This post consolidates eleven blog entries, which themselves stem from dozens of diary entries I’ve written offline over the past twenty years. I combined these posts into one, to document the entire story, my feelings, final thoughts, and the last moments of this chapter.
The short of it…
Tahliya sent me a dismissive, toxic message on WhatsApp in August 2024, which led me to end our 21-year friendship. A month later, she mailed me a letter saying she wanted to fight for me. Shortly after that, she made an unannounced visit, upset she couldn’t reach me. I created a private blog to pour out everything I experienced, specifically crafted for her eyes only. However, because she took too long to read it, eventually I unpublished the blog and drafted a letter outlining clear terms for further engagement to help rebuild our relationship. She read and agreed to those terms.
When we met on January 23rd, 2025, I expected her to come prepared with questions to guide our discussion. Instead, she showed up completely unprepared, leading to a surface-level conversation of semi-random things I brought up to her. After she left, I asked when she could meet again. Disregarding my own dignity and pride, I suggested she come by for an hour, and I’ll even give her a massage. She brushed me off, saying there was no point without a resolution and don’t see how one hour could change anything. After another day of processing my own feelings, against my better judgment, and the advice of my friends Tammy, Sylvie, and my wife, Amber, I considered giving Tahliya a means to move forward with me, without resolving my issues with her. I planned to ask her a simple question this night: would she like a relationship with me similar to the one she has with her friend Robin – just as a sounding board? This came with a heavy heart, because this will diminish what we used to have, into an extremely strictly shallow-type relationship. If she accepted my simple term, then I would go into WhatsApp and make sure to block all incoming media files from her, not risking seeing any further lovely pictures of her in the future.
You could say: “Why bother?” Simply because I care about her.
Her response? “I just don’t understand. I was there for 4 hours… so I don’t think another 15-30 minutes will change anything. I’m now in crunch time mode. Need to hermit for a bit.”
Let’s be clear:
- She was the one who wanted me back in her life.
- She agreed to my terms of engagement.
- She showed up unprepared, unfulfilling the basic requirements of the terms.
After all of that, she turned the blame on me, essentially suggesting it was my responsibility to fix this. Once again, she is gaslighting me, plain and simple. She wanted me to be the one to chase her, make amends, fix ‘us’, as though she hadn’t been the one to reach out in the first place. Why is it my responsibility to make changes happen, when she is the literal instigator, and the one who reached out to me claiming she will fight for us?
Looking back, I should have listened to Tammy, Sylvie, and Amber and cut ties immediately. The only reason I gave her this massive chance was because of our 21 years of friendship.
The following is what I am willing to share in detail, without the bits that might destroy her public image and existing relationships. Even though she has once again wronged me, I am still protecting her identity.
- Fast Friendships, Missed Futures
- Enamoured, but clear headed
- Smoke and mirrors
- When we were us
- Low-key PTSD
- Special friend in name only
- The threat of divorce is a huge red flag
- Our relationship reset, or so I thought
- The Last Straw
- Aftermath
- A Summary of my thoughts & feelings
1. Fast Friendships, Missed Futures
Tahliya mass emailed Albert’s friends, requesting a photo of him, so she could draw him into a comic for a gift mug she was supposed to give him for his birthday. This was sometime in June 2003. We finally met later, during Albert’s birthday dinner in July that same year. Not long after that evening, Albert took Tahliya out to the UBC gardens. Albert asked Tahliya if she were to give me a numerical value in terms of attraction, how she would rate me. She gave me a 1.5 out of 10. Although I never asked, nor was I privy to their conversation, when Albert met up with me later, he told me what she said anyway. I shrugged and told him that individuals are permitted to be aroused or not aroused by whatever meets their emotional and physical standards. Albert then asked me to give Tahliya a rating, which I gave him a side-eye for a few seconds, then answered, “Zero, because I barely saw her, let alone know her.” Albert giggled like a moron and tried pressuring me for a proper answer. So I finally said, “She’s cute, but not your type.”
Albert being as annoying as he was, asked what my type was, but I corrected him, “I said she’s not YOUR type.” You see, Albert loves trying to corner people with endless questions, primarily to validate his own ideas. However, he has never been successful with me, and this drives him fucking nuts. We have at times, gotten into minor arguments, but mostly just him getting angry, while I laughed in his face.
Which with some slight irritation, I responded, “Virginia, Fiona, Sandra, and that girl you like with the slanty witchy eyes.” Albert being the irritating bug he was, continued to try to push me into a series of corners, eventually settling on asking me why I don’t find Tahliya attractive. I gave him the side-eye again, and told him, “What sort of fuckery is this?! I never said Tahliya is ugly. I said she’s not my type.”
