grieving my short-lived lover girl era </3
my one month (ish) post-breakup update no one asked for
I was feeling very down this entire weekend.
I had to push myself through that Friday morning Circuits class as my body—especially my arms—was struggling to keep up. After that, my mood continued on a downward spiral, the only respite taking place when I was hyper-focused on preparing a template to be presented at 2pm. I left the whole baby chicken I’d bought on my way back from the gym out all day because I spent my 6 to 9 (or in this case, 11) rotting in bed. I finally went down to the kitchen to sort it out at 11pm, because otherwise it would’ve gone bad. Unfortunately, I lacked the same willpower that Saturday evening as I fell asleep prematurely and as a result, had left out 500g of fresh prawns and two pieces of fresh fish overnight. The only option I had was to fry them the next morning.
I went easy on myself because I was aware that this weekend marked about a month since my (first and only) relationship officially ended. We broke up a little over a week before I went back to Malaysia to see my family and while I was on the flight, he’d wished me a safe journey. That was the last I’d heard from him.
Fresh after the breakup, I cried a lot. I couldn’t believe what had happened and my mind was constantly spiraling on how we—mostly me—could’ve prevented this outcome. It was my instant reaction to the pain. But life still carried on; I still went to work, attended meetings and made as much progress on the tasks my boss wanted me to focus on before I went away. In between all that, I continued to cry—I just couldn’t control my tear ducts and my mind, for fixating on the last events that led to our separation. My colleagues noticed. How could they not? My face was red and swollen all day and my quiet sniffles filled the backdrop of the quiet office.
My only refuge was to call up my family and close friends and seek their validation on my feelings. Their words—especially a dear friend who offered a religious perspective on the matter—were enough to calm my heart for the remaining days before my flight. Admittedly, my last minute to-do’s made for a perfect mental escape. So there I was, in my seat and ready for take off. A few hours in, I connected to the in-flight WiFi (I can’t believe you’re able to stay connected for free for more than an hour now!) to see if there were any messages from my family.
And there it was, his final message to me.
Truthfully, I did wonder if he’d send me a message of the sort, as he knew I was leaving that day, although I’m embarrassed to admit that this was just the first of a series of scenarios I imagined (and hoped) would lead to us rekindling the romance. My heart pounded; I had burdened myself with the power of determining whether the rest of my imagination would turn into reality, making me unsure of what to say. Eventually, I settled for a simple thank you but written in such a way that it sounded open-ended, inviting. And when he didn’t offer a follow-up after reading my response, my heart sunk at the finality of the interaction.
I wasn’t surprised, to be honest. Where relationships are concerned, he always seemed more secure than I was, so not going back on the breakup was very on brand of him. Fortunately, I was in Malaysia, so despite my anxious attachment tendencies, I stayed firm on the decision, too.
I spent a lot of time with family; I slept over at my grandparents’ house and ate out with them, I managed to catch up with some friends and my cousin, my family attended a couple of open houses hosted by my aunts and uncles, we hosted our own little open house for friends that I didn’t get to see yet, I accompanied my friend at the salon which prompted me to get a cut too, I accompanied my sister a lot on her errands/work adventures now that she can drive, I bought a new phone—an ordeal that took longer than it needed to, my siblings and I had a little day out just the four of us, I had a karaoke session where I cried mid-singing Exile and belted crazily to The Ballad of Mona Lisa, I assisted my parents with chores like laundry and pushing my grandmother’s wheelchair in and out of her bedroom, and just many hearty meals with my family.
All was well—I was reminded of how rich my life is outside of the relationship, how my connection with him wasn’t the only one that mattered. By the end of the trip, all urges I had to reach out to him previously had ceased to exist. I was confident that I’d moved on.
Now two weeks back in London, I realised that that’s not the case. Of course the trip healed the bulk of the pain—I don’t cry anymore (well, at least not as intensely and frequently as before) and I’m not spiraling on a daily basis like I used to. But there’s a difference between feeling good about yourself for a couple of weeks whilst being drilled repeatedly by your girlfriends on self love—not kidding, people from different friend groups more or less said the same thing—and actively choosing yourself on a long-term basis.
And one thing I noticed had helped tremendously—getting closer to God—involves acts I have to maintain and nurture consistently. I read The Halfway Point’s take on Chapter 7 of the Quran on my flight back to London. The emphasis on faith explored by Natasha, the author, made me realise that my spiraling and regrets come from my subconscious belief that I am in full control of any situation, a disease that can be remedied (to some extent) by embodying lessons from the Qur’an.
I kid you not, whatever heartache I had about the relationship disappeared in that moment, and it stayed that way for a good few days.
[I am aware I haven’t continued the book since then.]
Grief is a weird thing, I know that. And as all my girlfriends have said, it’s perfectly normal for all the self-esteem you’ve built during your healing phase to come crashing down temporarily because of something as silly as an Instagram post that triggered old memories. Even my friend whose last relationship was ages ago and who had sworn off all men ever since, admitted in a moment of vulnerability, that she too experiences this.
“Do you think I never think about my exes? And what could have been, had we made it work? It doesn’t happen often but when something reminds me of them, I have these thoughts too. But that’s all they are—thoughts. Healing isn’t about forgetting them completely, but accepting what happened and moving forward.”
And as another friend had told me before, it’s okay to take my time with it, as long as I’m consistently making small progress every day.
So where am I at now?
I’m generally calm and okay but memories of our time together have inevitably seeped into my mind. It makes sense—in Malaysia, it was easy to forget his existence as he was so far away, but I’m now back in the city where he lives just a 30 minutes’ drive from me (I say just because he said it wasn’t much for the time he’d spend with me). It’s bittersweet knowing that he’s so near yet I’ll never see him again.
It’s funny; back when we were together, coincidentally, he would have family events and hangouts with friends at places quite close to my house, so each time he’d asked if I was free. If I was, he’d stop by and say hi, and if there was more time to spare, we’d get dessert somewhere nearby—and this was on top of our weekly designated dates. I loved the way he considered and prioritised me. My housemate was surprised he made so much time for me like that.
Now, every time I pass by the highway on the way to my house, my eyes automatically scan for the likes of his silver car (even when we were together, I could never remember the brand or look of his car for the life of me, just the colour). I’d hold my breath when I spot one and quickly looked at the licence plate for confirmation (this one, I remember only because he’d dropped an old parking ticket on our way out of a restaurant one evening and so I picked it up but I forgot to pass it to him so it’s been in my possession until now).
The result was always false.
It’s like he’d never frequented this side of town, all traces of him gone.
And it’s not just my local area. Even when I pass by other places in central London that we used to go, I just have this feeling deep in my heart that I’ll never bump into him. It makes our entire relationship feel like a fever dream.
The memories these places hold will always remain, though.
On Sunday, my housemate and I went to watch Sinners and I only realised en route, that I’d booked our tickets at a cinema very close to his go-to drive-in area. A wave of nostalgia washed over me as I reminisced all the long conversations we had over hot drinks and doughnuts in the car. I scanned for this car then, too. Nada.
But because my housemate and I went there during the day, the place looked very different to how I remembered it with him. And we had a great time, too. Perhaps this is what grief and healing is all about—revisiting a place and longing for the familiar, and receiving a wonderful surprise instead, one beyond our wildest imagination.