A (somewhat) Happy/ unhappy love story......Letting go, Moving on!

The final chapter in my real life love story....Part 9...contd....from Oct 20th post...

Picking up from where we left off.....I guess, Mr A's and my problems, quite honestly, started with the constant questioning from my mother about our relationship, our decisions and what our life would be like after the 'so-called' wedding. Quite understandably, like any protective mother, she was concerned for her daughter's well-being. My mother was and still is, a very direct person. A straight shooter. No filter. But more importantly, someone who never hesitates to ask the tough questions. As a person, who always thought ahead, my mother often might have worried and wondered what would become of me AND my life with the man I chose to be with. Like every mother, she only wanted the best for her daughter and rightfully so, she questioned our life-plan. Today when I look back at it, I know she never meant it from a place of wanting for either of us to break up. She intended it from a place of being an overly concerned mother who was concerned about her one and only daughter's well-being and her happiness. However, I guess the way she went about it, would serve as a psycho-analysis theory of "What NOT to do (or To do) to chase away your Son / Daughter's fiancé'" . I'm sure it'll serve as a good guide for today's world of desperately-worried-parents, wishing that their "my-single-life-is-enough" kids found someone......anyone.........as a companion for life.

Anyway, the point is my mother asked the hard questions. Like actual life-related hard questions. The harder the life-questions got, the lesser the answers we had. Practically, Mr A and I hadn't given much thought to it, other than just wanting to get married to each other. Although by nature, I was always a structured, organized and 'thinking-ahead' kind of person, I really hadn't thought about the real life aspect for both of us and what it would entail. The challenges. The technicalities of living in Dubai. Work. Jobs. Visa-situation. Living situation. Etc. Etc.

And obviously, contrary to me, Mr A was a "take-it-as-it-comes" kind of guy.

Yes, I know. My father was there to provide us with the needed support in case the occasion ever arose, but the truth is that I depended on myself and my "chivalrous & assertive" fiancé to figure this out eventually. Besides, my dad had his own set of business problems & sibling rivalry issues to deal with. There is no way I could even remotely consider bogging him down with my life issues any further, especially after my 'impending' wedding to Mr A. And I knew and trusted Mr A to know that he wouldn't have wanted that either. In fact, from a very early young age, secretly I had always hoped and wished that at some point in life, when I started earning and making a living for myself and my family, me and my so-called husband could and would help my father in some form or fashion, more so to relive him of his stress from his constant life struggles. Just to do what I, as his daughter, could possibly do.

You see, my sense of empathy towards anyone, was and still is, at the extreme end of the empathy spectrum. On a scale of 1 to 10, I'm probably a 10.5, especially if I like/love the person. But at the same time with someone who I don't have an affinity towards, my empathy level can go down to -1. So one can imagine that with my father, my empathy was always at the highest of peaks. The answer was simple. He was a quiet, strong man who rarely complained nor passed judgment about anything or anyone, no matter what happened or who said or did anything. He didn't have time to deal with the negativity, even from his own siblings. He had to keep moving. For his wife. For his family. For his kids. For his employees. And that's all I had seen of him doing for 38 years or so....just moving, always moving....without a break. Gosh....thinking about it as I write this down, brings me to tears (sniff, sniff!). Because I had come to realize much later in life, that I was a carbon copy of this exact characteristic of my father's.

My father. I know that in my life if there was or could have been a more perfect father, after God, it was my dad. He wasn't the most perfect human being. Obviously not. I knew that. But he did all he could and beyond, to keep his family happy. Invariably, I'd seen my dad struggle in and out throughout life; in fact both my parents struggled together; I would have hated to burden both of them further more with mine or Mr A's so-called lack of seriousness of taking on the responsibilities coming ahead of us. From my own integrity-filled mind-set and perspective, it would be unacceptable to me to even remotely allow that to happen. I had hoped that Mr A would be able to empathize with me here on this matter. But I don't know if he ever did.

Anyway, I trusted Mr A's judgement; I relied on his sense of assertiveness to 'grab the bull by the horns' and answer the questions my mother asked. Or at the very least, consider them enough to start formulating a plan in mind. But at the same time, I had hoped he would involve me in his decisions, or what he was thinking, whether he was sure or unsure. I just cared to know. And that I would support and follow suite, no matter what it was...dutifully, as a wife would and should. Because that was the only thing that I wanted out of life at that point. To be a wife. To be a mother. Rather more precisely, to be Mr A's wife and the mother of his children. I honestly didn't know what "real-life" meant at that time. All I knew was that it wouldn't be so bad at all, especially if I had Mr A beside me.

