One Chapter Closes

Pulling up to the kerb outside my house today, emo rock blasting through the windows wound down, he groggily passed me a sturdy white plastic bag.

I opened the bag and glanced in to see the grand maroon samfu-style top I gave him during our weekend in Malacca.

"This top... it won't be of any use to me if you give it back..."

He responded with a resigning heave of his chest.

"I gotta go."

Then he zoomed off, emo rock continuing to contaminate the silent neighborhood air.

I brought the bag upstairs to my room, almost not wanting to properly check its contents but forcing my fingers to pry it open. When he said he wanted to 'drop of some of my stuff', I got more back than I had expected. All my gifts to him, all tangible form of memory, returned to its sender. My eyes fell upon a flowery handmade envelope. I peeled the expiring cellophane strip away from the flap. Enclosed was my first-ever love letter to anyone, when he and I first started going out. I started to choke. Then, another unfamiliar piece of raw unbleached paper, with his war-torn scribblings, explaining why he couldn't keep anything that was a part of me anymore. The envelope still felt weighted.

No, not the ring. For God's sake, not the r-

A dull chunk of metal slipped out onto my trembling palm.

I crumpled into my bed and surrendered to its softness, gripping the ring with all my might, forcing my defiant heart to accept that this really was the end.

It has been almost a week since we threw in the towel, and every day brings the agony of another cut freshly carved into my emotional flesh. This morning's wound was unbearable.

I've been told that there is never a good time to break up with someone, but in our case I believe there was. I had just come out of a four-month project that put a strain between him and I, but we fought through the pangs of loneliness and guilt respectively. The day after it was all over, we hugged an amazing hug. The feeling of being in each other's arms was an overwhelming reward; the feeling of coming home.

The very next day, we hugged each other goodbye for good.

I hate how reality bit me so suddenly, and so fricking hard, after triumph over adversity.

Mom suddenly revealed she had been talking to her family about my relationship behind my back, and then the next thing I know, she pulls out a letter from her sister and reads out to me the reason why Aunty Shirley disapproves of me going out with a Muslim. I screamed at her for making mountains out of molehills, but I was ultimately hurt not by her family's discouragement, but by my own admittance that the reasons actually made sense. Every time I wanted to put the issue of religion behind me, it would come back in more monstrous proportions, and it finally got too much for me to bear.

I met up with him that night to talk, and to perhaps find a compromise. But we knew there was none.

I love him, and I was in love with him, but I would have had to make a few sacrifices in my principles if I wanted to spend the rest of my life with him, including the idea of my children being born with a right to choose their own faith. I dreaded the day that I would have had to put one priority on top of another that was equally vital. We knew were each other stood before we took our friendship to another level, so we knew that we would have had to confront the situation eventually. We just didn't expect it to happen so soon. Friends on both sides are shocked and lost for words.

Some people don't understand why the thought of marriage came so early in the relationship. I despise myself for looking so far in the future, but at the same time, I was petrified to stay around to find out if the prospect was there.

Everything was perfect otherwise. And that is what is making it even harder for us to let go.

I'm so sorry Bahir. I'm bleeding for you too.