The end of a relationship -- and the beginning of another.

“He will leave. No, he won’t. He will stay. No, he won’t.”
“God, please let him stay. What will life be without him?”
“Seeing him with someone else is so going to hurt. Watching him with another person? Sigh.”

These questions continued to pop up in my mind at every waking minute and hour. And this was when he seemed to have that slight seed of doubt in his mind --- if he wanted to continue the relationship or not. Maybe something (or someone) had planted that extremely wrong notion in his head – that he was indispensable. And maybe this was the reason for his attitude and pricey behaviour. Maybe all the love and worship and affection had gone to his head, maybe he had become too big for his boots.
I stayed on tenterhooks for a week, or maybe more than that (I do not clearly remember). He kept me waiting – anxious and clutching at straws for that one announcement that would indicate that everything was over, that the relationship had gone the distance and wasn’t working out anymore. And the call came soon enough. He upped and left – just like that. The man who had pledged his love and undying affection, the man who had promised to stay on through thick and thin, the man who had treated my love not like a shiny bauble but like an object to cherish and desire – he just left. And his departure created a huge void, at least during the initial stages.
There were doubts about if I would survive after his departure. There were major doubts about how I would move on and bring my life back on track again. I moped and mourned, sulked around for days. Every minute I analysed where things could have possibly gone wrong, how the relationship had soured. Everything had been done to keep him happy and smiling. He had no grounds to feel dissatisfied or disappointed. In fact, it was him who had become disinterested, a tad bored and detached with things around him. He didn’t want this. Thoughts swiftly changed from blaming myself to blaming him. Depression and rejection were soon replaced by anger and a preposterous, strong will to curse. He didn’t deserve the love, he wasn’t capable of repaying all the selflessness, ever. He was just one of those who comes, stays on for some time, then departs – leaving memories behind, happy and bittersweet. He was definitely not one of those who continues with you through rough weather and smooth sailing. I had given my heart to such a man who didn’t deserve it at all. All the love meant nothing to him.
That was a bad phase. But like all things come to an end, it went away too. Like-minded friends and confidants pulled me through. I finished bottles of Old Monk to stop the memories from coming. I plugged in random songs on loop – always pressing the forward button when the song that reminded me of him came up in the playlist. I felt rejected, but also free, finally. Slowly, after those seven days, I decided to move on. I decided to put an end to the moping and whining and accept the hard fact that it was over and he belonged to someone else now. I could not believe that he turned out to be so selfish. But in hindsight, it was supposed to pan out like that. Because, only with his departure could someone else (who was a whole lot better), walk in again. All my cynicism and hardness slowly disappeared and I became a new person, almost. The layers melted and I had soon given him my heart. Fernando Torres was soon history, the past – Luis Suarez, the future, had arrived.
At times when I look back (or see him), I feel sad that it didn’t work out. He was my darling, his name was sung by millions like me. But he chose to move on. He made the mistake of believing he was bigger than the club – of course not, that can never be the case. And look where that led him. With a newer, gaudier mistress, no doubt, but where’s the real affection? She will surely be there with him as long as he behaves. Another misfiring season, and I am sure El Nino could be packing his bags for Spain.
But as with every relationship, the bitter feelings have been replaced by better ones over the last year. I hope he scores, I wish he remains happy. Whenever I watch him on television, the sympathy wells up, even though I curse aloud when I’m with friends and fans lest they think I’m weak and soppy. But the man for the moment is the buck-toothed Uruguayan – that lithe, slight athletic man who dances around with twinkle-toes, with an impish smile pasted to his lips. And I have decided –I’m going to enjoy the moment for as long as it lasts. If Suarez says goodbye, it won’t be the end of the world. Another man will walk in, and it will be honeymoon for some time again.


P.S. El Nino – I still love you.