I was the classic example of a girl who was raised and brought up in the most protective, clean and innocent environment my parents could possibly provide for us. And I was ready to proceed onto the next with my 'almost-to-the altar-husband' of a fiancé. But, as you might have guessed by now, quite the contrary happened.

Whenever I tried to discuss these real-life questions with Mr A, his answer was always, "Let's take it as it comes."

Most times, that answer was a bit too uncomplacent for my liking. But I knew early on that neither Mr A nor I were perfect; although at that point, I strongly believed that Mr A and I were two 'imperfect people' possibly brought together by God or destiny to be perfect for each other. Regardless, we were never "perfect" individuals on our own. I was willing to deal with all of it; it didn't matter, since I truly believed back then, that he was dealing with my quirks and one-off weirdness.

In fact, whenever I heard this answer, I often wondered and thought, "What did he even mean by that??. Has he even thought this through? Or not? More importantly, how long do we keep pushing off having this discussion?"

That said, the questions never stopped from my mother. In fact, it started bogging us down, day after day. Month after month.

"Have you decided on what kind of wedding to have?"

"Will it be a Catholic wedding or an Orthodox wedding?"

"Have y'all decided on a potential wedding date?"

"When is Mr A planning to coming to India?"

"Shouldn't you both set a date first so he can plan his trip?"

And yaadi, yaadi ...yaada.

Another issue that hovered over us, was that my mother had this weird irritative vibe about Mr A's 'slackness' (for lack of better words!). I never spoke about it with her. I never discussed it. In fact, nothing I or anyone said or did, could ever change that; if she felt strongly about something; it stuck with her, no matter what anyone did or said to sway her. So I never tried either. But somehow, she just had an intuitive sense about things...about people. And which, never quite gave way for a comfortable conversation with Mr A's parents either, every time they were on the phone. She couldn't seem to physically shake me up with the constant badgering of questions (although internally, it always hit me like a ton of bricks...I just turned on my 'poker face' with her on the outside!). And neither did it work with Mr A, because they never spoke to each other....EVER.

Anyway, when my mother couldn't get clear enough answers from either me or Mr A, she asked Mr A's parents those tough questions, wondering and hoping that they might have some answers, but they obviously did not know either. Because they trusted their son would have the "so-called-supposed" answers with a potential plan in mind. Naturally and understandably, the more the questions, the more they got worried. For him. For us. And rightfully, as his parents, they relayed those very same worries to Mr A, which caused an unwarranted tension between him and his parents.

For anyone who's encountered my mother's interrogative style, the only feeling they would be left with eventually, if unsure of themselves, is 'feeling intimated' and then a subsequent sense of insecurity about themselves. And maybe, just maybe, this is what Mr A and his parents were starting to feel. And quite honestly, I didn't see it. I wish that had I known about it or seen it, or even had a bird's eye view of it, I would've definitely done something about it. But the truth is, that I couldn't see it. Or rather, let's say that I was blinded by my own thoughts and feelings about Mr A that I had chosen to not see anything else.

And truthfully, that's all I needed. Because I had learnt, more by experience than anything else, to 'zone out' everything and everyone else that created unnecessary 'noise', whether it was my parents, family, friends and/or situations.

And instead, focus on what was important to me - in this case, Mr A.

Yes, I focused on him.

Focused on his happiness.

His choices.

And maybe, as I look at it today, some of you might say that I was entirely wrong in doing that. No 21st century woman should do that. EVER. Maybe. Or maybe not. But given my circumstances, I did what I did best because I had given my heart wholeheartedly to this man.

Here's the other thing - Mr A was not used to being questioned about his life's decisions. He did not appreciate anyone questioning it or asking about it, including his parents. I'm sure I would have felt the same, had I been in his shoes. However, back then, I understood this aspect about him because like I've mentioned, I'm an extreme empathizer. More so, it seemed like everyone was crowding 'his space', including me.

I mean, I get it.

I respected his feelings and decisions.

I trusted him. I just wish he had involved me a bit more in them and just braised the topics ever so slightly once in awhile, forgetting everyone and everything else, just like I did.

And sometimes I wished that he knew, that was all that he needed to think about and remind himself of everyday.

About us.

To trust me.

To trust us.

To forget about everything and everyone else and just focus on me.

On us.

But it didn't seem like he could. And I couldn't find a way to assure him back.

On the flipside, I also understood where our parents' questions and concerns were coming from. They were genuinely concerned. Because when it comes to your 'potential better-half's' life being impacted and connected to your life's decisions, understanding that she too is someone else's daughter/sister, especially in an Indian society, can cause for some concerns from the girl's side of the family, which in all honesty, can't be blamed or questioned about.

