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Is It Really Embarrassing to Have a Boyfriend in 2025? With the wrong man, absolutely yes. It is.

Women everywhere have read this question and felt something stir. Because in 2025, it does feel embarrassing to have a boyfriend, not because love itself is shameful, but because of the collective disappointment that often comes with loving men today.

You can be in a relationship that looks loving and stable, and yet carry a quiet fear that it could all change by tomorrow. That uncertainty is not paranoia; it is a learned survival instinct. Modern love has become a balancing act between trust and vigilance. You can never feel entirely safe in it. You can never truly rest. Somewhere deep inside, you know that many men have made it difficult to trust that love will protect you. And only a rare few have proven that they can love with the same sincerity, depth, and emotional consistency that most women do.

It is easy to take a woman for granted, perhaps because her nature is to nurture. She feels deeply, forgives easily, and holds on longer than she should. The world has long justified this imbalance by claiming that men and women are “wired differently,” that their emotional patterns are governed by biology. But in practice, it is women who adapt, who accommodate, who study men to understand their silences and soften their sharpness. Women stretch their empathy wide enough to hold both love and disappointment, until even pain begins to feel like devotion.

Yet the truth remains: it is not having a boyfriend that is embarrassing. It is having a boyfriend who performs love instead of living it. A man who knows the script, the gestures, the words, the public display, but cannot follow through in private where love actually counts.

Modern dating has only made this performance easier. Micro-cheating has become normalized, digital infidelity disguised as harmless engagement. There are now infinite ways to betray someone quietly. A reaction here, a comment there, a private message that blurs boundaries. The world rewards attention, and loyalty has become outdated. What is truly humiliating is not just being cheated on, but being made to feel naïve for believing in exclusivity.

Because when a man gives other women signals, it is not only you he disrespects. It is you he embarrasses. It is your dignity that becomes collateral in his quest for validation. You become the woman others pity, the one whose partner performs devotion publicly but desecrates it privately.

It is the quiet betrayals that erode you: the half-truths, the convenient omissions, the late-night “friendships,” the messages sent under false names. The lies so absurd they almost insult your intelligence, but so consistent they begin to rewrite your sense of reality.

It is the emotional affair that lingers for months while you keep breaking yourself, hoping he will see how much you love him. You keep showing up, keep forgiving, keep hoping, and he keeps taking. You plead for honesty from a man who takes pride in how well he can hide. That is the humiliation, loving someone who turns deceit into sport.

He builds a dream for you, then abandons you to carry it alone. You give everything, your peace, your energy, your stability, for a man who swears he is “trying.” You stay, because love has always been portrayed as endurance. But love cannot save you when you are the only one fighting to keep it alive.

And then, one day, you end up in an emergency room at four in the morning, bleeding and terrified, and he does not come until the next evening. You ask him once, just once, to come with you to change your stitches. He chooses instead to attend an event where his rumored affair partner is waiting. Something like that is not just painful; it is dehumanizing.

You sit at home, watching it unfold in real time. You learn that he tells her you were upset he went, and she weaponizes your pain, mocks you publicly for trying to “stop him from supporting noble causes.” And he lets her. He stands by silently while others ridicule you.

What could be more humiliating than loving someone who allows the world to harm you, and says nothing? What could be more painful than realizing you have been dying for him in silence while he watched, unmoved?

Over time, the dismissal becomes internal. You start silencing yourself. You start thinking maybe you overreacted. Maybe you were too sensitive. Maybe you deserved it. You learn to gaslight yourself into numbness.

That is what women mean when they say it is embarrassing to have a boyfriend in 2025. It is not love that embarrasses us. It is the exhaustion of loving someone who makes you question your worth, your perception, your sanity.

It is embarrassing to love a man who was never going to love you back. It is embarrassing to be loyal to someone who would not defend you or keep you safe. It is embarrassing to let someone dismantle your selfhood while convincing yourself it is love.

The embarrassment does not lie in the emotion itself, but in how recklessly it is handled by those who have never had to earn it.

So yes, maybe it is embarrassing to have a boyfriend now, not because women are bitter or cynical, but because we have learned to see love for what it truly is in this generation: fragile, unreliable, and often undeserving of the devotion we pour into it.

And that is why so many women choose to be single, not out of pride, but out of peace. Because the most humiliating thing of all is not being alone. It is being unseen by the one person you trusted to see you completely.

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Personal

*This is fiction, based purely on a dream.

Let’s call him Mr. T.

We met years ago, in that strange in-between time when I was half healing and half pretending I already had. He messaged me out of nowhere and asked me out. He was already doing well for himself. I was looking for stability, or at least the illusion of it. Saying yes didn’t feel reckless. It felt like an attempt at starting over.

He picked me up in a black Benz, the kind that makes a quiet statement. The car smelled faintly of oud. Loud Hindi music filled the air as he drove, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. I remember thinking he must be the type who comes alive at parties, the kind who dances without caring who’s watching. The music was blaring though, far too loud for the car’s terrible speakers, and for a moment I wondered if he heard anything at all beyond himself.

He took me to a dim, lifeless café. We shared shisha and small talk, both hollow. He talked mostly about his work, his travels, his own charm. I smiled politely and realized I wasn’t interested. There was something performative about him, something that left no room for anyone else. I never called him again after that night.

Years passed. I heard he was seeing someone new. She was beautiful.. I remember thinking good for her, then wondering if she saw in him what I had seen. I was lonely, restless, and maybe a little self-destructive. So I texted him.

He replied instantly. Some people never change.

