she made it difficult for me to live while I was struggling to manage studies and life.
And I’ll be the terrible daughter in everyone’s book because how dare I. When this mother has sacrificed her whole life for us, how dare I resent anything. But I do. I’m eternally grateful for all the sacrifices she made, but I will always hate the moments in my life where she made me feel I should’ve been dead.
I’m in my thirties, and I continue to be heartbroken at the hands of my parents. The pain they inflict upon me is nothing compared to all the other shit I go through in life. It aches in my heart where these wounds are, and they never heal because they are constantly picked on.
It took me years to realize, or even share what it feels like with her. First, I was so embarrassed about it because it’s not like any other mother-daughter relationship I know. Second, I refused to believe someone who’d sacrificed so much for us could also be the reason for my pain. But it’s true, both of these can be true. She’s human too, and as flawed as any of us. But the way I understand her, try to see things from her view, she doesn’t bother with mine. My perspectives are irrelevant. All my life she made me feel like she hated the fact that she birthed me. She made me feel like I was a waste of space, air, breath. I hated myself. I grew up hating myself. I didn’t know what loving myself would ever feel like. I didn’t think I deserved anything nice, or any kindness even.
So I continued to settle with shitty men, glorifying their shitty treatment. Why wouldn’t I? I get the same treatment at home; I was right at home in these men’s arms. What they made me feel was what I felt by the two people I loved in this world first, my parents.
But even through this, there is something I appreciate about my mother, how she didn’t make it difficult for me when I took off my hijab. She did share her displeasure with it, but when I went ahead with it, she said little about it. Although had she gone on about it I would’ve understood too. But I really do appreciate that she didn’t.
And now the other thing she constantly gets upset over is my choice of clothing. She reacts a bit whenever I wear something that’s a bit see-through. And I get really annoyed at it because where was this energy when unwarranted men had access to me, when I was a minor.
I’m an adult now and, god willing, am able to take care of myself. I don’t put myself in rooms with people I can’t trust, so my choice of clothing, see-through or not, wouldn’t get me in trouble because I will make sure of it. I wouldn’t walk naked into the arms of men I don’t trust.
But that’s what happens with parents; they grow old and become more and more hypocritical and judgmental even.
And over the years, I really have tried to build a relationship with her, but every time she’s shot me down and left me more wounded than before. And so I’ve stopped trying and have accepted that we will never be like a typical mother and daughter. We will be so foreign to each other, but I came from her. And if I had to live this life again and could choose my mother, I don’t know if I’d make a different choice because through all the hurt and pain that is caused, I do love her, and she gave me my brother. I can’t imagine a world where I don’t have him as my brother; he was the reason I stayed alive for so long. He saved me with his existence. We might’ve grown apart as adults, but we were best friends as children. And I miss him constantly, the boy that he was. But life goes on.
The other day, my therapist asked me the single question that left me dumbfounded. I don’t think I’d ever felt that speechless in my entire life because of how true and deep the realization was that struck with the question. He asked me why it is that I continue to be interested in men who will never be able to make me a priority, and he ended the session by asking me to think on it until the next session. So I’ve been thinking; it’s been on the back of my mind constantly.
And then this one plausible reason hit me: Could it be perhaps because I saw my father prioritize other women constantly over his wife and my mother, that I’ve subconsciously sensationalized the other woman? Could it?
My father was a serial cheater. He was the worst husband and a subpar father. But despite all of this, he is someone I will always love so dearly. I would go sometimes months without talking to him because I’m kind of going no contact, but the minute he stands in front of me, everything vanishes, and I’m just the 3-year-old girl he used to love more than anything in the world. At least from what I remember, that is.
I’ve idolized and loved him blindly, forgiven him for everything without him ever apologizing, and by doing so, I’ve enabled his shitty behavior my entire life, and it is only now that I’ve found the courage and clarity to put an end to it. So when people ask me, who was your first heartbreak, from this day, I will always say it was my father.
Because as ironic as it is, the day my parents finalized their divorce is also the day that I got my heartbroken over a boy, for the first time in my entire life. I was fourteen. I was in love. And I was broken.
And ever since then, all I’ve ever looked for is love, from wherever, and from whomever, and whenever. It didn’t matter; I just wanted to be loved. Because I was living with a void that I didn’t even realize.
But the thing with love is, you’re not happy when people love you; you’re only happy when the person you’re in love with loves you back.
Life got quiet, and I got a little busy. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way, maybe a month, haha. But for the first time in what feels like forever, I wished I had a slightly more interesting Thursday night ahead of me.
Although, I love how slow my chaos has been. How everything negative I thought of my life and myself seems so far away that it almost feels like a distant dream. But today, for a split second, I felt worthless. And luckily, I managed to brush off that random, meaningless thought.
You can’t quiet your demons forever; they will try to creep up every chance they get. But I’d like to think that I’ve tamed mine, and the voices in my head are almost eerie. I’m starting to love my life, and I’m praying that the floor won’t fall through again.
It’s scary even to write this because I don’t trust the universe not to jinx my peace. I’ll let this stay in my drafts.
Maybe I’ll finally get to that book that’s been on my nightstand for the past month, hoping I’ll pick it up again. Maybe tonight is the night,
Or maybe I’ll watch that old romcom I’d been thinking of and hopefully, it’ll be as good as “The Way We Were.”
Going on a night out and running into your ex is certainly something we all dread. But what strikes in the most cunning way is when that happens, and you truly realize how much stranger you’ve become from a person who was once your world. The resentment you’ve held vanishes for just a second, enough for you to dwell on what is certainly lost forever. It’s okay to acknowledge these losses and maybe even okay to enjoy the silence of these moments because life has its way of showing you what the world can be even without them.