That said, the questions my mother vocally asked, started sounding like siren bells ringing through my head constantly. So whenever I brought up these questions with Mr A, he would constantly tell me NOT to worry about it, almost to the point of sounding irritated and annoyed every time I brought it up in conversation, and instead said "Let the parents figure it out".

For fear of sounding more annoying to Mr A than I was already consciously aware of, the questions my mother asked ACTUALLY did linger in my head as well.

Why would the parents need to figure this out?. Mr A and I are getting married. WE SHOULD figure this out - is what I kept thinking. But I couldn't somehow get up the nerve to ask or tell him.

Most times I chose to let it be and promised myself to not bring it up. But, I miserably failed to keep that promise to myself and to Mr A. Besides, while having to manage a long-distance relationship with the man you love to death, along with battling all the other drama at home, plus college, it was hard to NOT bring this up. The days, or rather evenings, we had those "difficult" conversations, we ended up fighting, over the phone for hours and then eventually going to bed angry or upset. And then not talking about it the next day, made those questions fester in our minds, till the conversation came up again. Some days were worse, especially when Mr A called to tell me what my mother said to his parents or the tone she used. I hated those days and I dreaded it every day wondering if I had to hear another earful of what my mother did or said. But I had to. Because I loved him. But I loved my mother too. And I did not know what to do to make either side happy. Most times, I felt like I was being pulled on like a tug-of-war rope by both sides who were equally very important to me and I had only so much, so far, to stretch out.

Everyone's egos seemed to matter.

Everyone's feelings mattered.

Somehow for everyone, everything else mattered, except one most important thing. My happiness.

Mr A‘s and my happiness together.

Everyone seemed to forget that, including Mr A.

Instead, sadly enough, egos took the front runner.

That’s when I started slowly shutting down from within. Retrieving into 'my shell'. Inch by inch. Piece by piece. I was becoming mentally exhausted, day after day. On the outside, I was functioning like as if I was on auto-pilot. Going to college, attending classes, driving back home, then sitting locked up in my room, waiting for Mr A to call. But inside, I had started slipping away......or rather felt like something...the only thing I cared about, was slipping away.....like something was slipping away from my fingers and palm like 'grains of sand' and I couldn't hold onto it, even if I tried. My college friends and buddies started noticing something 'change' in me. I became less involved in the cultural aspects in college. I became less physically active. It didn't seem to matter anymore. In fact, nothing seemed to matter anymore, except my relationship with Mr A which seemed to be headed down a spiraling rabbit-hole.

It came to a point where our own insecurities about ourselves and each other started creeping up into our minds. Things we never cared about nor things that mattered in our relationship before, suddenly seemed to matter. For instance, if I was in college and didn't receive a text from him or if he hung out with his friends, I felt he cared less about me and cared more about everything else. I'd then pick a fight with him just for that. It was annoying and nonsensical for the most part. If I was in class or with friends and he tried to ping me, I would ignore it. Every little issue that did not matter before, suddenly was heightened on an entirely different level for no reason. This is when I realized I had insecurities about our relationship. Moreover, I couldn't even quite share what I was going through with my local college friends/ buddies, because I knew many of them were secretly hoping that I break up with Mr A. For their own selfishness I’d say.

Either way, over time, our insecurities only grew. Even when we consciously tried to work at it and resolve what was a strain of unwarranted 'noise' caused by outside factors and people, our relationship was starting to see cracks. However, I was still and rather, more than ever confident that we would weather it through and make it out on the other side before our 'impending' wedding. Because I truly believed that a relationship like this was meant to happen only once and not meant to break up, no matter the storms we had to face.

Unfortunately, the final straw happened over a matter of two days during the spring of 2005, all while the above drama was unfolding. And in my most wildest dreams, I never thought it would turn out the way it did.

Mr A had landed a really good job opportunity with an MNC in Dubai, sometime around September of the previous year, right after I went back to India, post my internship. On the onset, it seemed like an amazing opportunity, so there was no reason but the obvious choice for Mr A to take on this new role. I was truly excited for him. Mike and Sam, Mr A's buddies called it 'lady-luck'. I couldn't have been more happier for Mr A and thrilled that his friends thought of me as his 'lucky-charm'.

However, within a few months, Mr A was struggling at his new job. I had no idea!!!! He never mentioned anything to me. What I hadn't realized over the next few months or rather the severity of it, was how much he was struggling at his new role. Mr A would randomly allude to me, during our evening talks on the phone about being stressed about work, but not to the point of being subject to the risk of being 'let go'.