We went out again. This time it wasn’t dinner or shisha. We drove until the streets were empty, stopping in a ghostly patch of moonlight where even the air felt still. Same car. Same faint oud scent.

And then I did something that, even in the dream, felt unreal. I leaned over the hood of his car and let him. It was raw and detached, like watching myself play a role I didn’t audition for. When it was over, I sent a clip to his girlfriend from a fake account, which I had taken of us, with the message, ‘come get your man’.

Pure evil. The kind I’d never even imagine doing in real life.

He found out. Of course he did.

That evening, the roads were heavy with traffic, headlights streaking across puddles like restless thoughts. I followed him to the same spot where it happened. He was standing outside his car, angry, pacing. I hid across the street, watching.

And suddenly, in the logic of dreams, I was holding a gun.

I fired first, missing him on purpose. The sound was deafening. He froze for a moment, then pulled out a gun of his own. He fired back. The bullets cut through the air, hitting the ground near my feet. I dropped, feeling the vibration of each shot echo through the earth. I wasn’t sure if he was warning me or trying to kill me. After the third bullet, I decided it didn’t matter.

I aimed at his chest and fired.

He fell.

The silence after was unbearable.

I got up and walked up to his car and drove away. My hands were trembling against the leather steering wheel. My reflection in the rearview mirror looked like a stranger.

As I drove past police officers directing traffic, I could feel my pulse in my throat. I kept thinking there was no way I’d get away with this. There were cameras everywhere, even in the car. I wondered why I had done it, why I had gotten into his car, why I hadn’t just walked away.

But then another thought crossed my mind, maybe the longer I delayed turning myself in, the longer I could pretend I was still free.

So I kept driving.

The night air felt heavy. My eyes started to blur with exhaustion. All I could think about was my bed, the way the sheets felt, the quiet comfort of sleep. I knew I’d never feel that again.

That was my last thought before I woke up.

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Personal

Is It Too Late to Dream of Love?

Is there an age where it becomes embarrassing to still want the love you dream of? A quiet shame that creeps in when you find yourself hoping for a fairytale ending—like if it hasn’t happened by now, maybe it never will?

I don’t think it’s about a lack of options. It’s not that there aren’t enough men in the world. But there’s definitely a scarcity of men with the right intentions. And I’ll be the first to admit—sometimes I don’t even let the kind ones in. The ones who are gentle, who show up, who don’t play games. My heart rarely ignites for them. And maybe that’s on me.

This is the paradox I live in.

I fall for those who unsettle me. Who throw my nervous system into chaos. Because that’s what love looked like to me growing up. Unpredictable. Unstable. It’s what I knew. It’s what felt familiar. So now, when someone comes along and treats me with genuine care, I often feel… nothing. No spark. No pull. Just a strange hollowness.

Because healthy love feels boring. Steady feels boring. And god, how I envy the people who flourish in peace—those who are at ease when things get calm, when love slows down, becomes routine, becomes real.

The love I’ve known is messy and loud and intoxicating. At first, it feels like a high. The uncertainty, the chase, the edge—it keeps me awake. It keeps me wanting. It feels like the only kind of love that exists for me.

And I hate that.

Living with a personality disorder doesn’t define me, but it shapes me. It shapes how I love, how I attach, how I respond to safety and chaos. I’m not trying to make it my identity, but I’d be lying if I said it hasn’t left fingerprints all over my life.

At some point, you have to be honest with yourself. Maybe I’m just wired differently. Maybe what’s supposed to feel like home never quite will. Maybe my kind of love exists outside the lines of normal—and that’s something I’m still learning to sit with.

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Digital Fatigue

Don’t you ever wish we could disconnect? Not from the people we love, but from the constant pressure to always be available, always reachable, always “on.”

We live in a time where everything is just a tap away. The world has advanced so quickly. Technology has brought us ease, speed, and connection like never before. But along with that, it has quietly added a new kind of weight to our lives. A subtle but persistent expectation to stay online, to reply immediately, to be present at all times. It’s exhausting, even if we don’t always realize it.

Sure, we can silence our phones. We can decide to reply to messages later. We can take breaks when we feel overwhelmed. But even then, it doesn’t feel like a true pause. The pressure lingers in the background, quietly whispering that you’re falling behind, that someone is waiting on you. It has become so embedded into our routines that separating from it feels nearly impossible.

Sometimes I miss the simplicity of landlines. The feeling of calling someone and not reaching them. The sweetness of missing someone you couldn’t talk to instantly. There was something tender about the waiting, the anticipation, the distance. Now, we take the instant nature of communication for granted. Messages fly back and forth all day, yet the feeling behind them often feels diluted.

Lately, I’ve been craving slower, more intentional moments. I want to say, “Let’s meet Wednesday at eight,” and know we’ll both be there without confirming a dozen times. I want to go back to making plans and trusting them. I want to lessen the quantity of interactions and bring back the quality. Not every moment needs to be filled with updates or check-ins. Sometimes, it’s okay to just be, and then show up when it matters.

I miss the depth that came from space and silence. From time apart. From having stories to tell because you hadn’t spoken in a while. These days, it feels like we’re constantly talking, but rarely saying anything meaningful.

I don’t know if anyone else feels this way. Maybe it’s nostalgia. Maybe it’s burnout. Maybe it’s just me wanting to experience connection on my own terms again — more quality, less quantity. Something slower. One that doesn’t depend on constant notifications, but instead is built on trust, presence, and care.

Or is that too 90s of me?

