FIRST HEARTBREAK

Have you ever witnessed the sting of a first heartbreak? The kind that leaves you questioning everything you thought you knew about love and yourself. It’s a pain that reshapes you, forcing you to confront vulnerabilities and discover strengths you never knew you had. You might be tired of my heartbreak stories by now, but hang in there—this one’s different. It’s about a hopeful kid who believed in the purity of young love and the inherent goodness in people. He never expected the crushing blow that would shatter his illusions and leave him collecting fragments of his broken heart.

He was the quiet observer, always reserved, keeping his feelings tightly guarded behind a mask of indifference. He had mastered the art of hiding his emotions, blending into the background where he felt secure. But then came this girl who saw past his facade and managed to touch the parts of him he thought were untouchable.

Middle school was a maze of confusion and self-discovery, where blending in often meant hiding one's true self. He was known as one of the 'academic guys,' always buried in books. His feelings were frequently overlooked, overshadowed by his studious reputation. His heart ached for connection, yet each attempt to reach out to a girl ended in polite rejection or worse, cruel body-shaming. Those who did show interest seemed to do so out of sympathy, turning him into a target for playful teasing rather than genuine affection.

Then, out of nowhere, she entered his world. In the third term of Form 3, her eyes met his, igniting a connection he’d never experienced before. She was different, and for the first time, he felt truly seen. They started texting during the holidays, exchanging awkward ‘I love you’ messages and laughing emojis. It became his sanctuary, a digital haven where he could share his feelings without speaking them aloud. Through those typed words, he found his voice, and slowly, she began to miss him. Shy as he was, behind the keyboard was where the barking dog actually bit.

That night remains stuck in my memory, as clear as if it were yesterday. We had just returned to school, and I was settling in while she was still at home, but our conversation lingered, hanging in the air between us. I borrowed my boy’s phone, logged into my Facebook account, and reached out to her. In the midst of our chat, I found the courage to ask her out. To my surprise, she agreed. Just like that, I found myself in my first high school relationship—or so I thought. It was a night that felt like pure magic—one of the best experiences I’ve ever had.

When she finally came back to school, it was as if we had ignited a spark that neither of us could control. The quiet bookworm had been captured, even if it was by a bird who wasn't exactly early to the game. I was head over heels. We were inseparable, always finding comfort in each other’s presence. Our hands would touch shyly, and we’d often exchange glances instead of talking in class. Each moment felt like a secret escape from reality. Even in class, it was as if we existed in a parallel universe—a private world where only the two of us mattered. Every second together felt like a dream—a beautiful, silent fantasy we shared. I actually loved her—wholly and completely. My heart thought I’d found ‘the one’. Lol.

Victoria, you never struck me as someone who would later deliver such a harsh lesson. In class, you were always composed, rarely speaking, and your voice was something I barely noticed because you were always smiling with your bright, white teeth. Every conversation felt lopsided, with you merely smiling while I did all the talking. I still can’t fathom your audacity. You could have been honest with me about your intentions when you started spending time with that other guy. You claimed you were giving me space to focus on my studies and that he was just a friend. Really? Do you remember those walks after prep and those warm hugs as we headed to your dorm? You shared those moments with someone else without saying a word. I always believed we had something special. Maybe I wasn’t your perfect match, but I genuinely tried to make you happy. I even skipped break time to get you something to eat. And yet, I was oblivious to the fact that you had parents too.

I understand now; he was everything I wasn’t—better built, darker, taller, and seemingly more suited to you. I was just a fat kid with nothing much going for me. I frequently wondered how I caught your eye. You later explained why, both literally and figuratively. It was as if a switch had been flipped—you started ignoring me, and the letters, glances, and smiles all ceased to exist. My mind knew I was finished, but my heart, that fool, still saw you as some kind of angel who would never leave me behind. I convinced myself that I was fighting for love, like competing against Real Madrid in the Champions League. I wasn’t ready to give up without a fight, though. However, it seemed like you, the referee, were also against me, making it feel like the odds were stacked.

That night remains distinct in my memory. My friend called me urgently, urging me to come see what was happening near the Dining Hall. He reached out but didn’t stick around, leaving me to face my heartbreak alone. When I got there, I saw you and him making out in the dimly lit corner by the DH pavement. I stood there, frozen, hoping it was just a nightmare. I probably pinched myself, desperate to wake up from this cruel illusion. At that moment, my heart felt like it dropped to the ground, shattering into a million pieces. You’d claimed he was just your best friend, but it didn’t look that way. Were best friends supposed to kiss like that? For a brief moment, I wondered if this was a cultural norm I didn’t know about, where South Sudanese people greet each other with kisses. But then reality hit me—I was fucked.