After a few months, randomly, in the midst of all our personal drama, he mentioned that he was 'leaving' his job and is going to look for another role. To be honest, I was a little surprised and concerned, of course. At the same time, I also got this weird vibe that Mr A wasn't giving me the 'whole story' of what happened. I waited....hoping that when he felt he was ready to talk about it, he would eventually tell me. I trusted him, after all. Because essentially, without a job, one could not really stay on in Dubai without a firm sponsoring one's work visa. And just like the US, expatriates would have to work for a firm, who would have to sponsor their stay in Dubai.

While these questions hovered in my head, Mr A mentioned that he would NOT be able to call me as often as he used to everyday, in order to curb expenses on his end.

What??? Seriously?? Was he in that much of a destitute state? I thought.

Now I was worried. Like, seriously worried.

"Are you okay?", I remember asking him.

And he said, as casually as he normally did, "Yes, everything's fine."

But what he mentioned next to me, caught me by surprise. And that's when my worry-meter hit the next spot.

He said, "Please, just don't tell your mother about my job situation. I haven't told my parents and I don't want to worry them unnecessarily. If your mother knows and tells them, they would be upset for no reason. And I don't need that right now."

Mr A had a point. I mean, after all, we were already going through so much emotionally with our families; so in hindsight, being the 'pathetically understanding' person I am, if Mr A was not going to be able to call, the next most natural thing to do was that I would call him from home, from our international dial-out landline. So I suggested that option, to which Mr A obliged. In those days, since my cell phone was a prepaid number, I did not have the luxury to dial international calls out, as frequently as, I had grown accustomed to with Mr A. That said, the charge on the dial out from home was expensive. What I did not anticipate was, how expensive it was going to be.

Thereon, I had started calling Mr A, both from my cell phone and the house landline. When the charge on my cell phone ran out, I would call from the home landline at night, after my mom went to bed. Fortunately, the phone was in my room, so I didn't have to tippy-toe or sneak to another room to make the calls.

About a month later, as we were buried deep, dealing with all our so-called issues among other things, my mother got the phone bill for that month. And she flipped. Probably ‘flipped’ is an understatement for the 'livid expression' I remember seeing on her face. It still gives me the goosebumps when I think of that day; I remember how much she probably want to strangle me, right then and there. Unexpectedly, and yet so very expectedly, I ran up a huge phone bill charge in Indian rupees to the tune of $155, which is equivalent to about almost $500, in today's time. Understandably, my mother was hurt and shocked beyond anything I had ever seen. I think all the anger and irritation that was bubbling within her, until that time, about everything related to Mr A, just exploded out from her in that one evening.

The next thing I heard were yells, screams and berating echoing throughout the entire house in front of the servants, and after they left, which went on for a few hours. The bad-mouthing I got that day, had no limits. I kept quiet for the next few hours. With tears in my eyes and quite honestly, with guilt in my heart for having betrayed my mother's trust for racking up a huge phone bill without her permission, I ultimately gave in and told her that I was calling Mr A, since he couldn't call me. When she asked me the reason on why he could NOT call like he used to, I kept quiet. After all, I had made a promise to Mr A to not tell my mother the reason. Besides, I didn't need to give my mother another reason to give me the 'I-told-you-so" reasons of not being with Mr A or his family that she secretly harbored within her. Hence, I chose to say nothing. You can now imagine how much more angrier that made her. She was even more livid than before, obviously. The fact that she knew that I was protecting Mr A from her, was what got her more angry by the minute than anything. And probably she couldn’t stand it. In fact, she probably hated it and me for doing so.

When I refused to say anything, obviously my mother‘s sharp instincts kicked in; she guessed something was up and called my dad right away. I do not till today know what they spoke about. I never asked and I never questioned either of them about it after that. Especially after what went down 24 hours later. I felt that it wasn't worth the discussion anymore.

After a good half hour, I remember she walked into my room later that evening, while I was still crying. She looked at me with the most blaringly angry eyes that I had ever seen and said to me, outright, "Mr A lost his job. Did you know abut this?"

I was stunned.

Lost his job? Mr A never told me that he ‘LOST’ his job. He said he ‘left‘ his job. How could he not tell me this?

I was shaken.

I was too shocked to say anything. I just stared at her.

She went on to add, "Papa just made some enquiries and found out that Mr A lost his job. I am asking you again. Did. You. Know. About this?".

I was silent. I couldn't get the words, rather, any words out. My mother continued to glare at me. I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything. I remember being too shocked to react.

The next thing I did, as soon as my mother walked out of my room, was that I shut the door, fell to the floor and cried.

Because in my dictionary, although there is a fine line, yet, there is a big, HUGE difference, between speaking the truth and "bending the truth". And for as long as I could remember and till this day, I CANNOT tolerate nor stand liars. Mr A knew that.