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Trusting with Tremors

They say without trust, a relationship is as good as dead — and I fully agree.
But what about when you still believe in the good in someone?
What about when you see the change, however small?
What about when their effort doesn’t erase the past, but makes you pause and wonder — maybe… maybe this could still work?

So what do we do with broken trust?

I’ve tried to heal from it. I’ve also tried to survive it. I’ve gone through his phone more times than I want to admit. Found nothing I loved — but everything that made just enough sense to leave me confused instead of angry. That strange in-between space. Not guilty, not innocent. Just human.

Still, if you decide to stay with someone who once broke your trust, it’s a risk and a burden you willingly sign up for.
And once you sign up for it, maybe it’s time to stop looking over your shoulder — and start looking for solutions.

I used to check his location.
Not because I didn’t know where he was — but because I needed proof that he still chose me, even when I wasn’t watching. It became a crutch. A tiny screen I used to soothe a massive ache.

But I don’t want to live like that anymore.
I want to learn to trust.
Not blindly — but bravely.
Not all at once — but one gentle, terrifying step at a time.

Rebuilding trust isn’t romantic.
It’s slow, repetitive, and exhausting.
It requires presence, consistency, and repair.
But I believe it’s possible — just like love after loss, or laughter after grief.
It might take time. It might take him showing up in the moments I used to panic.
It might take new memories that are wonderful enough to outnumber the haunting ones.
But I want to try.

So this is my new mission:
To rebuild trust.
To let him be.
To free myself from the weight of suspicion.
Not for him. For me.

I want to love without surveillance.
I want to breathe without fear.
I want to trust again — even if my hands are still shaking.

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Burnt Out, Still Breathing

How has it been months since I last wrote?


It honestly shocks me. Writing was my anchor—my way of coping, healing, surviving. Not being able to write has felt like a slow erosion of my identity, like I’ve been silently mourning parts of myself.

As always, I had planned to clear my drafts before the new year. Start fresh. But right before the new year, everything fell apart. I went through some of the worst online harassment I’ve ever faced. It left me bed-ridden, in shock. Something I loved—someone I was—felt attacked. And from people I once felt safe with. That betrayal broke something in me. And it didn’t stop there—it just kept getting worse. So I retreated. I stopped being vulnerable. I stopped writing. I stopped making sense of my emotions. It felt pointless.

November was rough too. Honestly, it all started unraveling around August. I wanted it to be a beautiful season—new beginnings, maybe even love. And yes, I did fall in love. But I wasn’t loved back—not in the way I deserved. I was told I was loved, but I never really felt it. Everything I experienced said otherwise. Still, I held on. I compromised, I bargained, I hoped—until I nearly lost myself. Actually, I did. That relationship left me with wounds I’m still learning to name. And what hurts most is that I silenced myself for someone else. I didn’t write about what I went through because I wanted to protect them. And in doing that, I betrayed me. I don’t remember half of what happened, but my body does. It’s strange—how trauma lingers in muscles and skin, even when the mind forgets.

Then came February. And it was brutal. Shattered glass, wilted flowers—everything I once loved felt destroyed. I had started detaching in January, little by little. I knew I had to. That relationship was tearing me apart. And detaching—choosing myself—that was hard. I kept slipping back, reasoning with myself, battling emotions with logic. But one day, I said it: It’s over.

I ended it. I burned the bridge. Because I knew if I didn’t, I might walk back. And I couldn’t afford to. I had finally chosen myself. But life doesn’t slow down to let you process. Almost immediately, someone new appeared. Too soon, really. But I was so drained from the last relationship, I didn’t feel like grieving. I just wanted to be happy. And when he said he’d make me happy, I jumped. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was vulnerable. I was still the hopeless romantic who wanted to believe in good endings. But right before my birthday, that too fell apart. He wasn’t who he said he was.

And yet, I wouldn’t let him ruin my birthday.
I told myself no man was worth that.

Then my birthday came. My ex resurfaced, asking for another chance. And there I was—a girl just trying to be happy. So, I gave in. Not because I was healed, not because I had clarity, but because I was tired. I didn’t even get the time to grieve what had ended. But grief doesn’t wait. It caught up with me. It always does.

And now, here I am.
Burnt out.

All I want to do is sleep. Nothing excites me. There’s a void inside me that dulls everything around me. The joy is gone. And yet, I’m overwhelmed by responsibilities I can’t escape. I’m too tired to keep up appearances, too drained to keep every commitment. But I’m still trying. Maybe not as much as I used to. But with whatever I have left.

And that has to be enough for now.

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Hi, let’s try to write something raw, right from my heart.

Lately, my inspiration to write has been rather dull. I think learning harsh realities of the world has left me feeling drained. On one hand, it has made me want to hide, to not be so vulnerable here, maybe even use it as my power, but then, for what? That’s one thing I’ve always stood against. It might not have been the right way, but shying away from my authenticity feels like a betrayal. Hiding parts of who I am, or stopping myself from doing the things I love, feels equally defeating. It doesn’t fill my soul—it starves me.

Life lately though, has been insane. Not in a chaotic way—I’m rather calm, thanks to my SSRIs.

Deep down, I know I deserve better. I know I deserve to be loved, cared for, and looked after. I know I deserve the things my heart desires. But every time all of these things come knocking on my door, I turn them down. They never reach my heart. And again, I can’t live a lie, even if that lie would provide all the things I’ve ever dreamt of—except maybe love, because the heart is the hardest to convince, even when the mind knows better.

I’ve been cutting myself down, enduring things I shouldn’t, all in the name of excitement. I’ve been bored for too long, and this feels exciting. It might be love too. But I can’t admit that love could make me feel so low at times.

