Lessons in Love, Loss, and Accountability

As I moved beyond my teenage years, my experiences with women varied, though they were primarily with those of Chinese descent. One notable exception was Lisa, a Vietnamese girl I briefly encountered. After high school, I met Virginia R – a captivating Chinese woman whose beauty was matched only by her vibrant personality. She was caring, loving, and full of life, yet despite her clear affection for me, I let my own insecurities dismantle what we had. I pushed her away, not once but repeatedly, each time feeling the weight of my own brokenness. When we finally parted ways, it left a deep wound in my heart – one that I mourned for years, unable to erase the memory of her even as I moved on with other relationships. It was only much later that I realized she had been younger than I had thought – just 17 at the time, while I was 21. We had always seemed to be at the same stage in life, so the question of age had never crossed our minds.

Months later, another woman entered my life – June, an older woman from Hong Kong who was in Canada to study English for a few months. Our connection was immediate, and within two weeks, we were intimately involved. The memory of our first kiss still lingers – soft, electric, filled with an unspoken understanding. Yet despite the physical closeness, the emotional depth I had hoped for never materialized.

As my focus shifted to studies and work, my interactions with others continued, but one experience in particular left a lasting impression. It was a stark lesson in accountability, perception, and the dangers of misplaced trust.

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Katriel – The Danger of Rewritten Truths

Katriel and I had an easygoing, flirtatious rapport that eventually led to one evening where she came over for wine and conversation. Playful exchanges turned into physical closeness, and when I offered to give her a massage, she accepted. The mood was lighthearted, playful, and as the night progressed, things naturally became more intimate. I hugged her from behind, traced my hands over her body, and at one point, moved under her shirt. I paused, asked if she was comfortable, and she assured me she was. Encouraged by her response, I continued, and we ended up in my bed, sharing passionate kisses and exploration. The night was physically charged but did not escalate beyond that. After a couple of hours, she left.

Days later, I reached out, only for her to insist on speaking over the phone rather than replying to my email. The shift in her tone was immediate and jarring. Gone was the playful, flirtatious person I had known. She became self-righteous and dismissive, stating that our encounter had been a mistake and that she would never consider pursuing anything further. Her insistence was strange – almost as if she needed to convince herself more than me. I remained calm, told her I respected whatever decision she made, and that if she wished to cut ties, I would accept that. Instead of acknowledging my words, she kept emphasizing that she was already seeing someone and that there was “no chance” of anything happening between us. I thanked her, wished her well, and ended the conversation.

Years later, I discovered from her cousin, that Katriel had rewritten the story entirely. She claimed I had taken advantage of her while she was drunk. The revelation ignited immediate anger in me, not just because it was an outright lie, but because it was so calculated. I confronted her cousin, but she remained uncertain, unwilling to fully believe either side. That reluctance – that hesitation to take a firm stance despite knowing my character – was deeply disappointing. It was a painful realization that some people will only see what they want to see. To her cousin, my sexuality alone made me suspicious, as if simply being a sexual person automatically made me predatory.

Time eventually proved the truth.

Years later, her cousin confided in me that Katriel had accused another man of similar misconduct. Reflecting on this, she admitted that Katriel had a pattern of distorting reality to protect her own self-image. Instead of taking accountability for her choices, she crafted a narrative that absolved her of any responsibility. It was not just me – she had done this before, and she would do it again.

That realization cemented a hard truth – people who refuse to own their mistakes will go to great lengths to manipulate the truth. Some will lie, gaslight, and reshape reality itself rather than confront the role they played. There is no winning against someone like that. The only thing to do is walk away and refuse to play the game.

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A Life of Contrasts

In the years that followed, my relationships ranged from fleeting one-night encounters to deeper but undefined connections, such as my situationship with Pepper. After my 2006 breakup with Cindy, my perspective on relationships evolved, and I found myself attracted to a broader spectrum of women – Caucasian, mixed-race, Thai, Vietnamese, and others. It was a time of exploration and self-discovery, where every experience became a stepping stone toward understanding myself better.

By 2010, I was with Amber. Despite our connection, distance and friction created a longing for something softer, something more intuitive – someone who truly understood me on an emotional level.

Life is filled with contradictions – longing and loss, connection and detachment, deep love and deep disappointment. Those opposing forces shape us in ways we never anticipate. Even now, despite the relationships that have brought me fulfillment, a quiet sense of loss lingers – not out of regret, but as a reminder of the complexity of human connection.

Some people change, some people deceive, and some people are simply not meant to stay.

And some people remain, if only as lingering whispers of who they once were.