Albert then tried to flirt with death and rhetorically asked, “Doesn’t Tahliya look a bit like Virginia?” I scoffed immediately and responded, “Virginia is a solid 10. Tahliya is more like…” Albert had a huge grin on his face when he goaded me, “More like what?”
I didn’t answer.
Tahliya did meet up with me multiple times shortly after, initially because Albert invited her, and later, when she and I got more comfortable each other, I asked her out directly. During this time, I introduced her to Carlo, Patrick, and Jonathan.
She met Carlo a couple of times when we all hung out, but got to know him better when we all went to Saigon Fusion on West Broadway back in October 2003. By then, I had a bit of a crush on Tahliya. Mind you, at the time, I had a friend with benefits on the side. So while I did have a crush on Tahliya, it was more a passing thought than a committed feeling. During our night out, Carlo was super interested in Tahliya, and while walking around Granville Island, he successfully grabbed her hand and interlocked their fingers together. Tahliya, for some reason, didn’t reject him, and just went along with it. The next day, when Tahliya and I conversed over the phone, she told me she was uncomfortable when Carlo did that, but didn’t remove herself from him, knowing he just came out of a bad break up. In short, she wasn’t interested in him at all.
Later on, I invited Tahliya to a hike out at the Three Chiefs, along with Albert, Patrick, and I. It was here, that Tahliya could not stop swooning over Patrick, convinced through their chatter, that not only was he hot as hell, athletic, university educated, and loved travelling, but his humour, hobbies, and desire to explore life, absolutely turned Tahliya on. When Tahliya tried teaching him how to swim, she got a chance to molest his six pack and firm muscles throughout his body. She told me several shivers went through her body, every time her hands touched him. Alas, Patrick considered her only to be a great friend and activity partner. He praised her personality and loved hanging out with her. He felt at ease with her. Tahliya considered him to be potential dating material. However, there was a moment they shared one evening, where reality shattered their perspectives of each other. When I met up with the both of them individually on different times, I was highly amused at their rants to me. Patrick only desired friendship with her, and while he mentioned she is cute, from the way he talked about her, he didn’t find her attractive enough for dating. Tahliya’s ranting of him was hilarious. She rhetorically questioned whether Patrick had lead her on or not, and why he would do all the stuff he did with her, just to be friendly. I didn’t say much to either of them. I nodded mostly, and made verbal cues to acknowledge what they were expressing to me. Of course, I was highly amused of their situation.
Not long later, I introduced Jonathan to her, and she fell head over heels for him. Jon is tall, subjectively handsome, was a basketball (or volleyball) captain in his senior years of high school, highly intelligent, very protective of his close friends/family members, very charming, with an excellent wholesome personality. His wisdom proceeded his age infinitely. Basically, he was my brother from another mother. You can see how much I revered him. So, in my eyes, I was taking a chance with Tahliya being a future ‘sister’, if they married. Which also meant, she better not fuck this up. Their relationship was the bomb. It was good, because he was a good person, and he respected her, supported her, loved her. Tahliya swooned over him, constantly with butterflies in her stomach every time she thought of him, and met with him. They shared the same jokes, laughed at the same things, enjoyed similar things, and had the same outlook in life. I could have sworn, they would have had an awesome loving adventure going forward into the future with a big old family, making their own awesome memories, growing old together, being happy, and fulfilled. Alas, it was not so. Tahliya had one criteria for relationship. She required her future husband to be a Christian.
When I found out about this, I was deeply upset. While Tahliya might believe her religion is an integral part of her existence and well-being, I found her insistence on having a Christian husband not only demeaning and disrespectful but also incredibly superficial. She was willing to give up an amazing relationship with an amazing man to chase some religious ideal. For what? Proclaiming loyalty to Jesus, going to church every Sunday, praying, and following a set of Biblical rules that most Christians don’t even bother with? It was beyond frustrating.
About a week later, I met up with her one evening. I gently brought up her breakup with Jonathan, carefully masking how upset I truly was. I approached it lightly for two reasons: first, I didn’t want to rub salt into the fresh wound of their breakup, and second, I knew it wasn’t my place to outright tell her that her beliefs were, frankly, idiotic. Instead, I calmly told her that faith should be a deeply personal connection to whatever spiritual entity she believed in, rather than an arbitrary checklist for a partner. If her spiritual convictions were truly strong, everything else would fall into place, especially with a partner who was near-perfect in every other way. I also warned her that I hoped she wouldn’t regret this decision later because marrying someone solely based on shared faith doesn’t guarantee compatibility as life partners. Tahliya listened, didn’t argue, and simply sighed. We sat together quietly after that, with her resting her head on my shoulder while I simmered internally over the whole situation.
