I watched Celeste and Jesse Forever by myself in a movie theater this week, tears streaming down my cheeks. It is a movie about the bond between exes, and it hit close to home.
I have been in love three times. An additional three times, men were in love with me. That brings me to six relationships, over the course of my life, where love was present, even if one-sided. And out of those six relationships, there are five men who I honestly wish the best for. I do not keep in touch with all of them, but when I hear through the grapevine that they are doing well, I feel happy inside. When I hear that they are hurting, I ache too.
The one exception is painful for me. It is my infamous exboyfriend-the one who, in effect, started my dating saga and inspired this blog. One of our last conversations still haunts me every day:
"We were so happy together. What is it that she has that I don't?"
"Youth," he replied. "And I really love her kid."
I replay that scene in my head... We are sitting on my sofa, fingers intertwined, tears in my eyes. He kisses me hungrily, hands nestled in my curls, moaning, telling me he never wants to leave. We are both confused, unsure if we should have sex or never talk again. I tell him that he needs to figure out what he wants, and he agrees, Then he leaves my apartment and never comes back.
When I think about that night, which I do every day, a lump grows in the back of my throat. I feel worthless. My master's degree, my two languages, my medical skills, my Fulbright, the way I treat the people I care about, my genuine love for learning and passion to make the world a better place mean nothing because I didn't accidently get pregnant from a one-night stand when I was 21. If I had, he would still love me.
I want to want the best for him, and I am angry that I don't. I never thought that out of all my relationships, he would be the man I don't talk to.
He moved to Chicago last month. I reached out to him before he left, explained to him that being on good terms with him would help me find closure. He did not respond.
I know that I am in the minority because I want to keep in touch with exes. I do not have a single friend who thinks that my quest to be on good terms with a man who lied to me, was caught red-handed sending text messages to multiple women, and ultimately left me because I am not a young mom, is a worthwhile pursuit. One friend said it best: "I would punch him if I could." Part of me wants that too.
But at the end of the day, I think it is a small tragedy for two people who once loved each other to lose a friendship, that sacred, bittersweet bond that ties a couple together long after the romance dies. When the other five men commit to another woman , I will be wishing them the best, and I will mean it. I hope that one day, I will be able do that for him as well.
I have been in love three times. An additional three times, men were in love with me. That brings me to six relationships, over the course of my life, where love was present, even if one-sided. And out of those six relationships, there are five men who I honestly wish the best for. I do not keep in touch with all of them, but when I hear through the grapevine that they are doing well, I feel happy inside. When I hear that they are hurting, I ache too.
The one exception is painful for me. It is my infamous exboyfriend-the one who, in effect, started my dating saga and inspired this blog. One of our last conversations still haunts me every day:
"We were so happy together. What is it that she has that I don't?"
"Youth," he replied. "And I really love her kid."
I replay that scene in my head... We are sitting on my sofa, fingers intertwined, tears in my eyes. He kisses me hungrily, hands nestled in my curls, moaning, telling me he never wants to leave. We are both confused, unsure if we should have sex or never talk again. I tell him that he needs to figure out what he wants, and he agrees, Then he leaves my apartment and never comes back.
When I think about that night, which I do every day, a lump grows in the back of my throat. I feel worthless. My master's degree, my two languages, my medical skills, my Fulbright, the way I treat the people I care about, my genuine love for learning and passion to make the world a better place mean nothing because I didn't accidently get pregnant from a one-night stand when I was 21. If I had, he would still love me.
I want to want the best for him, and I am angry that I don't. I never thought that out of all my relationships, he would be the man I don't talk to.
He moved to Chicago last month. I reached out to him before he left, explained to him that being on good terms with him would help me find closure. He did not respond.
I know that I am in the minority because I want to keep in touch with exes. I do not have a single friend who thinks that my quest to be on good terms with a man who lied to me, was caught red-handed sending text messages to multiple women, and ultimately left me because I am not a young mom, is a worthwhile pursuit. One friend said it best: "I would punch him if I could." Part of me wants that too.
But at the end of the day, I think it is a small tragedy for two people who once loved each other to lose a friendship, that sacred, bittersweet bond that ties a couple together long after the romance dies. When the other five men commit to another woman , I will be wishing them the best, and I will mean it. I hope that one day, I will be able do that for him as well.
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