You tried to convince me it wasn’t what it looked like, as if I were too naive to distinguish between Tom and Jerry. The words you used felt hollow and distant, like a cruel joke. I stood there, tears streaming down my face, each one a testament to the self-worth you had stripped away. My vision blurred with every tear, and the world seemed to tilt and spin around me. I tried to piece together my shattered heart, but it felt like gathering fragments of a broken mirror—sharp and painful.

In that moment, clarity hit me. How had I been so blind, thinking I was in a relationship when I was actually dating myself? You’d made me a mere footnote in your life, something you kept hidden from even your closest friends. You told them we were only friends! The betrayal stung more with every thought. I ran back to class to try and read, but the words in my books seemed to swim in a haze of tears.

I packed my things and went to the dormitory. I was a bit relieved to find my roommates asleep. I entered bed and wailed like a widow until sleep finally claimed me, a merciful escape from the relentless pain.

The following weeks were really tough. Being in the same stream meant that I had to face you every day while you and him kept acting like nothing had happened. I could hardly concentrate, and each class felt like an impossible challenge. You forced me to attend multiple fellowships at the pavilion in search of healing. I was desperate; I only needed something for the pain, but the solace it offered was only temporary. Late nights, it would all come back, rushing like water rapids. The internal mocks were easy, but I still managed to fail them. I scored my first ‘pass 8’ in a mathematics paper, and it all seemed like a cruel joke—proof of how far I had fallen.

Visitation Day brought another blow. My parents, puzzled by my sudden academic decline, saw my aggregate score of 24—a further drop from the already disheartening 21 in the previous set. My dad broke down in front of the class teacher, unable to grasp what had gone wrong with his son. My mom pulled me aside and asked if I was seeing someone. I told her I wasn’t, and I wasn’t lying—instead, I was battling the aftermath of heartbreak. Your heartbreak. And yes, they went back with all the grab they had brought for me that time, including my odii. I was left to grapple with my emotions alone.

To add to the heartache, we had already ordered class jerseys for the upcoming school league season. In my naive hope, I had agreed to get you a jersey with our combined name, ‘Dorookay.’ Little did I know that your so-called best friend had ordered you a jersey with his own combined name, ‘Avizee.’ When I saw you wearing that ‘Avizee’ jersey on the very night we received them, I felt devastated. It made me feel like a complete fool. Seeing you flaunt that jersey made me want to tear mine apart and chew it.

You hurt me deeply. I vividly remember the day you told me I’d given up too soon, suggesting that if I had persisted, we might have been together. Really? So, all those months, I was essentially dating myself? Eh! You had some nerve, my friend. And when your boyfriend didn’t show up for prom, you still had the audacity to ask me to step in as his last-minute substitute. Seriously Coach? You turned me into a second choice, further crushing my self-esteem. But that night, as I stayed back in the dorm, I didn’t feel bad. It was almost freeing, like I had won a contest I hadn’t even entered. It was the first victory I’d experienced since you broke me, marking the start of my healing. So, in a twisted way, thank you.

The next day, my friends told me that you were left spinning at prom, thinking you were too good to be alone. What happened to Ms. Pretty Smile? Did your charm fail you? I guess it’s true—those who hurt you don’t get to enjoy the fruits of your pain. Anyway, I don’t care.

My friends were there for me through it all. On my darkest days, their words reassured me that I was better than your ‘guy.’ It might not have made much sense at the time, but those words were a lifeline. At least, it made it look like you were the one who fumbled me.

You transformed me into a monster—one I’ve been trying to outrun ever since. You instilled in me a thirst for pain. On some days, I’d look in the mirror and barely recognize the person staring back. All I saw was a creature forged from scars and unhealed wounds.

For years, I wondered if I was seeking revenge, and then it hit me, Vicky. I realized that I had built you up in my mind, making you my whole world. And when you tore me apart, I felt like I was nothing. But in reality, it wasn’t you who defined me. It was never you. And my subsequent actions weren’t even aimed at you. I did it to others—innocent others—but convinced myself it was because of you. Eventually, I realized I didn’t even hate you, Victoria. I hated myself for falling too deep and for becoming so vulnerable. I blamed myself for everything that happened. Maybe if I had stayed focused on my studies instead of chasing feelings, my story would have been different. And I needed to forgive myself. I did that and learned to love myself again.

Not long ago, I wrote you one last letter, a farewell to the past we shared. Back then, I promised it was the end—my last attempt to untangle the knots of our history. But here I am again, pen in hand, compelled to revisit that chapter. In the quiet moments, your memory still whispers to me, a lingering echo of what was once so vivid. I’ve learned and grown, but the shadows of our time together still dance on the edges of my thoughts. It’s a bittersweet reminder of the journey I’ve endured and the lessons I’ve embraced.

I don’t know where you are or how you’re doing now, but I don’t hate you. You were my friend, and I hope we cross paths someday, trade stories, and laugh about all this. Until then, I remain yours truly,

 The Imperfect Writer.