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Lonely Hearts is an exploration of intimacy and vulnerability in our relationships. 

In a dating climate that emphasizes short-term intimacy and instant gratification, how do context and age affect our perceptions of our first love? And how does that first encounter with such an abstract feeling change how we approach our future relationships? 

Do we always encounter growth in a new relationship? Or do we encounter regression, immutability, or disappointment?

That is up for you, dear reader, to decide. 

This article contains 2 sections, each a short story consisting of a distinct “first love” and “second love”. 

The following events are transcribed and adapted from a one-on-one interview. References to people, places, and events have been either modified or changed to safeguard the privacy of the individuals involved.

I. Summer Scents 

Junior year of high school. Hot off the heels of the quarantine that shut everyone inside for 2 years. Having lost family and my closest mentors to the pandemic, going to classes and socializing again wasn’t easy. Even with a government-mandated hybrid schedule, screens and Zoom calls took up most of my time. Looking at the lifeless squares on my computer screen made the days fly by. And if I wasn’t doing that, I was either smoking my worries away or finding some way to deal with the heaviness that felt ever so present in my chest. 

I lived life day-by-day, and I was okay with that. 

I took up running as a way to escape. After an autumn filled with funeral pyres and impromptu reunions, each step I took seemed symbolic. Strange faces offering sympathy got old after a while, and the smell of gasoline and human ash found itself imprinted into my memory. For every mile I ran, the stronger my high, but past emotions always seemed to catch up, subsiding to leave me back where I started, with a bitter taste in my mouth as a reminder.

I was mentally checked out, and I was okay with that. 

The last thing I expected was to open up my receive a follow request from a certain Aida. I was on one of my runs at the time, and accepted it without a second thought. Just a random girl, I thought. Little did I know it would evolve into something more than just a number on my account.

Honeymoon phase. I love this girl. Her big brown eyes, long flaxen hair, beauty marks, button nose, her sweet voice, all of it. 

We’d been seeing each other for the better part of a year now. Always giving made-up excuses to our parents to leave the house and go out on dates. Picnics in the park, IKEA outings where we’d play house, late-night rendezvous around the neighborhood where we’d hide from familiar eyes, I could go on for hours about our countless dates. My bedside table ended up overflowing with drafts of love letters, and a collection of Bic pens ran dry of ink as keepsakes. Flowers and love letters were a staple; dried roses still hang in my wardrobe to this day. 

I had my first kiss with her. My first time with her. Every bucket list item an adolescent mind could dream of, she checked all the boxes, and then some. 

Everything was cut short when real life reared its ugly head and confronted us. That idealistic young worldview that we both held – sunshine and rainbows – gradually turned to a black-and-white ultimatum. The pressures of a career, a university education, and familial responsibility slowly started to creep in and expose themselves, along with the hairline cracks in our relationship.

“After you’re off to college this summer, our lives are going to run in parallel. When would we be able to build something together again?” 

“I can’t be sure, babe. It’ll have to be years until that happens. We’ll be apart for some time, but we can always keep in touch. It’ll be just like how it is now, just across a bigger distance.”

“I don’t know. I just know it won’t be the same. I’m already tired of staring at a screen all the time. I want you here, with me. I don’t want to wait two months just to see you for a weekend. I want a real relationship.” 

“Couldn’t we try to make it work? I don’t get why you want to end things so quickly. We still have so much time to decide. We don’t know where we’ll be in a year or two from now. I can look into transferring to where you’ll be, or we can go on an exchange together.” 

“Exactly, we don’t know, baby.”

“But, I don’t understand. Wasn’t our original plan to try to make this work? We talked about this so many times before, and we always wanted the same thing. I love you, and right now, we’re at a point in life where we’re changing and growing, but I want to change and grow with you. What if it all works out in the end?” 

“No, babe, what if it doesn’t? Plans change, I’m sorry. You don’t have to understand my decision. You just need to accept it. I love you.” 

Summer was over, and was I okay with that? 

II. Pretty Promises

A little more than a year has passed by now – and not without its fair share of little surprises. I had a few short-lived flings here and there. 

A circumstantial relationship I had with a local barista (who I gathered was only there to pass the time), a French girl I met on a solo trip whom I spent St. Valentine’s with on a mountain overlooking the Thai countryside (awesome), and a really persistent coworker at the tutoring center I worked at (yikes). 

Safe to say, the parfum d’été was fresh out of my mind. New year, new me. And what was my resolution? Testing the limits of my liver by getting absolutely hammered at a New Year’s house party. 

In between tall cans of beer and colorful shots of liquor, I naturally was scrolling past everyone’s new year stories:

Niko’s living it up in Paris, Holly and her new boyfriend are on a cruise in the Caribbean, and where was I? The middle of an urban jungle, with no sparkly metal tower or ocean in sight. Out of all the countless stories on my feed, one in particular caught my eye. 

I haven’t seen Vivi in years. An old friend, talking stage, whatever you want to call it, we talked for about a month, but didn’t get anywhere. She went on a social media hiatus for a couple of years, and apparently only emerged from it now. I had to capitalize on my newly-unearthed love interest, or risk losing this golden opportunity I had in my mind.

So, I chose my best pick-up line:

New year, new me?

And was met with an:

Uhh, do I know you?

No, OMG, I’m joking

How’s it going? I hope you’re not having a New Year’s Crisis.

We were officially in the end zone. The Hail Mary of texts just landed, and with it, I was ecstatic. I followed up with the most sensible thing: I asked her on a date the day after.

After a year of dating around and with things only ending in either disappointment or avoidance, I still held out hope for this one moment. Sure enough – I got it. 

Fast forward a couple of weeks, and we were officially dating. Love letters, rose bouquets, long drives up the countryside, museums and art shows, all of that. In between our shifts, we’d meet up for spontaneous lunches at the mall. Sometimes, I’ll foot the bill; sometimes, she does. We were good for each other like that. Really good.

The only question left was, will we last? Was love alone enough for us to go on? 

Eventually, it was time for goodbyes. I had to go back to school, and so did she. I didn’t know if I was scared, sad, or excited to be moving on to another chapter of my life. 

I got so lost in the conversations, her voice, her thoughts, her smile, that I ended up being so in love. From the first moment I saw her on the first date in January, I had an inkling that it would grow into something bigger – and it did. 

We made a promise to keep a good thing going – albeit in the distant future. We’d have to meet new people, have new experiences, go our own ways, and just see where life would take us. 

But, as we both knew, that was just a pretty promise.

LONELY HEART

M21, lighthearted, kind. Loves travel, dogs, and long drives. ISO outgoing and fun F in the same predicament. Cat people need not inquire. Thanks!