So you can imagine now, everything that I was going through, everything that I was feeling, the excruciating hurt that I was experiencing in that very moment. Every single-most doubt I had, suddenly seemed real. I started doubting everything, everything we had, including ‘us’. Because I had completely trusted that Mr A had told me the absolute truth about his job situation, like everything else he ever told me.

Were there more ‘bended truths’ out there that I didn’t know about?

Was everything else a lie too? I wondered.

Even thinking about it broke me into tears. I cried the entire night and went to bed without any dinner. My mother did not bother to call me for dinner either. Or maybe I had fallen asleep, crying myself to sleep.

The next day, my mother and I were not talking. In fact, we said nothing to each other. She didn't say anything, out of sheer pure in-built anger towards me. It was evident in her eyes. And neither did I, out of fear of saying anything that might hurt her even more than I had already possibly done.

At that moment, suddenly I felt like I WAS the root-cause for everyone's worry and unhappiness. I WAS the sole cause. I WAS the reason that no-one, I mean, no one, not even Mr A was happy.

My mother refused to even hand me my usual cup of tea or breakfast that morning. That hurt bad. At that point, I needed someone to hold me, allow me to cry and I couldn't do that with anyone. With no one. Not even my own mother. Or my brother. Instead and knowing too well, I had put on this emotionless and expressionless 'mask' on. I had retrieved into ‘my shell’. To hide myself. From my conscience. From the world.

However, throughout the entire morning, until I left for college, she continued the berating, of reminding me how my decisions were always impulsive and wrong choices. I kept quiet. I got in the car and drove off to college, crying on my way there. I wanted to call Mr A but I couldn't since I had no charge on my phone nor any money to head to a pay-phone to call him, to ask him what happened. What transpired at home after I left home for college - the calls, the discussions, if there were any, I still do not know till this date. I never asked.

I got to college. I don't remember parking my car, don't remember getting into the campus nor do I even remember how I got through my classes that day. Everything was a faded memory, except that everything felt blank. There was nothing. I was in shock to think or feel anything. All I remembered was that, after class, I headed back to my car without talking to my college buddies, parked myself in a parking lot, in a secluded spot, and just sat there for hours, in my car, by myself. Staring. Blank.

As evening was setting in, my father called my cell-phone to check on me; to see if I was okay. I had purposefully delayed myself from going home, until much later that evening. Rather, I did NOT want to go home. Back to my mother. Back to that toxic and disturbed environment of a home I had created or rather, felt responsible for creating. So when my father had called, for a split-second I wasn't sure what to do. I contemplated driving away from the city that evening. I even contemplated not picking up his phone. But I couldn't resist. I needed to know if I had at least one person in my corner; at least one person who assured me that I wasn't wrong in my choice of a life partner. And thankfully my father was.

Because he knew, rather he had seen, how much I loved Mr A. He was there in Dubai and had observed me, watched me, fall in love.

How unconditionally and irrevocably I had fallen in love and grown to love this man, Mr A.

And when I answered the phone, and heard my dad say my name "Janet mole......", I....Just....Broke down...and cried. I cried out loud, like as if my gut was spilling out. My poor father just let me cry and cry and cry for a good half hour. And. Then. My father cried with me too.

Yes, my father cried with me that day. Till today, he was and is the only person who cried and shared my grief with me that day. After sometime, when I had calmed a bit down, he advised me to go home, else my mother would be worried he said. He assured me that "we'll deal with everything as it comes." I did not know what that meant or what it would entail. I just wanted to make everyone's pain go away. I really did. But I did not know what I could do to make that pain go away.

The excruciating pain I felt in my heart was not because Mr A had hidden the truth from me about his job, but rather from the doubts that stemmed from the sheer fact that one lie, or more precisely, one bended truth, caused me to have doubts about everything else we had.

I remember constantly thinking, "Did I really know him well?"

Or did I NOT know him at all?

Was everything else we ever had, a lie, as well?

I don't know. The "Not knowing" is what made me break down into tears more and more, as I thought about it that entire day. I only hoped and prayed to God that what we had, wasn't a lie. But clearly, God had other plans for me that evening.

When I got home that evening, my mother was still not talking to me. I quickly changed, showered and came down to dinner. My mother served us dinner but did not eat herself. Instead, she asked me one question, "Do you really want to go ahead with this wedding with Mr A?" I continued to look down. Because in my heart of hearts, I still loved him. And yes, I wanted to. No matter what anyone thought or said, I still loved that man. And I ABSOLUTELY believed that he felt the same about me. But I didn't want to say anything in fear of steering up my mother's anger even more and / or another heated argument at home. So I remained silent. Right then, after waiting for about a minute, my mother went upstairs and I remember her getting on the phone with someone. Not sure who it was. I honestly did not care. She came down after a while and didn't say anything. I quickly finished dinner, washed up and went upstairs to close myself in my bedroom. While I was sitting in bed trying to make sense of everything that had transpire in the last 36 hours, I got a text on my cell-phone from Mr A.

