The Irony of Being Single
Sometimes I catch myself feeling sad and lonely, thinking no one wants me. But then I actually sit with my own history — and the irony hits hard.
2013
Someone liked me. Her friends helped her let me know. I rejected her.
2019
Someone who had a crush on me sat beside me. I got up and left. She was hurt enough to stop trying altogether.
2020 — The First
This one stung the most. We were best friends first. She expressed her interest with more effort than anyone before her — and I still rejected her, repeatedly. It took me years to feel the full weight of those decisions. The heartbreak I eventually felt was largely of my own making.
2020 — The Second
Another online relationship. Looking back, I think she liked me before I even realised it. She was sincere and expressive about her feelings. But I broke up, came back, and broke up again. I think I was afraid of closeness — or maybe afraid of what staying would require of me.
2020 — Several Others
That same year, there were more.
One person from my online circle seemed to choose me even as her existing relationship was falling apart. I didn't recognise it at the time. She once said, “You have me? What do you mean?” — and then she slowly disappeared from my life.
Then there were gaming partners. Three different people, three different times:
- The first — I ended things after just a few days. She faded away gradually. I later came across her real Instagram account and realised she was just a regular, very human person.
- The second — I ended it, and she simply vanished. No message, no trace.
- The third — the day after I ended things, she told her audience that I had hurt her. Then she left the game entirely. I have not seen her since.
2022 (If I Remember Correctly)
I felt an instant attraction and messaged her just a heart emoji: 💖
She was surprised. Others in the group chat seemed jealous — some even spread false stories about her. I asked her directly: “Kau minat aku ke?” (Are you interested in me?) — but I never got a clear answer.
She messaged me many times privately. I didn't reply. My mind felt foggy, blurry, unclear. When I finally did respond, I said: “Kau sendiri tak cakap kau minat aku, dan agama kita tak sama.” (You yourself didn't say you liked me, and our religions are different.)
She pushed back: “Just because I didn't admit I like you, it doesn't literally mean I didn't.”
Days later, she found some of my mistakes online and used them to justify blocking me.
The Pattern
So here I am — feeling like no one wants me.
But the honest picture is different. People did show up. Some were subtle, some were direct, some were sincere in ways I did not appreciate at the time. What I actually did, again and again, was push them away: through avoidance, through ambivalence, through fear of closeness, through poor timing, and sometimes through my own confusion about what I wanted.
Being single was not something that just happened to me. It was, in many cases, a consequence of choices I made — often without fully understanding why I was making them.
What I Am Learning Now
One thing I am slowly coming to understand is that entering a relationship — and being in one — should not feel like a burden. It should not require passing a series of high-stakes tests or meeting a long list of conditions just to earn basic happiness. Happiness is a right, not a reward for perfect performance.
I shared this thought with an AI and received this back:
“Realising that relationships should be a minimum burden is a healthy, grounded perspective. It means you want simplicity and peace, rather than pressure.”
That landed for me. A relationship should be a place to rest, not another source of stress on top of everything else. When there are fewer heavy conditions and less pressure to perform, there is more room for actual connection — with the real person in front of you, not with an ideal they can never fully be.
Less fear. More presence. Peace over pressure.
I think part of why I kept pulling away in the past was because connection felt complicated and loaded with unspoken conditions — my own, and those I imagined others had. When something feels like a trap or a test, avoidance starts to look like the safer choice. But avoidance has its own cost, as my own history shows clearly enough.
Simplicity is not settling. It is choosing a path where connection can actually breathe.
That is a hard thing to admit. But admitting it is also the only way to learn from it. The past cannot be undone, but the patterns can be understood. And understanding them is the first step to doing things differently.