Over the next little while, she window shopped for further potential romantic partners, and eventually found Daffodil. He was good looking, had a great smile, dressed nicely, drove a modified sports car, university educated, heading into a career that has a super future, and drum roll……. Is a hardcore Christian. What a catch eh?! So they dated, fell in love, and he eventually proposed to her.
I met Daffodil a couple of times before things got serious. Tahliya later asked for my opinion of him, but I gave her an answer tailored to what she wanted to hear. She was already enchanted by the idea of Daffodil, and I saw no point in offering a critique that would be wasted on her at that moment. While she respected my opinions and the wisdom I shared, she was also painfully naive during this time.
In this same conversation, Tahliya told me, completely unprompted, that Daffodil had a huge penis. She went on to insist that large penises guaranteed the best sexual experiences and the most intense orgasms. I smirked at her, giving her the most judgmental side-eye I could muster, and casually replied that size didn’t matter if the guy didn’t know how to use it. She disagreed, claiming that other women had told her big penises gave them the best pleasure, and she’d read in multiple sources that bigger meant better in bed. I rolled my eyes but decided not to argue. By 2008, I’d already had sex with eight or nine women. Tahliya’s closest experience to intercourse was grinding against Jonathan’s erection – something they jokingly called her vagina, “the bun”, and the only type of penetration she ever had, was giving oral sex. I could have debated her claims based on my own experiences, along with the stories and feedback I’d heard from other women I’ve spoken with personally, but in the end, I decided it was better to let her find out for herself.
On the surface, the great thing about Daffodil, was that they shared similar values, he was charming, he made her laugh endlessly, and he loved fast things, plus he was manly. What wasn’t there to love?
2. Enamoured, but clear headed
Between her breakup with Jon and her marriage to Daffodil, roughly four years had passed. Within that time, there were two particular instances that I want to highlight, as they provide crucial context for what I will later say about her relationship with Daffodil in this blog post.
The first instance took place at the beginning of 2007, when Jenny briefly separated from Albert due to some issues they were dealing with. I picked up Jenny and drove her to Tahliya’s place, where we had planned a birthday surprise for her – hoping, at the very least, to take her mind off Albert for the night. After dinner and cake, Tahliya tried to tickle me, but I wrestled her onto the couch. As we rolled around, I ended up on top of her, pinning her arms down on either side of her head, as her legs straddled me. The laughter and struggling faded as we locked eyes. In my peripheral vision, I saw Jenny grinning widely. Just as I was about to get off her, Tahliya whispered, “Get bigger.” I froze momentarily, my heart racing. Her lips parted slightly, and I lowered myself toward her face. I was moments from kissing her, but just as our lips nearly met, I chickened out – my lips barely grazing the corner of her mouth instead, landing as a light, fleeting peck on her cheek. As I pulled myself off the couch, I glanced back and saw Tahliya exhale softly, her face carrying a flicker of frustration. Then, just as quickly, she bounced back with an entirely different energy, upbeat and humorous again.
The next day, Jenny and I spent a few hours walking around Metrotown. We mostly window shopped, grabbed some food at the food court, and chatted about various things. Then, completely out of the blue, just as she stepped out of the washroom, she blurted out loudly, “Why didn’t you kiss her lips, Li?” Heads turned. People stole glances at her, then at me, before pretending to mind their own business. I stared at her blankly for a few moments, then turned away without answering, walking ahead into the corridor where the shops were. For the rest of the day, Jenny wore a damn near permanent grin. Every so often, when I wasn’t looking, she would make quiet kissing sounds. Whenever I turned toward her, she would either glance away like nothing happened or give me a side-eyed look – silently, yet blatantly, passing judgment. It was irritating as hell. Later that evening, when I dropped her off at her apartment, just before she stepped out of the car, she remarked, “You should have kissed her lips, Li. She obviously likes you and wanted you to. She even sighed when you didn’t.” I watched her enter her building before driving off.
When I got home, I found a text from her. It read, “You should have kissed Tahliya.” I ignored that one too.
The second instance happened in 2008, when Jon and I were hanging out at the McNeely school playground near my house. Amongst other things, our conversation drifted toward Tahliya. Jon asked me why I never pursued her. After throwing out a series of exaggerated excuses, I finally gave him the real reason – or rather, the two massive deal-breakers.
The first issue was that Tahliya let go of Jon because she insisted on marrying a Christian man – not because of who he was as a person, not because of any misalignment in values or life goals, but purely because of religious affiliation.