Love doesn’t make you question yourself. Love doesn’t make you jealous of other women. But then, that’s on me for believing a married man.

Once you’ve felt safe, you immediately recognize when you don’t. I’ve felt safe once in my life, and I’m afraid I will forever long for that feeling again. But goodbyes were said, and now I settle for whatever my heart craves, even if it’s chaos. If it makes me feel alive, I’ll choose it.

I don’t think my “person” is out there. It’s a feeling I’m searching for, not a person, and I’m spending my whole life longing for it, yet mostly being fine without it. I think I’ve been broken in so many ways that nothing fazes me anymore. My friend said that today. I think she might be right. I allow it all. I even laugh at it. Maybe because the pieces of my heart have been broken for so long, and the people who promised to heal me only tortured the damaged pieces in the name of love.

But let’s be honest: I won’t ask a man to stay. I believe in the flow of life, and I can only be with someone who chooses me in the end.

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How my heart broke in the months of 2023.

JANUARY

Nobody wants to be with someone who’s mentally preparing to be without you—dropping expectations and just loving with half a heart.

I’d once been the girl who didn’t need anyone, and if I learned to be her again, I wouldn’t come back from it.

Trying to make sense of every stupid thing, hoping to understand there’s a reason for everything.

There is so much I have to stop myself from doing, afraid I might get on the public radar and might be an easy target with all that’s unraveled from my past and also a lot of my habits today. It’s a really wrecking but very real realization—how I can’t live the life I really want to or do the things I really want to do because of just some shit that’s gone down. Sometimes I feel like I’m with a wall of a person. We have our really good moments, and then at other times I feel like I can’t fully be myself. And I love what we have so much that any hostility that threatens the connection we have wrecks me. It might be something so little. A minute of silence too. And I notice it all. And I’ll be told it’s in my head, and I’ll convince myself it is because there’s already so much in my head, and it makes more sense that way. I crave conversations and answers.

I want to say that you’ve failed to comfort me. And if I tell you how you could, you would accuse me of controlling your dialogue and behavior. But all I know is I wouldn’t have come so far with someone I thought couldn’t comfort me. And the fact that you fail to do so now only shows how much you’ve changed. You tell me every day that you love me more than yesterday when, in fact, I feel less and less loved each day. And every time I say that, you get so offended, as if I choose to feel this way. As if I choose to feel less loved by you. If I could choose, if I had the ability to alter my reality, I would switch to a realm where I felt more loved than ever, not just on occasion, but every day.

Promise you’ll never fall out of love with me? That you’ll always love me through the good days and bad. And that you’ll be kind to me even if we fight. That you won’t be cruel in the name of being honest. Tell me you’ll love me more than I love you on the days I need it the most? Tell me I can count on you when everything else is falling apart. Tell me you’ll always be there when I need you. Tell me.

No, I understand what you were feeling. It’s okay to feel frustrated. I know it must have been annoying. What you fail to understand is how painful it is to hear you say that you’re right, you used to be the one. And you’re not anymore. And maybe you will be again. Try to reverse this situation a bit and tell me it wouldn’t kill you to hear that too? I know how things have changed between us, but I didn’t think you’d lost so much you felt for me. I was just hoping I was wrong, and that was in my head, and tonight you made it so clear, and it completely broke my heart. It breaks my heart to see you losing your patience with me. To not see the kindness you once had for me. And no, I don’t expect you to lie, but I think I deserve a little more kindness. I didn’t betray you for you to treat me like this. I have always loved you, to my best ability. Even through my depression and all that, I have loved you. And I have been thoughtful and considerate as much as possible. Not once have I purposely caused you hurt.

Maybe I can sleep now, knowing the world is as lonely as I am.

Heartbroken at breakfast. I don’t know if it was because I was too hungry or because I’ve been feeling anxious or both. I don’t know. I’m too sensitive. And it really hurts to be around people who are completely oblivious to it. But sometimes I also feel like by expecting them to be more mindful of it, I’m asking for too much. But then I also think that’s wrong, that I shouldn’t have to feel that way. That protecting my feelings, heart, and state of mind should be too much for anyone who says they love me. Love is more than just a word. But sometimes that’s all it is—just a word—without any feelings or empathy. And to me, “I love you today” would’ve meant, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re going through whatever you are.” Some days I feel like it would be so much easier and a lot less painful to rip my heart out of my chest and watch it bleed. Feeling this kind of lonely is a heartbreaking way to start the day. Or maybe it’s all in my head. And I’ll convince myself it is and that I’m a little crazy. Like everyone else tells me. That way, things make more sense than to actually think people and this world are cruel. Or the fact that my feelings are too much and too irrelevant and that people don’t care and it’s just me who cares and I care too much.

Sometimes, actually most of the times, I avoid mirrors. If I can. Especially on days I feel low. I know I’d hate what I see. It’s on days where my inner enemy is triggered when I face situations that make me feel small and lonely. They take space within me, and they stay there for too long.

February

Not everything is black or white. Sometimes there’s a little grey, an off-white perhaps; the lines between “I love you” and “I would do anything for your happiness.”

Red flags? Them going to bed fine when you’re not okay. This is something I learned about 10 years back, and having to relearn it now shows just how far I’ve fallen for an illusion of love.

We’ve all been hurt by someone who promised they would never hurt us. We’ve all been hurt by someone who swore they’d never be the reason for our pain. We’ve all been naive, and some of us still are.

