Parting is Such Sweet Sorrow

The Young Musician’s Society Auditorium. It began four years ago at this very spot, where we were rehearsing for a school theatrical production.

Countless days, conversations, kisses, gifts and special moments later, it was only appropriate that our final discussion on our relationship began here. (It was my idea to stop by this place—I am, after all, a stickler for beginnings and endings.)

It wasn’t easy to begin doing this: as the first serious relationship for both of us, it was precious and wonderful. And as if to hold on to this wonder for just a while longer, we spent a long time reminiscing. Only in the final hour did my thoughts gain lucidity and gather momentum, and I mustered the courage and conviction to tell her why it had to end.

In many ways, we had the perfect relationship, and it had the perfect ending. She took it very well, and I am very proud of her for that. In fact, when she broke down at the very end, it was not because of the pain of separation, but because of my parting gift for her. Though only 20 cents, I got it to fulfil a small promise I made many months ago. I gave it to her as a kind of closure, and to assure her that there was no animosity in our breakup.

Then, there was a surreal moment of catharsis. Freed from the burden of planning our finances for a home and a wedding; freed from the difficulty of raising children with our differing value systems; freed from the awkwardness of salvaging our fraying relationship so we could do all this; freed from the weariness of always talking and messaging each other in our bedroom voices; we felt a great burden lift from our shoulders. After all, it was not as if she didn’t want to separate at all. She only wanted to stay together more.

Suddenly, it made so much more sense just to be friends. And we had a nice, big steamboat dinner together.

My last moments with her were spent along a bustling sidewalk as she looked out for a bus that she could take home. It arrived sooner than a final hug or gaze. Up its steps she disappeared, like a memory.

As the dust settles, I begin to think of the things we always talked about doing but somehow never did. Watching the DVDs and VCDs we bought to watch together. Taking a holiday in a distant country. Experiencing snow for the first time. Going to this restaurant, or that one. Feeding each other an entire meal. Making love. I wonder if I will wake up some mornings and reach for the phone, forgetting that it’s over.

Yet, there is a lot of good in this. As the first serious relationship for both of us, it was sweet and naïve in its own way. And perhaps, it is therefore better remembered with fondness, than lived out to the point of farce.

Thank you for four beautiful years.