An introspection of past relationships – Part 4: The One 💖💖

Ready for a part 4? If you haven’t read my past ones, do it here: 1, 2 & 3! These are coming to an end soon! (Unfortunately? Or fortunately if you’re the type of person who thinks 5 relationships in a lifetime are way too many. And with this, you’re told there will be a part 5 and that will be the last one on this magical roller-coaster I decided to embark on, not knowing where it’d take me.)

I titled this past relationship, the one. Yes. A strong one, an emotional one, the one I thought would truly last forever until death do us part. Fair enough to say, it wasn’t exactly as I imagined it would be or hoped (once) it would end up. But let’s hear it from the start.


All the way back in May 2011, before beginning uni, my friends and I took part in a competition, which we won for the best Volunteering project presented. I met him there. Well, to be fair, I met many guys that day. Let’s say I was in the mood for a hunt… a men hunt. So I started memorizing names so I could look them up later on Facebook – writing these words actually make me cringe, I know, bare with me. I’ve always had a great memory for associating faces with names and it was an easy task for me. One of my besties saw a guy who interested her so she asked me to memorize his name (I didn’t explain that we all had our name tags stick to our tops, so I didn’t even had to make small talk to find out their names). The day ends, we go home completely exhilarated for having won and when I sit down in front of my laptop to look those names up, I can’t remember any name except his. Well, I thought it was probably destiny telling me I didn’t need another guy to break my heart, so I added him as a friend so I could talk my friend up to him.

You probably imagine what happened next. We started talking, I found him interesting and voilà. We started talking, we became friends, we came to visit me for a big celebration day we planned for our volunteering project and I was falling in love…


He was sweet, he was going to the same uni as me and he had the same life goals as me. He honestly felt like the person I’d been waiting for my entire life.

Summer came around and we both decided it would be best to not start dating because we wouldn’t be able to see each other much. He was going on holiday with his dad for a couple of weeks, then with his family and I had a very busy summer too. I told him it would be fun to wait and see if I was getting in the same university as him and if I did, then we could see if there was something we should explore (he had an amazing average to apply for his course and it was 100% sure he would get in; me, not so much). Not a big shocker by this point, but I did.

We started hanging out again and meeting every day before and after class. He would pick me up from my classrooms and we would chat for hours on end. On September 23rd or 24th, he asked me to be his girlfriend. Very archaic but I was in love and it felt like a big gesture.


We were happy. I think I was anyway. I really believed that was the relationship I’d been dreaming up inside my head for many, many years. I thought we were perfect together and that we would both work hard, finish uni together, he would really propose, we would move in together and our babies would love History and reading and they would be creative and smart. We talked about having children and how to raise them and I introduced him to my whole family. I told him about my insecurities and he was the first person I truly felt completely comfortable with. Being vulnerable and naked, completely raw in front of him was ok, felt ok.

A few months later, after a fight, he broke up with me. I tried and tried, days on end, to make him change his mind. That was my first mistake. But I kept trying, begging! I cried in front of him. I called him day and night. I went to his house and waited for him to come and see me, to talk to me. I bought him Christmas presents, even though we were broken up. I took the Christmas presents to his house and he finally saw me. He came outside to meet me…

He got the bags and left. Without saying a word. The worst part was actually when I found out that he never even looked at the presents and just put them directly in a bin for charity. I mean, it was for charity, at least there’s that. But I felt completely broken. Mistake number two was when I kept trying, even after knowing about this.

In January, we made up. It was an extremely emotional day: I met him early morning at his house, he held me by the hand, took me to his bed and we looked at each other for what seemed like hours, not whispering a word. I had tears in my eyes from the happiness of finally being involved by his scent, his love, him. Then, our lips crushed and it was definitely one of those moments where you just gasp and hold your breath for an eternity until the entire scene is over. It was one for the books.


The problem with being happy is that things don’t always stay that way. He made our relationship a secret. He couldn’t tell his parents or family we were back together. Nor his friends. It felt like we were stepping back, after having had the best for months. It didn’t feel right. I accepted it though because I was happy just being with him. Mistake number three (but probably, in reality, number five hundred and seventy eight): his mum called every day. Twice. Three times. Maybe more. When we would sneak out to his house during class time, she would call him. And I was right there, sitting next to him, laying next to him, my head on his chest, his fingers curled around my hair… and she would say these spiteful, absolutely nasty things about me. She would ask him if he had seen “that b*tch” at uni and many other names that I prefer not thinking of right now. Mistake number a thousand and twelve: feeling inferior and believing she had the right to call me those names and for him to never apologise. At least for letting me hear them! He kind of laughed and dismissed it… I wondered many times if he was laughing at me, agreeing with her in a way, or if he just thought the situation was awkward.

I broke up with him shortly after that. It wasn’t all roses and it definitely was a learning process but looking back, I really see the things I could never *ever* accept in a relationship. He had this tiny way of making me feel a little less with certain comments. He cared for me but never truly stayed on my side, with me. He was all big gestures but zero little ones. He was there but he wasn’t. And he made me feel as if he was the best. He was the one. He was the only one.


Well, not for long. Not anymore. And never again. I learnt what respect looks like and that love is supposed to elevate you and accepting flaws that are non-existent to the other person. Love is about support, against everything, just to be able to hold your hand, your heart, and carry it home safely. Love is much more than what a 18-year-old boy makes you feel.





Post photo by Travis Grossen on Unsplash

Chat away!