Elsewhere

I have nothing going on. I think my life narrative just collapsed and hasn’t been replaced yet.

For years, I had a story: 

“I’m going to marry Ocha.”

It wasn’t just a relationship. It was a life direction. A lot of my decisions, hopes, sacrifices, and even imagination about the future were tied to that story.

Then the story ended. 

Not only did the relationship end. The future I had built in my head ended too. 

I think that’s why the feeling isn’t simply heartbreak. It’s grief. And grief doesn’t just make people sad. It can make them angry, ashamed, regretful, lost, unmotivated, restless, lonely, horny, nostalgic, anxious, and emotionally numb all at the same time.

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I now think: 

“I wasted 4 years dating Ocha + 1 year being sad about her.”

But I don’t think that’s the whole truth. If someone asked me in 2021:

“Would you rather never date Ocha at all?”

Would I say yes? Probably not. Because there were real experiences there. Love. Trips. Memories. Growth. Pain. Lessons. 

Maybe the problem isn’t that the relationship happened. The problem is that after it ended, I spent a year believing there was still a future there. And New York probably intensified that feeling. 

I didn’t just get rejected by Ocha. I got rejected by the version of the future I traveled across the world hoping to reclaim. That’s a much bigger loss. 

⸻ 

And then my twin sister got engaged. One can imagine how strange that must feel. Not because I’m jealous of her. I’m genuinely happy for her. But her engagement forces me to confront a question: 

“I thought I’d be there too by now.” 

Not necessarily married. But closer. More certain. More settled. 

Instead, I’m 28, single, uncertain about my career, uncertain about my health, uncertain about where I’ll live, uncertain about who I’ll love. That certainly feels disorienting. 

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And then, there’s another thought: 

“I feel empty, not passionate about anything.” 

But I don’t think I’m actually lacking passion. I think my passion currently has nowhere to go. 

For years, my emotional energy flowed toward one destination: Ocha.

Now the river still exists. But the channel disappeared. So the energy spills everywhere.

Andrea.

NYU.

Marriage.

Health anxiety.

Career dissatisfaction.

Loneliness.

Future fantasies. 

Maybe it’s not that I don’t have passion. It’s just that my passion is looking for a home. 

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About Andrea.

I think I’m being pretty honest with myself. She’s an ex. A friend. A good friend. I enjoy spending time with her. I care about her. I feel attracted to her. And part of me hopes it becomes something more. I guess that’s a very human position to be in. 

But I need to be careful not to make Andrea responsible for filling the emptiness Ocha left behind. Because those are two different things, I can genuinely like Andrea and still be partly using the possibility of Andrea as an escape from loneliness. Those things can coexist. 

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Then, there’s the part about finding a partner. The way I described someone:

Beautiful.

Kind.

Smart.

Ambitious.

Same sense of humor.

Loves me deeply.

Makes me feel good.

Despite all that, maybe I don’t actually want perfection.

I want certainty.

Those aren’t the same thing. 

When people are lonely, they often start searching for the perfect partner because perfection feels safer.

If she’s perfect, then maybe she won’t leave.

If she’s perfect, maybe this won’t happen again.

If she’s perfect, maybe I won’t waste another five years.

But that’s not how relationships work.

The difficult part is that I’ll eventually have to risk loving another imperfect person. Just like Ocha was imperfect. Just like I’ll be imperfect to her. 

⸻

The thing I keep coming back to is this: My problem might not be that I need a new girlfriend. 

Or a new job.

Or an MPA.

Or Harvard.

Or NYU.

Or a rich wife. 

Those might all be good or bad ideas independently. But underneath all of them, I think I’m asking a simpler question:

“What is my life about now?” 

For years, the answer was: “Building a future with Ocha.”

Now that answer is gone. And I haven’t found the next one yet. 

That is uncomfortable, but it is also normal.

A lot of people’s lives contain these transition periods where the old identity dies before the new one appears. The hard part is that the gap can last months or years. 

⸻

If I had to guess what I’m really longing for tonight, it wouldn’t be marriage.

It wouldn’t be sex.

It wouldn’t even be Andrea.

I think I’m longing for direction. 

I want to wake up and feel pulled toward something again. Something that makes the future feel exciting instead of uncertain.

And honestly, when I look at my own history—the study plans, the public-service aspirations, my interest in helping lower-income communities, the MPA dream, my willingness to fly across the world for something I care about—I don’t see someone who lacks passion. 

I see myself as someone standing between chapters.

The previous chapter ended painfully. The next chapter hasn’t revealed itself yet. 

And standing in that space can feel a lot like emptiness. 

Even when it’s actually a transition.