Halfway into editing my Taiwan travelogue, I ended up in tears. I know it sounds psychotic but I already guessed this would happen, which was why I put off the travelogue for some time. Only a few colleagues, and none of my friends, were aware that I was quite depressed during my last few days in Taiwan. Perhaps I didn't want to give up my new found freedom to return to my heartache at home.

When you left me, a part of me died. That innocent part of me that believed love is unconditional and it conquers all? All gone. You took every last bit of my nativity with you when you chose her over me. I once thought, if you can't beat them, join them. But as you imagined, I sucked at your twisted games.

My life came to a halt. I found myself stumbling and tumbling through every day, unable to find pleasure in life even though I was supposedly doing things I love. I was desperate to forget you, forget what we had, forget how much I freaking loved you. I did everything I could, including replacing you with anyone who walked into my life. To forget you, I forgot how to love and respect myself.

Hong Kong should have been many firsts. My first time in Hong Kong and the first time I travelled with a guy, and a boyfriend. Hong Kong would have been the first country we travelled to together, marking the first of many times we could have travelled together. Thus, I thought travelling to Hong Kong without you would've been painful.

Surprisingly, I had fun in Hong Kong — more fun than I would have ever dared to conceive. Life, after you, turned out to be amazing. I have put down my pride, I have begged and now, I have moved on. Hong Kong healed my heart and allowed me to see that I am enough, what I did was enough. More than enough. Maybe that's why Hong Kong, together with Taiwan, will always hold a special place in my heart.

In Hong Kong, I learned I could live without you. I stopped giving you chances.
In Taiwan, I learned independence. I stopped relying on others for my happiness.
And that's why I never wanted to be back in Singapore, where I'm only reminded of my weakness.

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I wrote the above in September 2016 but never published it, possibly because the paragraphs don't seem to flow smoothly no matter how hard I tried. I found the post while sorting out my drafts and, instead of mending it, decided to post it as it was since it accurately represented the confusion I felt back then. One year can do a lot to someone — last year in particular taught me a lot about love.

Around this time last year, I also wrote about why I didn't want a boyfriend yet. It's conflicting. I'm an independent person now, I've found myself, I'm happy on my own, I'm finally my own person. I talked about loving yourself before you can love others — I've done that, so I think I'm ready for a new relationship. But every time I meet someone new I connect well with, I suspect his intentions.

I know it sounds cliche, but it became easier to just build a wall around me. Whenever I get close to someone, I react by recoiling to my shell. I take one step forward, then leap two steps back. I'm stuck in that deep hole of fears created by my paranoia. Only because I know how love can demolish someone. I remember losing my appetite, my passion and my drive. I remember sobbing, I remember days when no one was there for me. I remember feeling afraid. So, so afraid. 

Once you fall in love with someone, once you've really loved that person, you're just no longer the same after that. You grow afraid of love because you know what love can do to someone. You're afraid to fall because falling means giving someone the opportunity to hurt you yet trusting that he won't. You're afraid to trust, because trust means you are vulnerable.