"Your mother is the reason for all this. This is over."

At that instant, every ounce of pending life and soul I had remaining in me, got sucked out of me. I could feel myself chocking and my breathing restricted, like the air refused to pass through me or through my throat. Every ounce of my heart, broke into more tinier pieces than it had in the last 36 hours. I couldn't get myself to respond to the text because of the shock that I had gone into.

The man I had loved; the only man I had entrusted my heart with, just broke up with me. Before even once, at the very least ONCE, considering to give ourselves the chance to talk about it or discuss it.

The worse part was that I couldn't call him nor talk to him because my cell-phone had no prepaid balance for me to call him back and my mother refused to let me refill it. Moreover, my access to the home landline was revoked. My mother had changed the passcode to the dial out line.

Just like that, without an explanation, or even a discussion, Mr A broke up with me?

And that too, over a text message?

I could not make sense of this at all.

What had happened?

Who said what?

I still do not know till date. I never cared to find out.

Because what mattered in that moment, was that the man I had chosen to love and be with and who I thought felt the same about me, suddenly did not want anything to do with me anymore.

He decided on his own to NOT choose me. To NOT be with me.

I guess he figured and decided that his happiness and his life was better off without me in it.

Realizing all of this in a split few seconds, I remember going into a panic attack almost immediately and I shut myself in my bathroom because I did not want my mother to see me like this. I took a plastic bag from the cabinet and tried to breathe in, because my breathing had slowed down immensely. I've never had a reaction like this EVER before. To anything. To anyone. For anyone. And till today, I've never had that kind of a panic-attack reaction EVER again. It was later that I realized that it felt, rather almost felt, like an anaphylactic shock. Not saying that I had one. But it felt like one.

I sat down on the bathroom floor in my clothes and turned on the shower. As I felt the water hit my head, run all over my face and my body, shivering uncontrollably to the point of throwing up and tears drowning me with blurry vision, I wanted to cry out loud, hoping that the sound of the running water could muffle the sounds of my cries from radiating outside. But all I could feel, was my tongue feeling stuck at the base of my throat. So much so that, I could not scream nor cry. I could feel nothing except shock at what I had just read on my phone a few seconds ago. The message kept flashing in front of my eyes over and over again, like a constant image replay.

"......This is over.....This is over...."

Was that all our relationship was meant to be? Was that all it meant to Mr A?

Was it that small; was it that irrelevant to him that it was enough for him to have it be broken over a text message? What about me?

Was I that far less important to Mr A?

Did anything that we've ever had over the past one year, even matter to him?

I couldn't remember how long I was in there, sitting in the shower like that, emotionless. It wasn't until I heard my mother knock on my bathroom door that I realized I was in the shower for an hour. I quickly stood up, swapped out my wet clothes and took a quick shower. I told her I would be out quickly. When I got out, I changed my clothes into fresh ones. My hair was wet.

That was when my mother walked in and asked why I showered again. And why my hair was wet. I didn't answer.

She came over and sat down on the bed. And asked me sternly, "Did Mr A send you any message?".

I knew what she was looking for. I don't know to whom or what she said to anyone that evening or with whom she was on the phone before I got that message from Mr A. Was it Mr A's parents? Or my dad? Or someone else? I honestly did NOT care anymore. Without any sense of emotion or expression, I took my phone, showed her the message and looked at her with empty eyes. Looking at it, she said, "Good. Bas. Enough." And then she got up and walked away.

And just like that, in the blink of an eye, my one and only love story was over that night.

Without the happy ending I had wished for or hoped for.

One might think that my mother was the culprit here. But the truth is, she was NOT. Because this was not about my mother or what she did or said or did not say. She might have been a trigger, but definitely NOT the cause.

It was about what Mr A felt about us and how he alone, made the choice for 'Us' without asking me or talking with me.

Without consideration.

Without a discussion.

Without a decent final conversation.

Without closure.

And I did NOT deserve that. From Mr A. From anyone, for that matter.

After that night, I had completely shut myself in; went into full auto-pilot mode. I had no purpose. I had no desire of any kind. For anything. For anyone. I felt none, ABSOLUTELY NO emotion. It felt like someone had punched a ‘gi-normous’ hole through my heart and there was nothing left there anymore. Realizing what Mr A had done quite instantaneously, I chose to numb myself completely after that. I numbed myself of every piece and ounce of emotion possible....I neither felt hatred, nor love ....nor any other emotion that possibly exists in the dictionary of emotions.