You know those who break your trust and then get mad at you for not trusting them? When they get angry at you for not trusting them and not having faith in them, when they’ve continued to let you down and disappoint you, and you still blame yourself for being so broken that you can’t trust their love and feel helpless in leaving. The vicious cycle of the journey from loving to unloving.

Haven’t you noticed how pain gets more bearable when you have someone to blame? It just magically takes the weight off our bad decisions when you convince yourself others were a factor in influencing your decision. Which might and might not be entirely true sometimes, but either way, it’s a burdensome weight to carry, the weight of your decisions. Ultimately it’s not you because how could you have really known? And if you really knew the outcome would punch a hole through you, would you even have made the same choice? No. Something somewhere made you believe you were making the right choice. But that’s when life kicks in and goes, “Ha ha, fuck you, you stupid.” It is funny when you get to laugh at your pain. Takes some time.

I would’ve told him how I felt; I would’ve told him I felt a little less loved if I felt safe enough to tell him so rather than betting on the fact that this feeling would pass. I’d been so attached to sleeping with him I was ecstatic to falling asleep with him. It wasn’t his bed. It was him. Given the little time we get for each other now, this had become something I enjoyed so much. So I ended up inviting myself without him asking me, only for him to make me change my mind and not even fight for it a little. I do love him more than he loves me. And I’m certain he’s less afraid of losing me than I am of losing him. I settled for his love, the bits and pieces, the remains of a love there once was, and now I’ll weep forever. This is on me.

I’m holding on too tightly.

I’ll do what I do best. I’ll write about my pain.

March

Why was turning 30 a big deal? It indicated I survived my 20s—all of the years and trauma that I held onto, I triumphed.

One of those days where I fail to see the world in color.

Strangers are kinder than my own.

How does it feel to know your demons are your creations?

You’re the worst person ever. Now believe it for the rest of your life, and you’ll go so far.

Yeah, thank you for reminding me there’s a good reason why my life is empty. It is me. I’m the problem. I’m a fucking terrible person. Thank you. Thank you so much.

You know what I think? Well, you didn’t ask, but let me tell you anyway. I think life is absurdly unfair to some of us.

No one will ever know all of me. I trust no one. I see what the world did with what little they knew. I’ve seen enough.

My life is surrounded by walls I built to keep people out, and now I’m the one feeling trapped behind them. I’m miserable. I look nothing like it. But I am. I’m living from day to day, chasing a high perhaps I will never feel again. Life feels lived, and this chapter has nothing interesting about it. Same old patterns of done stories.

You know what’s even worse about depression? It makes you a hundred times harder to love.

Some mornings are no different than others, while others are new beginnings. Today seems fairly usual, but has the potential to be a new lead turning. I haven’t slept. My sleep cycle has been a mess as usual. Living alone has been a disaster. I’ll rot away without supervision. I’ve had zero to even less motivation the past few days. Have failed to see a point to this life. Yet I wake up day after day, even if it’s at six pm, hoping it’ll be different. I couldn’t keep missing work anymore. So here I am, doing what I’m supposed to do. I wish I liked the life I live. And I wish I liked myself a bit more most days. I’ve also been playing a lot of Scrabble on my phone, like anything I get obsessed with, until I started too many matches and overwhelmed myself. Sounds about right. That’s just what I do with everything.

APRIL

Let’s talk about moving forward in life. Sometimes, we have to let go of things or people that we’ve held onto for a long time to be able to move towards a brighter future. Saying goodbye is never easy, but it’s certainly necessary.

Life doesn’t always work out the way we want it to, but we can have faith that it knows best. You’ll never lose what’s meant for you, and sunsets are always beautiful somewhere, giving hope to a beautiful ending that will lead to a beautiful beginning.

I don’t like the sun. Its light magnifies my flaws.


MAY

When you let people go, be careful and sure because you’ll never find them again in the place you left them.

Maybe someday I’ll have the kind of love I dream of—a partner who’s eager to do things together, determined to support each other in everything, constantly around not making me feel alone, someone who thrives on our companionship. Someone who’s so kind that it would melt my soul. Someone who’s consistent with their intentions and actions. Someone who’s caring, someone who understands making me feel safe lies in their hands.

I was glass, and you broke me.

I truly do wish I had the strength to let you go. So maybe one day when you’re ready to be with me, you’ll come and find me. But this is real life; you don’t find the same things twice. And that’s why I’m so afraid to let go. Because I feel like I’ll always miss you. And I’d rather try now than miss you for the rest of my life. So I’ll be here until I can’t. And I pray that you’ll be here as long as I am.

I feel terrible thinking I force this on you. But I’m just an all-or-nothing kind of person, I guess. I haven’t loved anyone as much as I love you. I have never been so afraid of losing someone. I have never been afraid of losing anyone. I was always enough. But then you came, shattered every wall I ever built, fought with me to let you in, to let you be there for me, and I eventually learned to count on someone other than myself. Because you always showed up. You made me feel like I didn’t have to fight my battles alone. And although I was skeptical of that, it was so nice not having to carry the weight of this world alone. And that’s how you became my world. Because you made me want to live again. But all of that is changing.

“I lost my dignity in loving you, even when you were hurting me. But you, you lost someone who didn’t mind losing her dignity as long as she didn’t lose you.”

I wouldn’t expect you to chase me had you not done it before. I wouldn’t expect you to fight for me had it not been the impression you had given me before. These are both things you have done, and you’ve stopped doing. I don’t miss things you had never done. I miss things you used to do and you stopped doing. So yeah, a very nice video of another reminder that just kicks in. I want a man who’s afraid of losing me. Not a man who’s okay whether I stay or go. Not a man who acts like he doesn’t really care. That’s just some bullshit. I couldn’t sleep all night and all morning, and to wake up to this.

