#relationshipreflections

It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a relationship. And somewhere in that stretch of solitude, I found something precious—peace. I fell deeply in love with my own space, my own rhythm, and the unmatched comfort that comes with not having to explain myself to anyone. There’s something incredibly liberating about living life on your own terms. No check-ins. No emotional labor for the sake of someone else's insecurity. Just me, my thoughts, my time.

And I’ve grown to cherish that.

Being single isn't a sad chapter. It’s actually been one of the most empowering phases of my life. I’ve learned what it means to be whole on my own. I’ve learned to romanticize solo coffee dates, long walks with music, late-night overthinking sessions, and dancing in my room like no one's watching (because really, no one is).

But despite how content I feel on my own, I also understand the beauty of companionship. I'm not against love. I just refuse to water myself down for it.

The transition from singlehood to a committed relationship isn't as simple as swiping right or texting every day. It’s a conscious shift. A mental and emotional pivot. When you're used to being alone and thriving in it, welcoming someone into your life takes real courage. Because now, your space isn’t just yours. Your time isn’t just yours. Your silence will often be filled with conversation, your plans will some times involve compromise, and your decisions might require collaboration.

And that’s fine—if it’s with the right person.

But here's where I draw the line: I won’t be in a relationship where constant updates are expected as proof of loyalty. I won’t entertain someone who confuses control for care. If your idea of love is policing my movements, questioning my choices, or needing validation through constant check-ins, I’m not the one for you.

Yes, I know the difference between being controlling and being concerned. I know what genuine curiosity looks like. And trust me, if I’m with someone I truly care about, I’ll overshare without being asked. I’ll tell you what I had for lunch, who I ran into, what weird dream I had last night. But that only happens when I feel safe—emotionally, mentally, energetically.

What pushes me away isn’t the commitment itself. It’s the imbalance. The gendered expectations. The assumption that because you’re the “man,” I owe you answers or obedience. That’s not partnership. That’s hierarchy—and I want no part of it.

I’ve had moments where I almost got into something just because it was “the right time” or because “I’ve been single too long.” But then I remembered: I’d rather be single with peace than be in a relationship full of doubts and discomfort.

At this point in my life, I’m not interested in a boyfriend for the sake of a relationship status. I don’t need validation through someone else’s presence. I’m not here for temporary sparks. If anything, I’m open to slowly exploring something real—something grounded. Let’s take time. Let’s see if we’re compatible on values, not just vibes. If it works, beautiful. If it doesn’t, let’s respectfully part ways with no bitterness.

What I want is simple: someone I can be fully myself with. Someone who doesn’t get insecure when I say I need space. Someone who isn’t threatened by my independence but is inspired by it. Someone who knows love isn’t about ownership—it’s about honoring each other’s existence, together and apart.

It has been two months since Memuna and I broke up, and I can’t bring myself to fathom the reason why we are going our separate ways. What about all those promises? What about the moments we shared together? The weekend beach strolls, the Friday night live band treat at 7 Heavens, and the get-to-know-each-other’s-family thing our friends proposed. What happened to us? How am I telling my friends…

There’s a story about a professor and a glass. He fills it with large stones until it seems full— then adds smaller ones, then sand, then water. If you don’t put the big stones in first, he says, you’ll never fit them in at all.

She mentioned it one night and said: “Maybe our D/s is like that glass.”

For her, the large stones are the moments when she can let go completely— when rope, touch, and trust become one quiet breath. The rules, the protocols, the daily gestures— those are smaller stones. They fill the gaps, but they don’t weigh the same.

For me, the large stones are different. They are principles— order, obedience, the truth that I decide, that she follows, that structure itself is a form of care. The rest—commands, touches, glances, sex— is the sand that fills what remains.

For a long time, we didn’t realize there was a difference— or how much it mattered. We were both filling the same glass— her with feeling, me with form. Until it cracked.

Too much sand, too many small stones. Not enough space for the larger ones— hers and mine alike. We kept building, but not in the same rhythm. And one night, all that fullness felt empty.

That was our valley. Not an end—just a pause in meaning.

