Goodbye

I feel sick. I have all the clichéd symptoms of heartbreak; I can’t sleep for crying; I’ve all but lost my appetite; sad songs and ‘our’ songs make me cry, in fact almost everything reminds me of him, so I feel as though I’m in a constant state of damp eyed misery. Worst though, is the overwhelming sense of nausea. It began when he dumped me. Dumped me. It sounds so harsh, but essentially that’s what he did. ‘Let me go’ would maybe be a better phrase, but, now its happened, I guess there’s no real need to soften the blow, deluding myself won’t make it any easier. I was angry at first. Well not angry, shock , disbelief and anger rolled into one heart wrenching emotion. It was the wording he used: “Religiously I can’t justify having a girlfriend”. I felt like an excess commodity being expelled as unsubstantiated expense. Sort of along lines of a company director stating that this year, unfortunately, due to unforeseen cutbacks, the corporation will have to abolish the employees’ medical plan. I cried myself to sleep that night. The finality of it all sinking in. This was no ordinary break up. There were no wrong or wronged parties. There was no one to blame - except maybe God, which wasn’t exactly much comfort. No going back.

The next morning I just felt empty. I had to start to get used to life without him. I went to the gym and on a short shopping trip trying to act normally, not feeling ready to tell anybody yet. When I got home I retreated into my room and cried and slept for the rest of the day pretending to be asleep if a parent came into check on me so that they wouldn’t see the tears. I didn’t ever tell them about the relationship so I could hardly expect sympathy when it had ended. I didn’t eat that day and cried myself to sleep again.

The next morning, Saturday morning, I just felt ill, and even worse than the previous day, and the tears kept coming. I would have hoped that I’d have run out of them by now. But that was nothing, I had to face work. At the bus stop I cried, on the bus I cried, and all the while still feeling violently sick. On reaching work I’d just about calmed down. Still had the “wet eyes syndrome” but no tangible tears. The assistant manager commented that my eyes were red but put it down to tiredness - well close, I only felt physically and emotionally drained.

I do actually think that working was good for me. It took my mind off things. Stopped me thinking about him. After two hours of having to appear outwardly happy, the eyes were dry and only sporadic attacks of tears hit me if my thoughts strayed to him.

Lunch time was the breakthrough. I wasn’t feeling sociable on my lunch break so went to sit on the steps of the art gallery. I’d treated myself to a tuna and cheese bake but had barely taken three bites before the nausea beset me once again. After forcing down as much as I could, I decided to go into the art gallery to pass the time. I wandered around looking at the pictures and finally sitting down on the same couch we had sat on that beautiful day we spent together back in March. It was then that it hit me. Why I was so inconsolably upset, why I felt as though I couldn’t go on living. It was my fear of the future. He had been the first person I had let get under my skin; into my very soul. With everyone else there had been an impenetrable barrier, a defence mechanism which I had sprung into action every time I found myself imagining what the future with this person could not be like. I wouldn’t allow myself to indulge in fantasies about living together, marriage, children, anything. I’d barely allow thoughts of what the next date would be like to avoid being disappointed and ultimately hurt. But with him, it was different. I thought this was it, the real deal, my soul mate, the one I was supposed to be with forever. This was the main cause of my upset. Without him, I could see no future. All my dreams plans and hopes included him. Without him, there was nothing.

Whilst on holiday one week previously, I’d had the most beautiful dream about us. We’d just had our first child, Sabia. She was amazing The most perfect and prettiest thing ever. It was one of those dreams that gives you an inexplicable feeling of warmth that stays with you for the rest of the day; a day I spent lying on the beach daydreaming. It sent my imagination into overdrive. I thought if we could make it through university, we could make it through anything. After university we would go live in London for five or so years, amass a fortune in high powered mathematically associated jobs, then move back up north to be closer to family and live in one of the expensive new apartments just around the corner from my house now. I would fulfil my teaching ambition and he would find an equally high powered job up there too. I would be able to afford to buy my dad the Rolex watch he’s always wanted and be able to pay for my mum to spend weekends at luxurious health spas while my dad, him, and I flew off frequently to visit relatives in Indonesia who would love him (obviously!).