For a split second, all the distance I put between us slipped away, and I craved that familiar face, touch, and way.
But it wasn’t there. Now, I face my consequences. Why do we let go and still want to hold on? Why is the heart so dumb?
Why do I stay and stare at doors I’ve closed behind? Why do I have the impulse to go back to everything I’ve run away from? Why can’t I fully let go?
“Lola Loa” by Achecia is etched permanently in my heart, serving as a reminder of you. I still recall the night when I first met you. I arrived in Male’ quite intoxicated and overwhelmed by infatuation, struggling to articulate the intrigue you had sparked in me. I went to see my friends at Axon, and that’s when Ammadey was singing this very song. It was June 13, 2019, and I was in chaos. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. However, you belonged to someone else, and I had to get you out of my mind. So, like any other chaotic and drunk 26-year-old, I got under someone else, hoping to erase the vivid but unattainable memory of meeting you that had already become a core part of me in a matter of hours.
Of course, that attempt failed, and I found myself falling deeply in love with you for the next few months and years, despite the complications. You were a tragedy, but I don’t regret it because without you, my life would have been meaningless. Thanks to you, I experienced a solid six months of boundless happiness and love. You were my core shaker, and without you, my life would have been in vain.
I haven’t written about you since June 22, 2022; that was the day I met someone else. Even hours before running into him, my notes were filled with your thoughts. I was shattered by you, repeatedly enduring the same heartbreak, but this time it struck me so hard I felt it in my gut. I was in agonizing pain. And then he extended his hand, and I took it.
The truth is when I met you, it wasn’t just some fateful chance that led me to fall in love with you. You cared for me in a way no one else ever had, making me feel like I truly belonged with you. With you, I felt safe and loved, and our conversations flowed endlessly from morning till night. You were the highlight of my days, the centerpiece of my life for so long. Without you, I struggled. Even after we parted ways, I found comfort in knowing that no matter where you were or what you were doing, you would think of me fondly. The day I realized that was no longer the case, I swear, a part of me died, and I haven’t been the same since.
I didn’t fall for him instantly, nor did I even like him right away. But I had to continue living my life and give someone else a chance. By some twist of fate, that someone turned out to be him. Eventually, I found myself falling in love with him too.
But why is it that, despite the end of that relationship and your clear departure, I still find myself thinking of you? You’ve moved on as if we were never a part of each other’s lives, yet here I am, haunted by thoughts of you.
I’ve always known that true value becomes apparent at the end of one’s life when their entire existence flashes before their eyes. But I’ve also come to realize that you truly understand who matters most to you over time. Presence can be intoxicating, but when the moments pass and the music fades, who does your heart yearn for? Mine calls out to you, even though you’re no longer here.
What were we? Were we a case of the right person at the wrong time? I once believed our love was greater, but it wasn’t. I never needed to be with you to feel loved by you. I was content with your absence because you never belonged to me, and I had made peace with that. Yet, you always made me feel loved and cared for. And then, you didn’t. And I wished I didn’t exist.
My heart will forever belong to you, for the laughter, the tears, the bruises, and the literal scars, for what felt like an ethereal love, for what seemed like soulmates, even if only for a fleeting moment that felt like an eternity.
I grew up believing in magic and happy endings. I loved movies and storybooks; they were often my escapes. During my teenage years, I would spend all night awake, lost in a book by Meg Cabot just because of how wonderful the romances turned out to be. Needless to say, I grew up to be a hopeless romantic. My weakness was kindness. I couldn’t love myself properly, so when people showed interest in me, that blindsided me a little.
Thirty years later, life is a little bit different. I’m no longer watching the first sunrise of the year with my closest friends at the Tsunami monument. For multiple reasons, one being the monument has moved to the west, and my friendships didn’t really survive. Life happened, but I made new friendships that filled its gaps slowly.
How do I feel about leaving 2023 behind? I feel close to nothing. The year has been an endless disappointment until the very last day, and there’s barely anything about it that I would cherish or miss.
I often think of you, fondly adoring you in my memories. You were wonderful, not in a literal sense, but you made me feel wonderful. Even through your insults, I felt a lot for you. You thought I was nuts, and you may be right. But, man, I wish I never had to lose you.
I wish you could always be my 2 am, telling me you were downstairs out of nowhere. I miss your pranks, making me cry, the reality slaps—how hard they used to hit me. I miss you. Perhaps, you were the friend I slowly fell in love with, the reason I find boy friendships intimidating because with you, I knew how pure and wonderful they were.
I’ve known you for so long, yet I don’t know you at all. You were the boy who didn’t fall in love with me. Sunrises remind me of you, our thing when this city was more innocent and we had sinned far less. Time flies; life has gone by. I’ve come to my senses, found the courage to be truly me, yet you’re nowhere around. I don’t blame you; it’s best you stay away. I don’t think straight with you; anything goes with you.
You met me at 18, and I always feel 18 with you. I wonder at what point I started feeling for you. I don’t even hate it because I loved our friendship. I’ll never have a guy friend like that again; I haven’t since. I wish we could have an adult conversation because I don’t think we ever did. I didn’t feel grown up around you. You’d always point out everything wrong with my life, and you’d be right.
I just want to tell you, it isn’t so bad. I always wished you’d have been kinder, like when I met you. I wish you didn’t grow up to become such an ass. I’ll miss that boy forever, and I’ll miss her too—who I was around you.
She Was Sea 