love

The campaign to find myself 

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As I was recovering from a heartbreak, I confided in my friend Denise how overwhelming it was to think of life as indefinite. You have no idea when it will all end, how many more heartbreaks lie ahead, or if your dreams will ever even come true.

I’m not saying I wish for a terminal illness, but there’s a certain clarity that comes with a definite time frame, like “you have three months to live.” You know exactly how long you need to hold on and can focus on making the most of that time. Perhaps it was because of my background as a consultant. My professional life is structured around campaigns with specific objectives and KPIs to meet in three months, six months, or a year.

Denise said, “So, why not create a campaign for yourself? Give yourself three months to recover and move on.” So, I did.

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Rock bottom

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I turned 32 earlier this year. It’s my favorite number because it signifies my birth date, February 3rd. I had hoped 32 would be my magic number – a year of happiness, a time when I could simply glide through life after a couple of grueling years. Perhaps it would be the year I figured everything out, maybe even started planning the life I wanted to build with the man I was seeing.

Instead, this year has been one of the hardest of my life. Each month seemed to hurl one lemon after another. From getting shingles and spraining a foot, to dealing with a non-paying housemate and police reports, to going through romantic and financial turmoil. The final nail in the coffin was when my beloved first cat, Luna, suddenly went into acute kidney failure, just days after my breakup was sealed. 

I broke down. When I saw my reflection in the mirror, my eyes were so full of sadness that I wondered if I’d ever be truly happy again. 

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The heaviest was regret (but I let it go)

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A few weeks ago, I had to say goodbye to someone dear to me. This was not a novel concept but still, each time, having to let go when you didn’t want to could turn your mind into a warzone. 

Taking accountability to the extreme, I was wildly grasping for faults and reasons, because if I could find them, I could fix them. I was quick to accept every point that he raised, claiming all the blame and inflating them a hundredfold. 

The weight of regret was crushing, and this post was originally meant to condemn myself. But in the process of writing, somehow I turned into my own lawyer. 

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I chose myself and it broke me

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After my breakup with The Spaniard in 2022, I took half a year off dating. Learning to be content with myself, I turned inward. I settled into my new job, cultivated friendships, and leaned into the joy of lindy hop and the community that made it so special. I was building and savoring a life that made me feel so, very rich. Rather than conforming to someone else’s ideal, I resolved to only settle down with a partner who enhanced the life I’d painstakingly crafted – a life brimming with joy, love, and self-assurance. 

Just when I least expected it, serendipity intervened. Over breakfast with my friend Sophiya, I confessed that I was enjoying my freedom too much and not actively looking for love, only to find myself swept off my feet that very night.

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Dating, to someone who was last single a decade ago

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Romance, books, vintage filter.jpg

Coming out of a nine-year relationship which started right out of high school, today’s modern dating scene is practically a jungle to me.

The last time I had to navigate dating was when I was a wide-eyed student in a relatively homogenous Catholic school. Back then, dating was as straightforward as it could get: you liked someone, interest reciprocated, then he (it was usually the guy) asked you to be his girlfriend. From then on, the mindset was that you both would end up married. This remains true for some of my old friends coming from the same background.

The dating scene I have to navigate now defies everything I knew then.

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