I Wish I Had Never Seen You Again
It was any regular weekday, just me moving along during my morning commute when it happened.
I saw you. I saw you. I saw you.
After eleven years.
After eleven years of wishful thinking. There have been times I thought I saw you since I last did. Which was when you had broken my heart and I was thinking you would come around. In the corner of my eye, in the depths and darkness of a movie theatre, or just another person in the peak hour crowd. I never expected you to be there. Maybe a small part of me did. But you were almost a part of my subconscious as I always kept an eye out for you even when I wasn’t thinking about you. You were always there in my awareness, the way I unknowingly pay attention to whether I have my cell phone on me or if a guy is getting too close for comfort. In the most ridiculous places, places we have never been together.
And after eleven years, there you were, dressed in white and grey.
I’ve fantasised about this moment for years. I thought you would be a vision, that people would part until you were front and centre and I would be drawn to you, the proverbial moth to the flame.
But you looked the same as you did eleven years ago. How do you still look the same? Even with half your face guised by a mask? Our meeting again was everything short of spectacular, and nothing out of the ordinary. No one made way for you, and I didn't even feel drawn towards you. Our paths had inexplicably crossed that day, the way it does with hundreds of other morning commuters. Familiar, but insignificant. Yet, you left me on edge, my feelings percolating through my day and affecting my judgement. And from 9 am to 9 pm, I worked through them all, trying to get through the day while part of me wanted to turn back and go home and bury myself in my bed. Because it was too much. It was all too. much.
You left me disappointed the way you disappeared, the way you never gave me the apology I deserved, and the way you broke my trust. You hurt the faith and belief I had in people.
There’s a pang every time I realise another of your birthday goes by uncelebrated, your phone number stays undialed from memory even if it’s no longer in my phone, and your favourites stay unenjoyed by me as you have laid claim on them during the custody battle that was never staged.
Sometimes when someone knows about you, they ask if I’m still angry. I’m not. To be honest, I don’t know if I ever was. When I think of you, it’s a loss for something I never had, a twinge of hurt and almost a reminder of what I’m undeserving of.
And after eleven years of carrying around something I only shared with very few people for the fear of shame, or confirmation that this is all I deserve, there you were. Looking exactly the same. Causing a pain so poignant like the time you broke my heart that it made me wish I hadn’t seen you again. That I had never hoped I would see you again.
But as the day went on, I’m glad I saw you again. Just now. Not anytime before in these eleven years.
Because I thought the pain I felt when I saw you meant I hadn’t forgotten you or that I still cared so very deeply about you the way I did once upon a time. But I was wrong. It wasn't pain, it was catharsis. One I’ve never felt so intensely before, it took me a minute to recognise it. And left me uncomfortable through the day as I grieved you, felt all the disappointment and hurt as a result of you all over again, and then finally, finally, stillness. Eleven years on. Catharsis: the sense of releasing all that I had ever felt for you.
I had all these things I wanted to say to you if I ever saw you again. Things I scripted and rehearsed in my head on insomnia riddled nights. I thought you would catch me while I’m on the way to my Muay Thai gym, or at a conference where I’m presenting a paper. But you caught me on my way to work, one I didn’t particularly enjoy, on a bad hair day. And through the stillness, I realised I don’t care how you saw me. Because I no longer feel the need to prove myself to you, no less make myself better than you. You don’t influence my life in any form anymore nor do I care to weave you into stories or memories you don’t deserve to be part of. It’s not even a case of “I’m too good for you”, or that we were wrong for each other, it’s just that we are not meant to be each other's. We never were and we never will.
I used to wonder why we ever crossed paths if nothing was to ever come out of it. I was wrong. Something did come out of it.
You are proof that for someone who believes in love, I can have my heart shattered into a million different pieces, and yet, find a way to patch it back and offer my love again. You were so clearly proof that I don’t need anyone to help me find myself, to love myself or to save me. Everything I thought I needed, and everything I was so wrong about. You are proof that I have the strength and willingness to give people second chances to redeem themselves. And that’s enough for me.
And that was when I realised none of what I had planned to say to you matters anymore. To either of us for that matter. Because I’ve moved on. I was holding on to something I’ve already moved on from simply because you cut too deep and I didn’t know what I was out of that hurt. But somehow, I had managed to move on. And I respect myself too much now to hold on to what you once were; what I once felt for you. I’ve since buried the memories of you, planted new ones over them, and grew a life separate from you, something I once thought impossible. Now I get to enjoy the fruits that have blossomed from how I’ve flourished.
Yes, I still experience the occasional pain when you appear in my dreams. And that’s okay. It’s not about you, it’s about what you could represent. I can work with that. You were a figment of my past, a significant one, which is why it was so helpful that you looked exactly how you did eleven years ago. Because through the stillness, I realised much to my profound gratitude, you are not a part of my present and will never be a part of my future. I’m so very glad I saw you again.
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