Yes. And I lived my life, exactly like this, void of any desire or emotion, for the longest time....for about 10 years to be precise. And a decade is a long time. It seemed like the most easiest thing for me to do back then. I stone-cold hearted myself, void of feeling anything ....of empathizing with anything or anyone.

I still did all the dutiful things that was expected of me, that was expected of a daughter....finished school, got a job, got married to a different man that my parents and family chose for me. But when betrayal hit me from all ends back-to-back, including from my 'short-lived' marriage that lasted less than 6 months, I decided that "Enough was enough." I left home and moved half-way across the world to the US to start over, to discover my "lost" self all over again.

I had become bitter, though. The bitterness from this part of life surged into the other parts, although I had chosen to lock up those undealt emotions away. And I didn't realize it, until a couple of years later while I was in New York. Something to note is that Mr A was never one to apologize for anything. Even when we were together and when we fought, I always remember being the one apologizing for anything and everything, whether it was the next morning or a couple of hours after we fought. Even if I really felt it was not wrong for me to question and seriously consider discussing our life decisions with my potential partner, I still apologized. In those days, I was far less diplomatic in my tone and language, like I am today.

At one point when we had been fighting and arguing more often than usual, when I told Mr A, "I'm sorry", his response was, "You should be". I know it sounds silly, but honestly I've never heard anyone say that to me before and at that time, damn, it hurt like hell!!! The ugly truth is that I had been carrying the bitterness from that one scene in my life for about 10 years with me. Because all through my 10 years in New York and Dallas, I had randomly responded the exact same way, in those exact same words to various people at different points in my life, when they tried to apologize to me. And very time I said it, I remembered Mr A. I mean, how could one person's words affect me so severely in such a way?? I couldn't quite fathom. But the truth is, it had. Because, although it took me time, I had realized much later in life that the hurt I had seen in the eyes of those to whom I had mouthed those exact same words - "you should be sorry" - was the effect of me having turned into a bitter, hard and cold-hearted person. The kind of person who I never was, nor I had any intention of ever becoming. It just happened so slowly and gradually. And it took me years to realize and finally work at reversing that part of me out. Because in the last few years, I consciously made efforts to never EVER utter those words again to anyone. And as far as I recall, I never did.

Did I ever get an apology from Mr A?'. Nooooo. Never. I don't expect to. I don't know him anymore. And quite honestly, I. DO. NOT. CARE.

If one had to ask me "Where did y'all go wrong? What happened?". The truth is "I don't know". But what I do remember is that when the rosy-colored filter came off and the 'going got tough' and real-life issues started setting in, questions started getting asked, someone was not ready to go the long haul to fight it out. And sadly, that someone wasn't me.

Did I ever reach back out at Mr A again? Unfortunately, I did. 14 years ago. About 6 months after I had moved to the US. I was at my most broken and torn self at that time. Thinking of him. Thinking of why he did what he did. Not quite over it. In fact what triggered me to reach out was that I had this most vivid terrible nightmare about Mr A and although I had vowed to myself that I would never reach back out, I couldn't help but just to find out that if he was okay. Mr A was A-Okay alright. Apparently, Mr A had married someone else within less than a year of breaking up with me and is 'supposedly' happier than ever. I guess I was never his "Ever After", after all.

The 5 years of bitterness and undealt pain coupled with the next 5 years of self-discovery, after coming to the US, were quite a journey for me, though. And I'm still discovering myself even today; in fact, amazed at myself at times actually. It was like peeling the layers of a hard-core shelled, excessively tears-rendering onion. Peel by peel. Layer by layer. Discovering myself all over again. To get my closure on my own terms. To get my sanity back. To get my sense of 'wanting to feel again'. To 'love again'. To love myself. To get 'ME' back.

In fact over the 10 years I spent trying to 'deal' with my broken self, Mr A and I inevitably, were in some form of 'touch and go' contact. We had some common mutual friends in Dubai, that sort of kept us 'linked', one might say. But I realized after 10 years that I DID NOT need that link. Especially when I found out from very reliable sources at how he arrived at his decision to break things off with me. Our mutual friends are still my friends, don't get me wrong, but not Mr A. Because I could never get myself to 'pretend' like everything was okay with us, when I never got the decent apology or closure that I deserved.

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(Today, in time......)

I know its been FOREVER since I wrote this final part. Or for that matter, anything at all. But the truth is that when I set out to write this final chapter, I honestly did not know how to begin.....or rather what I was going to say.

I just hit pause.

'Pause' on my thoughts.

'Pause' over my re-lived emotions that took over me during my last 8 blog posts.