So we began again. We emptied the glass together. We chose the stones anew. We rebuilt slowly. I returned to structure. She returned to touch. And when she follows a rule now, she says it isn’t duty she feels— it’s rightness. As if the act itself is harmony.

The glass between us is full again. Not perfect, not symmetrical. But full—of weight, silence, and trust.

—

Not louder, not brighter — just clearer. As if the heart finally has room to speak in its real voice.

Calm doesn’t push intimacy away. It invites it closer. It softens the nervous system, untangles the noise, and lets presence become real again.

Sometimes the deepest connection is the one that happens when nothing is forced and everything is allowed to breathe.

It’s super frustrating. The blurred lines. Maybe they’re not blurry for others. Maybe I’m just ignorant. Who knows? I like this guy, he’s super freakin cute. I enjoy chatting with him, and he’s told me he’s open to whatever comes his way, but he’s not looking for anything serious. I’m looking for something serious.

We have this funny way of communicating-I have a nickname for him that is reflective of how I first met him and didn’t catch his name, only to find he messaged me online on an app a couple days later. I legitimately enjoy talking with him, but I wonder if he even has close to the same feelings towards me? Probably not, and god knows I can’t ask.

Was I Really the Villain?

We just got too perfect too soon—two young children entangled within love’s genius trap. Reality hits when the thought of forever hits, and everyone retires to their tents… …but I was outside, under the rain, building ours, while still holding an umbrella over your head.

The entirety of myself was poured into the promise we made— Eyes clouded by love, heart racing at 1000 bps—not from anxiety, but from excitement. Not for what was, or what is, but for what will be. The prospect of the future looked so captivating, I rode into the world not with an army— …but like the last samurai. Giving up was never on the agenda. Funny how the idea of fighting for someone or something can make the craziest thoughts feel like amazing ideas.

Willingness to do things for you was a mere understatement. So lost in the war, so focused on designing the vision of us— You tend to forget that help is even an option.

Now, people call this stupidity. Some call it pride, ego, or confidence. (So many opinions.) But what if you’ve been so used to protecting someone, fighting for them, being their backup plan— That you forget they can fight for themselves… or even fight beside you?

(Perspective is always funny. Let’s flip this.)

In her eyes, it went from: "I’ve found someone willing to fight my battles, carry my load and baggage without a second thought. A protector."

Thoughts racing through her mind: “Indeed, I have found my knight in shining armor.”

She watches as he willingly struts on his horse into a battlefield to fight an unwinnable fight. Her heart full of hope, knowing she is his only motivation, hope, present, and future. It keeps her grounded. She rejoices each day he returns alive—though some days are lonelier than others.

But life and fate decide to put them to the test. They design an epic plot twist—unforeseen, one not even the world’s best writer could’ve imagined.

Now the knight is down on his last legs— Hit with more arrows than his armor could carry, grazed by multiple armor-piercing rounds.

What can he do? So used to being the fighter, he carries on. Fighting both his own battles and the one he’s building for them. Wearing a happy face despite the injuries, He limps off to battle every day. She notices from a distance—but never asks what’s going on. She feels avoided.

Back-and-forth happen. She says things, tells him of the distance— (In the language only they understood) …but never asks, “Are you injured?” Never checks beneath his armor.

And he—so fixated on the battle and the unforeseen circumstances— Forgets to translate her words from plain text to their encrypted language. The fear of looking weak consumes him. The fear of loneliness clouds her perception of her own importance to him.

Life, never siding with anyone, says: “This was expected.”

But Fate, who always rooted for them, whispers: “It’s not over.”

Life reminds Fate: “Love is the weakest pillar in a relationship.” But adds: “If she waits on him, and he trusts her strength enough to open up, they will be forever.” (All the while knowing… she’s packing her bags, evaluating one year of joy against two days of unrest.)

Though it's a cheat, Fate intervenes—gives the knight a stroke of fortune: A Day with no injuries.

He runs home to pour out his heart… Only to find an empty house, And a letter that says: “It’s done.”

Now, the fight feels pointless. The construction meant for two—wasted. But knowing fate is what we make of it, He still fights each day, Still builds the house, In hope of her return.

Full of regret, he asks: “Was I really the villain?”

Was he?

Or is life just a rollercoaster?

Would love to hear your opinion. 😊