They say love is a good thing. They say it's a blessing from God. When one finds love more than once, they say the first is a mistake, the second a coincidence, and the third, fate. But the real question is: What kind of love are they speaking of?
Why does love, when it ends, carry so many different names? Is love meant to end, or are we just getting it all wrong?
Yes, love is a good thing—but not for everyone.
For me, love has never been a blessing. It's never been kind, and it's certainly never been good. My first love was pure luck. The second, another stroke of fortune. But the third… the third was a curse.
Looking back, nobody was really old enough to understand love in grade 6. Nobody but me. That's when my curse began.
I had my first love in Grade 6. I didn't even know what love was supposed to feel like. All I knew was it felt different—something intense, something unfamiliar. Now I realize, I was just lucky—lucky to feel that flutter everyone talks about. I was still a child—wide-eyed and naïve—and she was a year older than me, a new student, shy and lonely like every other transfer student.
Her name was Kessie.
The first time I saw her, I was struck by her beauty. I remember it like it happened yesterday. Her brown eyes, full of curiosity, the way her long, dark hair framed her face in waves. It was love at first sight—or at least, that's what I thought. But really, it was just luck at first sight.
My heart raced in a way I'd never experienced. It was an unfamiliar sensation, a warmth in my chest that made everything feel clearer. But it also made me feel small—unsure. I didn't understand it. I had never felt like that before, overwhelmed by something I couldn't explain.
The first day passed. Then two weeks. And I found myself watching her from a distance, unable to summon the courage to say "hello." I was paralyzed by fear, hesitating, unsure of what to say or what to do next. The view was beautiful, but it was also filled with anxiety.
I hadn't even mustered the courage to speak to her, let alone figure out what might come after. But I was obsessed with the idea of it. In my head, I built a thousand scenarios—all of them ending in me saying something stupid, or worse, making a fool of myself.
Then, I remembered something someone had once told me:
"Never give up on love."
Another person had said, "If you love it, have it."
The problem with these sayings is that they sound so easy. They sound so simple when spoken aloud. But when love ends in a breakup, all that's left is regret. And pain. You start wondering, night after night, why your love didn't last until "death do us part." It sounds melodramatic, but the truth is—when love ends in a breakup, the pain can feel worse than death itself.
But I digress. Her name was Kessie. She was the one who made my heart race. It was the second school term, and I was still too nervous to approach her. I spent weeks reading books about love, trying to build up the courage to talk to her. I practiced in the mirror, over and over again, rehearsing what I might say. But when the moment came, I was still unsure.
Then, one Monday morning, I arrived at school early, as usual. I wandered aimlessly around the schoolyard, trying to calm my nerves. And then—there she was. She was walking in the opposite direction, adjusting the strap of her backpack, her head down. My heart leapt.
I knew this was my chance.
I swallowed my fear and walked toward her. My palms were sweaty, my heart pounding, and the words in my head came out in a jumble.
"Heyllo," I stuttered, my voice shaking.
To my surprise, she smiled. A beautiful, confident smile that made my heart race even more.
"Heyllo to you too," she said, laughing softly at my nervousness.
I almost melted right there, but I pressed on.
"How are you?" I asked, too quickly.
"I'm good, and you?" she replied, her voice warm, making me feel even more at ease.
"My name is Rosainte," I said, trying to steady myself. "Can I get yours?"
"Mine is Kessie," she answered, "with 'ie.'"
I smiled, and she smiled back. "Okay, nice to meet you, Kessie with 'ie.'"
It was our first real conversation, and though I was still shaking, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I had done it. I had talked to her. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
That day, I couldn't stop thinking about it. I had greeted her. I had heard her voice. I had made the first move. It felt like the start of something special, even though I didn't know exactly what it was.
And that was my luck—my first taste of love. It was innocent, pure, filled with excitement. But what I didn't know then was that love wasn't just a blessing. It could also be unpredictable, challenging, and heartbreaking.
I didn't realize it at the time, but the curse had already begun. That first, innocent love would soon teach me lessons I wasn't prepared for. But for now, all I could think about was Kessie, with her smile, and how, for the first time, I felt something stir inside me.
I was hooked. And little did I know just how deep that curse would run.