Title: The Spark That Burned Me
Journal Entry: January 11th, 2022
New year, new beginnings, endless possibilities. A fresh start, fresh air, and a clean slate. A new chance. A dawn of a new day. And love is in the air (giggles).
I had spent the holiday talking to the boy on the bus. Our conversations were long and filled with laughter and shared dreams. For the first time, I felt seen. In a family of six, you pretty much compete for the spotlight. Not that I ever minded—I liked the dark, thank you very much—but now, a light had shone on me, and surprisingly, it wasn't scary. I... liked it. It gave me confidence, and it showed as the new session began.
I returned to school feeling alive and with a renewed sense of self. Almost 18, and I was starting to draw attention from guys around me, but my eyes were on one person—you guessed it—the boy on the bus. I looked forward to seeing him again, his eyes, his smile (fake faint). I started drilling a hole in my wall.
I joined a taekwondo class, something I had always wanted to do. It gave me the chance to meet new people, and it became my window to travel and explore other states. A boy in my department approached me, and we quickly became friends. Through him, I met more people, and my circle widened. I was surrounded by laughter, games, and conversations—everything I had always craved. Friends who made me laugh, a place where I felt I belonged.
And in the background of it all was him.
The boy on the bus.
We started hanging out often, about twice a week since we lived a bit far from each other. I liked the attention and his presence. I felt happy when he was near, but I began to notice a few things:
He never invited me to his place.
I never met his friends.
We never hung out in public.
But I brushed it off. At least I got to see him, right?
Then he started his industrial training. Communication became limited, and I grew paranoid. His attention faded. Days turned into weeks without so much as a "Hi" text. It started messing with my head. I began overthinking (one of my many superpowers). I needed him close, but he wasn't. Late replies, no calls, no texts—I couldn't keep up. I decided to cut him off, but I couldn't even last a week.
I went back.
By then, it was too late. Or maybe it wasn't? He got mad that I tried to let him go and refused to talk to me at all. I blamed myself and tried to fix it. Days turned into weeks, and then months, with no improvement. It felt like trying to hold water in my hands—the harder I tried to keep us together, the faster he slipped away. And every time he pulled back, I blamed myself a little more.
After five months of trying, I asked myself, "Was it worth it? Did he ever even like me?" Five months is a long time to go without speaking to someone you love. Was there a rule I didn't know about?
I looked at myself. "I'm pretty as fuck, so why am I putting up with this?" I deserved better. I deserved more. So, I decided to let him go.
It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do. But I couldn't keep chasing someone who didn't want to stay. I tried to find comfort in the people around me, but the void remained. "Wasn't I enough? Where did I go wrong? Was it there all along, and I just didn't notice? Or is something wrong with me?"
Letting go wasn't a moment; it was a process—a thousand small decisions to stop hoping and waiting. But even when I let go, the memories stayed. They haunted me like ghosts of the love I thought I had.
That's when I realized it was all in my head.
The first blow.
The first sting.
My introduction to heartbreak.
I had tried to run when things got tough, and it backfired. That, or there was never a real relationship to begin with. One-sided? I guess I'll never know.
As if the universe were mocking me, I started having accommodation issues. I won't go into details, but it led to me moving to a new area—the student area. I was relieved. The change was exactly what I needed. My old room reminded me of him. Or was this just me running again?
I moved into the new lodge. New environment. New roommate. I moved in a different person. I was back where I started, but the energetic, enthusiastic Ella was gone. Now, I was just numb. Just there. Trying to get by, one day at a time. More cautious. More afraid.
Nobody warned me about cementing the hole I created in my wall.
I breathed in, feeling the weight of everything that had happened. But I knew I had to keep going. If I didn't, who would? I started the semester feeling fly, and now I was just surviving—one day at a time.
Surviving had its own strength.
I had to be strong for me. I wanted to feel, to heal, to escape. Taekwondo provided temporary relief. I'd laugh during the day and cry at night.
At night, when the silence crept in, my thoughts became deafening.