Last week, I had a strange and haunting dream about the girl I loved. In the dream, I found myself wandering in a park in her homeland, the air full of children’s laughter. That was when I saw her—she was there with her kids. Somehow, I ended up helping them fix their little toy train, my hands clumsy but eager. She smiled at me, the same smile that once melted all my worries away. Then, I overheard a voice—maybe it was just in my head—saying, “Why isn’t that guy their dad? He looks like he belongs with this family, so loving and gentle.” Another voice answered, quieter but firmer, “They never ended up together because of different cultures.” The heaviness in my chest grew, and before I could say anything, I just dashed away from the scene, fading into the background as if I was never there.
Ever since that dream, I’ve been thinking a lot about my love life—about the chapters that have passed, the wounds that still ache, and the lessons I carry quietly in my heart.
Young Hearts Be Free
They say your first love will always hold a special place in your heart. For me, back in my college days, I truly believed this. Almost three years with my first love—we weren’t just students, you know. We were dreamers, leaders in societies, volunteering here and there. It was sweet, pure, and at that time, I thought it would last forever.
But as with many young loves, life took us on different paths. That chapter ended—at least, I thought it did.
The Summer That Changed My Heart
The summer after the heartbreak changed everything. Joined an exchange program overseas, just to see the world, to distract myself. That’s where I met her. At first, she was just another face—full of dreams, entrepreneurial spirit, always smiling. But slowly, the bond grew. I found myself telling her things I wouldn’t tell anyone else. When I went home, I told my late mum about her, showed her pictures. My mum’s face lit up. She liked her, gave her blessing—even hoped maybe one day she’d be her daughter-in-law. That approval meant the world to me.
Unfortunately, fate had its own plans. We lived in different countries. Our conversations became less frequent—letters, long messages, updates about daily life. She was busy with her startup and studies; I tried my best to wait.
When the World Stopped
Then the world changed. Pandemic hit, borders closed. Suddenly, the future became uncertain. I could no longer visit; she could no longer travel. Life kept us busy—she with veterinary school, me with the daily grind in KL. I wanted to meet by year end, but it was impossible.
Time moved on. We both chased dreams, lost in ambition, but in my heart, I kept hoping she’d still be waiting.
Before I moved overseas for a new job, I gathered my courage and confessed: I’m ready, I want to marry you. Her answer was hesitant—a mix of hope and anxiety, uncertainty about what lay ahead. My heart broke quietly, but I left anyway, carrying her memory across oceans.
The Call That Broke Me
Not long after, my world shattered. My mum was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I had no money to fly back, no way to see her. We talked over the phone until her voice grew weak… and then she was gone. My anchor, my strength—just like that.
After her passing, the silence was deafening. That grief kept me company for many nights.
The world felt cold, and I was completely alone.
One Last Shot
Eventually, I found a way home. Told my dad I needed closure, wanted to see her one last time. He understood, gave his blessing. When I finally saw her, after four years, she looked different—quieter, changed by life. We talked about everything: my mum, our journeys. She never knew about my mum’s passing—it broke her heart too.
But when I finally asked about her feelings, she told me gently—she had moved on. The pandemic, the distance, the culture—it was not jodoh, not written in our fate. I accepted it, though the pain lingered like rain on a window.
Living With the Silence
Coming home was heavier than I expected. I lost my mum, lost the woman I dreamed of having a family together and chase our dreams. My dad tried to be strong, but I knew he was heartbroken as well.
Since then, I’ve tried to move on. Sometimes I meet new people, but my heart doesn’t “click.” Maybe I’m still comparing everyone to her, or maybe I’m just scared of getting hurt again. Maybe I need more time.
Some will say, after a love that deep, it’s normal to take years to heal. Maybe solitude is just my way for now—taking time to find myself, to protect whatever little peace I’ve managed to hold onto.
Finding Myself, One Step at a Time
These days, I travel more—new places, new faces, chasing sunrises that don’t remind me of the past. I lose myself in new cities and unfamiliar streets, hoping to collect the parts of myself that got scattered along the way.
I don’t know when I’ll be ready again. Maybe one day, maybe never. But this I know—love isn’t always about a happy ending. Sometimes, it’s about beautiful chapters, memories that will always stay with you, teaching you to grow, to let go, and to hope again.
If it’s not jodoh, then it’s not jodoh. Until then, I’ll keep walking this path, going places, writing new stories, one step—and one heartbeat—at a time.
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