The ironic thing about this utopia was that we never even made it to university. All my dreams of the yet to come have been scrapped. I have to start from scratch with my OWN future. No dancing the night away at Oxford balls; no random visits to Palestine, Iraq, Philippines even, all the other places I could only imagine myself visiting with him. Once I realised this, things actually became easier somehow. Instead of mourning over the life I would never have, I’m now able to concentrate on getting through today.

The next biggest obstacle I need to overcome is the issue of me. Who am I? What do I believe? Does time exist?? It sounds ‘trashy romance novel’ pathetic but I changed so much while we were dating. I started getting into R n B music, I grew my nails for him, to a certain extent I even started dressing differently, my beliefs changed too, or rather became stronger (which mockingly is what happened to him leading to the eventual demise of our relationship). Now I have to go through the painstaking process of deciding which was actually me, and which was him. The hardest and most poignant question being God. Do I believe? I think I do. I was becoming more curious about religion before him and I even became close friends and it was just due to his guidance and support that I helped give foundations to my newly emerging religious identity. Not content with stopping there, further questions stem off from this including: Should I drink alcohol? Should I eat meat which isn’t halal? I stopped both of these things when I was with him. Now, were they me, or just to please him? I guess a lot of soul searching will have to take place before I can finally lay the memory of our relationship to rest. I like to think that somehow I became a better person for knowing him. Sure I cut my nails the day after it ended because I couldn’t stand to look at them, but I’d like to think that the religious beliefs will stay with me and maybe one day help me to submit to Islam fully. Before the split, I was looking into learning more about Islam, particularly for me to do this at university. I thought starting university would be the perfect opportunity to make a new start, I also thought it would please him (not to mention prepare me for our many times imagined wedding: at least two ceremonies, one in England, one in Indonesia, and a honeymoon in Singapore with the wedding photos being taken on Sentosa island (!) ). One of my first reactions on breaking up was to do it straight away. This, I think, was because deep down I hadn’t accepted the irrevocability of the break up. I guess I was hoping that if I became a ‘proper’ Muslim, he would take me back, that I would be eligible for the long list of arranged marriages he has lined up, that we could be together again. I am now resigned to the fact that this can never happen. Who knows what will happen at university, but for now, I don’t think that hiding behind a religion will provide anything more than superficial comfort and should not be the basis of my quest for more knowledge on Islam.

One of the hardest things will be staying friends with him. Before the relationship started, he was one of my closest friends. That may have been due to underlying attraction, but I would still hate to lose him all together. That would mean that it had all been in vain. That all the happy memories and even the painful ones had all been futile. Yes we have a history, yes I will always have feelings for him, but if I cannot have a relationship with him then the least I need to preserve is our friendship. I no longer blame him for all this, however much it hurts. In fact I actually envy him: for him to have so much strength in his beliefs and so much conviction in his religious teachings. It’s a quality that drew me to him in the first place and cruelly took him away from me in the end. He’ll probably grow up into an intelligent, pious, and most importantly, good man. He’ll presumably accept an arranged marriage, and I truly hope he’ll live happily ever after with the large family he’s always wanted - I know he’ll make an amazing father. And I wish him the best of luck. That’s my final gift to him, a release of any emotional attachment or guilt and the wish of the life he deserves. I forgive him.

He was my first love, and I’ll always love him. Years from now if somehow he changed his mind and asked me to be with him again, I’d probably go straight back, that is the strength of my love for him. But at the same time, I need to make the clear distinction between always loving him and ‘being in love with him’ which hopefully will not inhibit my chances of a new and full life at university (who knows, I may find my Irish prince there!). Instead of dwelling on the love we once shared, I must concentrate on the friendship that I hope we will be able to build on together and enrich each others lives with in the future.
Ameen