Our first breakup happened when we were only three months old. I accused him of being insecure. He accused me of calling too many men friends. He didn’t understand why I would meet a guy today and call him a friend the next day, even those who proposed to me. I told him to believe me because I was wired that way. He told me he wasn’t wired to understand such behaviour. He called the relationship off so I could go ahead and be friends with whoever I chose.

A week later, we were back together as lovers, talking about what we missed while away from each other. Most importantly, we addressed the elephant in the room, the reason we fell apart. I assured him of my undiluted love and promised to be there for him. He made concessions of his own, to understand me better and also grow the patience to be tolerant.

The months ahead were filled with so much fun. We travelled together to the castles to listen to the history of how our forefathers became slaves. In the darkness of the female dungeon, while the guide was speaking, he whispered to me, “This is where my rich aunt ancestor died. The reason I never had any rich aunt in my life.”

The laughter from me was spontaneous, and it cut through the heaviness of the stories being told. “How are you able to think of these things? Where do they come from?”

Two months before the first anniversary of our relationship, he asked what we were going to do to celebrate it. I told him I wanted to travel with him. He booked a hotel. He booked the places we would go together and paid for them in advance. Always pragmatic, according to him, tomorrow is not promised so if he could do it today, he would instead of waiting for tomorrow.

In this story, tomorrow never came. It came, but it didn’t come to meet us together. A couple of weeks before our anniversary trip, we fell out and broke up again. It was a message a guy sent to me. The guy called me “babe” and he read it. Again, the explanation I gave him was about friendship. “A friend who calls you babe?” He asked me while in a fit of anger. “He calls every woman babe, not only me,” I tried to explain.

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The night ended terribly when he went through my phone and saw the endearment other guys used while sending me messages. I went home believing we would come back together again when tempers thaw. A few days later, he sent me a breakup text. The text read like a love letter laced with hurtful feelings. The tone was sober, reflective and apologetic. “Maybe I’m the problem. I’ll never understand why you keep a man who loves you as a friend. I have to leave so I don’t make you unhappy by cutting off your friends.”

I called him. I went over to his place to see him. I went to tell him I’d changed and would never do it again. “See, I’ll block everyone so they don’t come again. You don’t have to leave me because of that.”

We hugged. He opened his door for me and bade me goodbye, the end of the relationship. When I got home, I sent him a message asking what became of the trip we planned. He answered, “I’ve paid for it so I’ll go. If you want to, I can’t block you.”

We sat on the same bus, went to the same hotel, slept apart but in the same room and ate together as couples do but we were exes. We went through the trip without any fun because no matter how we pretended, our emotions got in the way. On the bus coming back, he fell asleep on my shoulder. I let him until he woke up feeling embarrassed and saying sorry to me.

My menses showed its ugly face immediately I entered my room. I don’t get the usual flow normal women go through every month. Mine is a paralyzing experience. My abdomen feels like a butcher’s working table, while I go through severe diarrhea. While he was my boyfriend, he spent nights with me, helping with warm towels, painkillers and allowing me a space on his chest while bearing the pain. For the first time in several months, I was going to do it without him.

When I reached out for my phone, he was the only one that came to mind. I called him, “I’m in severe pain but no painkiller around. Could you help me?”

Hours later he was in my house with all the drugs I needed. He came with food too. He opened the box, removed the pills, handed them to me and brought a cup of water to my lips so I could take a sip and swallow the pills. “Will you eat now?” Should I boil your water? Where’s the sanitary pad?”

By the time I returned from the bath, the sanitary pad was already laid neatly in my panty and was waiting for me. I looked at it with a warm heart; “Are we truly over? Or this is our coming back party?”

The only thing he didn’t do was give me a chest to lie on. I thought I could borrow it for a night but he stayed away. I thought he was going to spend the night but he left.

Early Monday morning he called. “You’ll go to work?” After work that day he called; “Is there anything I should get you?” When I got home and was about to sleep, he texted, “My phone is not on silent. You can call in case you want something.”

“He’s back I know but he’s trying to play hard to get,” I encouraged myself.

He came home with food from my favourite restaurant. He stayed until 11pm before leaving. He was kind to me all week until I was well again. When my menses was over, I went to his place unannounced. I was going to spend the weekend with him so we talk things over.

We spent the whole night in the hall watching movies. At one point, I asked him, “What are we doing? I know you still love me and I do too so why are we pretending?”

I was the one who was pretending but he knew what he was doing. He was there because he could. I needed help and he was the one who usually gave me that kind of help. To him, he was just being human and also to prove to me he wasn’t bitter about the breakup.

He told me he wasn’t coming back to the relationship because our differences in perspective could hurt us if we allowed ourselves to be together. He talked about trust and the need to water it with our actions.

“I’m forcing it from you,” he said. “In the process, I’ve come to learn you won’t change or you’ll hide the things you do. Both are not healthy.”

I left his house knowing we were over but not enemies. It didn’t make me happy but then, it threw me half a loaf. Knowing I could call him at any time gave me the belief that, somehow things might take a positive turn along the way but six months later, I learned he wasn’t coming back so I moved on.

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We talk. We chat. He met a girl recently. He called to tell me about her. I was jealous but I wished him well. When I hit the lowest low of my menstrual period, I called him. He came around with what I needed, including food. He gave me the pills and a glass of water. He didn’t dress my panty with the sanitary pad but he came with one. When he was leaving we hugged. I thanked him, telling him I was blessed to have him as a friend. He smiled and responded, “Ex. Not just a friend.”

— Eugenia

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