I just needed a break from thinking or feeling all those overwhelming rollercoaster set of emotions that I had released sporadically over the 10 years, while I was dealing with it. And then now, recollecting them all over again and re-living them, while writing about it. Emotions that I had bundled up, squished into a less-than fitting dark corner of my heart, like I did 15 years ago. Because back then, I wasn't ready to deal with it. Emotionally or psychologically. I couldn't afford to deal with it then and feel broken and sorry for myself. Because when this thing called 'Life' and 'priorities' took over, I locked up all those emotions in a place that I wanted to forget about.

Forget like it never EVER happened. Forget that, someone like Mr A ever walked into my life. Forget that this very 'someone' who took my heart. Forget that he nurtured it with care. And then broke it into the tiniest pieces possible. And just handed it back to me, without blinking an eyelid.

Truth be told, after I wrote my 8th blog post, I was drawing a blank on how to even write this final part to my story. I honestly let the aura of Halloween, the holidays, setting up my house for Christmas, planning gifts for the family, work, school....all of it to consume me and occupy my mind. To be reminded of how grateful I am for everything I have achieved in my personal, professional and social life and was able to do thus far, despite all that has happened between me and Mr A. Yes, I was battling with a whole set of rehashed emotions ....emotions that I had subdued....emotions that I had failed to.....no, not failed...rather, "preferred not' to deal with for the longest time. I chose to be in my shell for the longest time, about this part of my life. but what I hadn't realized was that although my head said 'it was time', my heart failed to concede, many a times.

Don't get me wrong. I always knew that eventually, I would have to deal with my "un-finished" emotions. I knew that I whenever I opened that tiny squished box of undealt emotions, everything would flood out like a gushing landslide, empty me out , and I would have to deal with it methodically and then throw that box away. And when I did, it was NOT easy. After all, it took me 10 years and maybe a year or two more. What I didn't know back then, was that it would take me 10 long years to put the final nail to this coffin of my so-called "happy/unhappy" love story. I had to deal with recollecting and dealing with a whole set of hidden emotions too. Emotions that I had unconsciously tucked away. And what a swarm of emotions they were....hmmm. I can't even begin to explain what that felt like.

Somewhere in the last 15 years, my heart periodically sounded a blaring horn from within. That it was time. Time to let go of the bitterness. Time to feel again. So up until 5 years ago, even if I tried, I knew I wasn't ready to move on in that part of my life. Or lets say, ready to be vulnerable again. But now I'm ready. Ready to feel again. And boy, can I not wait much longer to feel vulnerable...to feel elated .......to feel the butterflies......to feel swept away.

Quite interestingly, the way I look at it now, had I married Mr A, I may not have been truly free, both in mind and spirit, to do the things that I've been able to do and achieve in these last 15 years. In fact, I think not marrying him and then marrying and divorcing my ex-husband, made me a person that I never thought I was ever capable of becoming. A successful, financially independent, self-made, affluent and emotionally strong woman.

This is what I had aspired to be all my life. It just took me, one heart-wrenching experience and many more, along with God's guiding hand, to make me realize this.

I'm NOT out to take revenge or inflict pain for the pain I‘ve received. On the flipside, I'm actually thankful for them.

Moving on from hurtful experiences can take days, weeks, months and even years. It’s not easy, and it’s not something one can come through from overnight. We have to be patient with our heart and be gentle to our soul.

We can’t think that we will never be okay again. Or worry about the future or let ourselves get torn over what happened in the past. Just think about our present. Think about what we need to do now to get out of the black hole that we find ourselves in.

Because life is hard and moving on is sometimes the most difficult thing to do. But that doesn’t mean that we won’t eventually reach the peak where we breathe in and all that we feel is calmness, because we will reach this peak – where we always wanted to be.

Remind ourselves to give ourselves space and as much time as our heart needs.

Healing is messy, and life is like a long school day; where we keep acquiring new information and continue to have experiences, take lessons and absorb different kinds of sadness and joy with us as we propel forward. And sometimes we feel heavy, as though we have shackles around our ankles and a boulder of regrets on our shoulders. And sometimes, our soul feels gentle and our heart beats like a soft breeze.

But we do not get better instantly, especially when we experience heartbreak, lose friends or live in a broken home. Especially when we experience the kind of grief where we empty out the contents of all our life’s happiness into an ocean of despair and we do not know how to come out from it.

Things take time and believe me when I say that this time could be anywhere between weeks to years – so, please this is a lesson to tender with ourselves. We will get to where we’re meant to be one day. But to remember, we always get the happiness that we deserve when we’re meant to. Not when it’s too early and not when it’s too late, only when the time is right.

#openlife

#real-lifelove

#treasuretheoneyoulove