You know what’s pathetic? He has a key to my place. And whenever I was low, and he knew it, my heart would expect him to walk through every time. So every time I heard the door open, it would just jump out of its chest. Of course, he never walked through. But my heart never stopped expecting. It loved him too much.

JUNE

I’ve finally accepted I’m different. And maybe not in the best way. But that’s still enough for me to try and stop blending in because that is exhausting. I’ve seen things others haven’t. And that alone differentiates my entire nervous system vastly. I’ll stand out as weird and maybe too intense and a bit too much, but that’s me. That will always be me, and I can’t be anything else but myself. I spiral into sadness and depression from time to time and see no end. I struggle to get myself out of the darkness I’m sucked into. I go over memories that haunt me constantly. I try to forget so much.

Never really knew that at the end of the day, I just wanted my feet in serene wrap.

You know, I’ve tried to be the caring and nice person. I’ve tried to be the person that maintains relationships. I’ve tried to do everything I thought was the way it should be, and I failed. It’s just not who I am, and the trying part was just exhausting. So I’m no longer trying.

I didn’t know instantly. But I knew gradually. I knew I couldn’t envision the future I dreamt of with this man. I knew he wouldn’t live up to the dream he painted for me. It did break my heart at first, but I understood. I had fallen helplessly in love by this point, so I couldn’t just check out. So I stayed until it became more hopeless by the day, but still hoping that he would come around and surprise me. Even when I knew he wouldn’t.

Couldn’t help but wonder if I deserved it, for wronging someone who loved me with all their soul.

This would be a first. Deliberately trying to lose feelings for someone. With everyone else, it happens so naturally. And the ones I never fell out with, I never wanted to stop loving them. But after one year of being here, what I realize is that this one hurt the most. The way I needed you terrified me. And the way you didn’t need me back broke my heart.

I feel so stupid for trying so hard to be a part of your life. And what might think, why did I have to try so hard when you’re the one who invited me? Imagine being invited to an event you had no clue about, after being assured one will care for you, only for you to come and be left high and dry. My poor choices in men are one thing I will always hate myself for. I hate myself for constantly choosing terrible men to be a part of my life and then continuing to make excuses for them until it deteriorates anything that’s left in me. And you might think, well, if they were all so bad, maybe you were the problem. That’s the thing, they weren’t all bad. It’s some of their goodness that made me realize how things should be. I was no saint in most of my relationships, but the few ones that I vouched my all for were the ones that bruised me the most. Like this one. This one was so glorified. What a waste. People don’t really show you who they truly are until the very end. And I have reached the very end of this. And so the nightmare begins.

So what, one day he’s going to give all the love he once gave to me to someone else. He’s going to love someone else just as he did me. So what. He’s going to be all the sweet things he was to me, to her someday. And though the thought wrecks my nerves, why should it hurt me? Because I didn’t leave the same guy I met. I left someone who was unkind, I left someone who didn’t love nor care for me. So why should I cry over someone who’s made me want to hate myself? I have cried for him all the tears that I could.

I will not write about him. I will bury this love.

Every time he left me and walked away from me, he made me stronger. So what, relationships end, people even die. But life still goes on.

I wish I could turn back time, go to the day I finally decided to reply to one of your messages, and just scroll by it instead like all the other times. I could’ve saved myself from so many nights of crying on the floor, begging God to rid me of the feeling that I felt for you. But it’s not possible. So I have to live with all the hurt you caused me and pretend I’m fine. And that is what I will do.

No, it’s not that. I came across some breakthroughs with him. I struggle a lot with my mental health, and I’ve always had commitment issues. He’s the only person I’ve been able to commit so fully and be so vulnerable with. And then he breaks my heart. Not just my heart: he breaks me. So yeah. Toughie.

It is right. I know. It just needs time. I just want it to end. But it won’t because I can’t stop loving him. Not yet. So. It goes on because the heart wants what it wants so until he just leaves me I’ll be destroying myself in loving him.

Everything I did to save my relationship wasn’t done to me. I swallowed my pain, I swallowed my pride. Put on a face which no hurt showed. Only to constantly be kicked in my chest with a fist so hard that broke my bones. I fell in love with a man who had no interest in taking care of my heart. Every time he hurt me, and I went back. I went back for the memories. I went back for everything I remembered that he used to do at the beginning. He was not the same man that made me fall in love with him. And it took me breaking my heart over and over and over again to realize that. And every time this happened, I never really wrote the truth of it here because I wanted to protect him. But why protect someone who wouldn’t do the same for me, right? I’ve been a fool in love.

Why should I be sad? I would be sad if I lost someone who loved and cared for me. But I didn’t lose someone who loved and cared for me. I lost someone who didn’t love me enough to fight for me. And more than anything, that is freeing. To be free from an illusion of love.

Why must anything go to waste? You loved, and you learned.

You know how when you jump off a moving vehicle, you gotta start running to avoid a hard fall. I feel like that’s what I’m doing right now. But what will happen when I stop? Can I go running forever? So the things I run away from never have the chance to catch up. Or do I stop running and let it take over me and run with the baggage of all that. It’ll slow me down for sure, but at least I won’t be running away. I’ll just be going forward. And I want to go forward.

You know what hurts? Giving them chances they never asked for, forgiving them for the things they never apologized for, being let down by someone you didn’t go out looking for, being left by someone who hurt you and couldn’t stop hurting you, when conversations are ended by someone who used to never want to stop talking to you. It also hurts to not hate them despite the pain they’ve caused. It hurts to not hate them when I know they are okay with losing me. It hurts to not hate them when I know the thought of me with someone else doesn’t drive them insane, cuz if it did, they couldn’t have let me go, could they? It hurts because of how okay they are when you’re not. But hey, life goes on. And my broken heart too will mend someday.

You’re not my greatest love; you’re the love that tore me apart.

I feel like I’m being punished for loving someone who swore they’d forever love and treat me right. My heart feels scammed. I’ve loved and lost in my 20s. But none of them made false promises my heart held onto. They were so brutally honest. And that gave me peace. But this just gives me confusion. How could you love and hurt someone at the same time? I’ve been reading about trauma bonding, and this feels eerily similar to those. It’s nuts. You lose your best friend, the only person in this world that you’re comfortable with, the only person in this world you could be vulnerable with. You lose a part of yourself in them. I know there’s no point in crying; there’s no point in wallowing in my tears. I just don’t know where to put my hurt. I just wanna lay it to rest, this love. This so unrequited love. I’m porous; I loved him against my best interest. I’m brave for loving someone so selflessly, even when it was destroying me. When I love, I love greater than the world. My heart is bigger than the ocean. But he can’t swim, so it was evident to doom from the start. I wanna sing Unbreak My Heart at the top of my lungs, and then the other times I wanna sing you two-timing cheap lying wannabe. Not true, but at least I feel solid pain. It’s better than feeling confused when someone cheats; the cause is evident. Yet here it feels as if there was no cause, just that he didn’t love me enough to fight for me, not stay with me. I mean it’s enough reason but somehow the saddest kind.

I don’t struggle to let him go because I think he still might be the one. I have never been more sure of someone not being the one for me than this time. But how do I convince my heart? How do I convince my heart that we need a kinder love that’s consistent and prioritizes us? An unconditional love that knows no ounce of cruelty, a love that is human and understands the deepest sentiments of my heart.

Afraid to let go because what happens after we do? We live a life where we both aren’t constantly running towards each other but maybe walking in parallel lines, wishing we could be happy for the other person. The love doesn’t go anywhere, but the sound of your feet walking away from them nearly kills you. Sometimes to love means to let go. No matter how badly you want to hold on. There is strength in letting go. I will always miss him. Maybe even for the rest of my life.

JULY

Did I not deserve the love I had always dreamt of? Is that perhaps why I have begun to reflect on the love I had known? But how could someone I was so okay with losing be ‘the one that got away’? It makes no sense.

I don’t know why we stayed. We loved each other, but were we in love with each other? I don’t know. I think I wasn’t. I was in love with the memories.

Probably the first time he told me he liked me and wanted to get to know me, I told him I was edgy and difficult. He said not for him. Fool that I was, I intoxicated myself in the words that came out of him. Almost a year later, he told me I was difficult to be nice to. I was broken for a long time before I gathered the courage to not look at myself through his eyes. I stopped begging him to love me the way I needed; instead, I let him love me the way he saw fit. I no longer complained or fought because deep down I had really given up. But I was still afraid to let go. Because no amount of preparing yourself would change how it would hurt when it really ends. I was never afraid to walk away from someone. I proudly walked away from people even when it crushed me. But now that my soul is a bit worn out, it lives in regret of those whom I walked away from and wished I hadn’t. That pain was what was stopping me from letting go. I had lost the person who loved me. And I was never getting him back. Nor was I ever going to find someone who would treat me the way he did. Like a true princess. I blew it all up. It was all my fault. It took me four years to admit that I was the problem. It was his blessing that I walked away, and my loss.

I don’t know who they fall in love with when, in the end, they have a problem with the essence of who I am, who I’ve been, and are doubtful they can love who I will be. So they try to change these little things about me, failing to understand me. And I love them, so I change. But that makes me miserable. Because I’m no longer myself. I’m a version of myself I’ve molded into to keep the people I love. So I am truly lost, for I am no longer here.

This notion that people who love you can hurt you is not true, is it? It sounds dreadful that we live in a world where this is brushed off. That it ends up with half-ass apologies expecting the hurt you went through not to change you.

Why do we need people to acknowledge the pain they’ve caused you? In reality, it makes no difference whether they acknowledge it or not, but maybe you hope that if they acknowledge it and admit to it they’ll maybe feel at least half the hurt you feel now. But it’s all a maybe. They don’t care.

I swallow my words before they hit the tip of my tongue because what’s the use. I’ve fought this war with you over and over again, and I’ve always lost a part of me to you. It ends up in tears, and I drown in it alone. And sometimes on a good night, you’ll save me just before I drown and hope that you’ve saved me. But really you haven’t. You’ve saved what’s left of me, and the rest dies. Little by little, so much of me has died over you. I still love you with whatever’s left, but I’ll tell you this, it isn’t much, and I’m not that sorry. Because you had all of me until you killed half of me. Now I love you with half of my heart.

I might not be the one you spend the rest of your life with. But I sure as hell want to be the one who sleeps with you tonight, tomorrow, and maybe even the day after. Not because I can’t see my life without you, but because I only got to see you for who you are only after I fell in love with you, and now I’m weak and helpless. I’m clung to you like a parasite because I tasted the love and I wanna taste it for a bit longer.

I’m breaking up with you. This one is so hard to write. Because I wanted to see this one through. But after trying over and over again, I have realized that this relationship doesn’t work for me. And you have no interest in catering to my interests. I could have brought these things up in person, but I know you well enough to know you’d have something to say to each one of them. I’m glad I met you and I’m glad to have experienced this love. It’s a pity it didn’t last. But surely we’ll both find people more suited for us once we walk away from each other. I hope you forgive me. I hate that I have to ask you a hundred questions I ask you and tell you so much shit sometimes you don’t even hear me. I love you, but it’s over.

It’s ending, right?

Going through memories is exactly like a long drive where you pass by all of your favorite memories and realize which ones you want to live in again.

At first, the differences don’t really matter. Because you’re excited and determined. In a whim of delusion, you convince yourself the differences complement each other when they really do not. I like the ocean, and he dreads it. These subtle differences made me feel alone in my preferences. Cuz I didn’t have someone to share my views and ideals with. I didn’t have someone who supported me through thick and thin. I didn’t have someone who could be there for me and love me unconditionally.

First impressions have never been more wrong. He seemed like everything I could want and need; he had studied me meticulously. He knew what to be, to have me. And then his act wore off. The date nights no longer happened. The surprise gifts no longer happened. Adventures were no longer planned unless I did. And eventually, I got tired of pouring into a cup that didn’t pour for me. It only left me empty while leaving me alone to refill too. And so I stayed; I stayed until it became easier to let go. Until my heart didn’t shatter at the thought of being alone with him.

I’m no longer scared of losing him. I’m scared of not getting the closure out of this if it ends. Knowing him there’s no way we can walk away from a table in peace. I mean he can and he will; he cares about very little. And I wouldn’t be a person he would care about walking away from it so it’s guaranteed he’d leave me a mess. He wouldn’t be able to wish me well or appreciate our time together. He’d storm off saying he’s got no time for this shit, and that would wreck me because I’d forever seek closure for us. I just know me.

Despite what I wanted to believe, he still had more than half of my heart. I’ve loved this man with every atom in my body. And it won’t be an easy thing leaving. But I have to. I fell so deeply for the wrong man.

I’m the girl who crosses bridges at two am just to buy kiwis she saw at the grocery shop from last night before everything went blurry, just because she’s a little bored right now.

I wish I didn’t love you, cuz then it wouldn’t hurt. And fuck loving you when all you do is break my heart.

Something people would never know about me was that there was a time I couldn’t bear looking at myself in the mirror. I’d wake up and get ready for work with lights off; I just had insane self-esteem and identity issues.

AUGUST

Letting go of your hand felt like jumping off a cliff. Standing there with you at the end of our love story made me feel like I was on the edge of the cliff that I’d be jumping from. Life without you was going to be a free fall.

We came to the spot we first met, as if we wanted to tell the ocean waves that we failed and we broke each other. And that we were sorry, that we love each other.

Some things just don’t change. People and their intentions hardly remain for your best. It’s a very selfish world we live in.

Sure, I left. You can make me feel like the bad guy for leaving all you want, while you forget all the times I tried and put myself through hell hoping you’d listen and understand me.

I’m jealous of people who have genuine fun, who are happy and enjoy the simpler things in life without being drowned by the voices in their heads. Even better, I’m jealous of the ones that don’t have voices in their heads reminding them of everything that’ll prevent them from being happy.

I hope I forget your face, your name, and every conversation we’ve ever had.

Today I thought that if I really wanted to let go of him and for it not to hurt me, I actually can do that. I’m afraid of losing my ability to feel for others if I do cross that line to being utterly heartless. So that’s what I’m afraid of. So instead, I sacrifice myself so I wouldn’t sacrifice others.

SEPTEMBER

The worst thing about breaking up with someone is the notable realization that you’re yet again further from your soulmate. And you continue to wonder if there might be a person for you out there at all. So, with a sighing mind and a clock that keeps ticking your youth away, you open your eyes to see what you might find out there. I find it hard to get out of my room, let alone put myself out there to the outside.

Maybe you don’t recognize yourself anymore because the masks you wore to blend in have come off, and you’re stuck with the real you, who feels so foreign because all your life you’ve been running away from her.

I hate breakups. The way you say goodbye over and over again. The way you feel guilty for living a life without them, the way they confront you, the way you have no answers because what’s more clear than a breakup.

NOVEMBER

It’s probably every girl’s dream to see their man pull out a ring and utter the words they will remember for the rest of their lives.

I wasn’t expecting it to happen; frankly, I didn’t even want it to. We were broken up, I was done with the relationship. And then he pulls out a ring. I said no, almost too quickly. You see, this man had hurt me so much that I couldn’t forget nor forgive. He was my world at one point; nothing else mattered. And when he had this power and control over me, all he did was hurt me. And I, like a little girl begging for crumbs of his love, settled for whatever he was willing to offer me. He said he wasn’t ready to get married; it hurt, but I said okay. He said he couldn’t travel with me on my birthday; it hurt, but again I said okay. He didn’t celebrate my birthday; this time it hurt so much more, but I said okay. And then, there was this moment that I knew it was no longer okay.

Losing him made me weaker; losing you made me stronger.

The hardest part about living this life is not being able to trust people. Not knowing when they have their knives ready for you, even when you’re opening up to them with your secrets. Another hard part is the inconsistency of people; one day they are good, and the next they disappoint you. And while these are my complaints about the world, I admit I’m no different from others. The world becomes you in the end. Endings are always hard, even if they are abrupt, or even when you’ve seen it coming for months. Even if they leave you or you leave them. The end of another human relationship means it was another line in the geometry of life that was meant to merely cross paths.

I hate that it’s ending; I’m sad that it’s ending, but I’m also glad that it’s ending.

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