The second issue was her sheer superficiality. Deeply insecure and conditioned by society’s definition of beauty, she would only date men who were at least as conventionally attractive as she was – as if being seen with a “desirable” man was the only way to validate her own desirability. The only exceptions were the tall men she had dated, Jon included, since she also had a thing for height. As long as a tall man wasn’t outright ugly, she would consider him – especially if his personality and character were strong enough to make him marriage material. Since Daffodil wasn’t tall, and his character and personality weren’t put under scrutiny due to him meeting – and surpassing – the bare minimum of what she considered acceptable at the time, he became the obvious choice for a husband.
To put it bluntly – if Tahliya had been presented with Jon and Daffodil from the very start, with no history, no emotional baggage, and nothing but the information she had at the time, she would have picked Daffodil simply because he was Christian. His charm and demeanor were enough to “speak for him,” whereas Jon had to prove himself through time, experiences, and the substance of his future aspirations. Jon’s future had meaning. Daffodil just had charm – and that’s where I had a serious problem.
Did Tahliya even ask Daffodil the right questions while they were dating? Did she ask him what he would do if they had gay children? Did she ask about his daily routines, his habits, his approach to shared responsibilities? Did she ask the tough questions that would have exposed red or green flags? From everything I gathered, she was too afraid to bring them up – whereas Jon had already proven, time and time again, that he had answers. Every few weeks, I would prod her about it, and every time, she would give me some vague, nonchalant version of the same answer: “I’m sure whatever happens, if it happens, will work out.” Every time, I would ask what the fuck that even meant, and every time, she would laugh it off, like she wasn’t willing to jeopardize a “good thing.” She always tried to wrap those conversations up on a positive note, saying things like, “I know you’re just looking out for me,” but I hated that. These weren’t trivial concerns. These were questions that determined whether a relationship was built for more than just churning out babies. I saw her as more than a friend, more than just a potential mother, and I’m sure she saw herself the same way – yet she decided that Daffodil’s Christianity alone was enough. In her mind, a charming Christian husband would pray with her for all the answers they needed, and as long as they believed the same things, they would walk hand-in-hand toward Heaven, loving and supporting each other through thick and thin.
How fucking naive was she, to believe that?
A year before their wedding, I told Jon – while we sat on the playground swings – that I felt Daffodil was mostly smoke and mirrors. There was nothing inherently wrong with him, but I didn’t see any greatness in him the way I did in Jon. One could argue I was biased since Jon was my childhood friend, but I would argue that I’ve never been wrong about a person – or at least, if I was, I was only slightly wrong. I saw how spellbound she was by Daffodil, and I had a choice: to tell her what her heart wanted to hear or to tell her the truth.
I chose to tell her what her heart wanted to hear. She was so happy that she hugged me – something she had never done before. I felt a little guilty, but I told myself she wouldn’t truly understand unless she experienced it firsthand. Even at their wedding a year later, I still hoped Daffodil would prove me wrong, that my doubts were just misplaced bias.
3. Smoke and mirrors
The day of their marriage was, without question, a momentous event in their lives. The vows they exchanged were promises to cherish, hold, and love one another for eternity – through thick and thin, no matter what challenges arose. As they were both Christian, it seemed natural that, whatever setbacks or issues might come their way, prayer would guide them back to the vows they made to each other. There was much to celebrate – they were children of God. This meant that not only would society loosely hold them accountable, and not only would they hold themselves and each other accountable for their actions, but God Himself would ensure they remained connected and true to their union.
Right?
She traded an awesome loving, supportive relationship with Jon, so she could be with someone who walked the same path to Heaven, having the same heart, same love, same religion, right?
I thought our first night together would be magical, wonderful, like we can finally be vulnerable, and make love with each other. Instead, he shoved it in me and it hurt like hell, and then he was done.
Alas, just two weeks after their honeymoon, Tahliya texted me, asking if we could talk. That conversation stretched over an hour, unravelling into a confessional of regret and disillusionment. She poured her heart out about her husband – his selfishness, his lack of consideration, the stark contrast between what she had imagined marriage to be and what it had already become.
She recounted their honeymoon – not the magic she had hoped for, but a rude awakening. Their first night was mechanical: he entered her, finished in minutes, and rolled over, leaving her in pain, exhausted, and nursing a headache by morning. He didn’t notice or ask, just kissed her absently and went to the cafeteria, while she took a moment in the washroom to steady herself. Later, she showed me a photo – her forcing a smile across from him at breakfast, pretending, while inside, she felt hollow.
What did I say, Jon?! What did I fucking say?! I saw this disaster coming from a zillion kilometres away – but of course, hotness before character, right? Who could have guessed that a man’s big dick wouldn’t automatically translate to explosive orgasms? Who could have possibly known that sharing the same religion didn’t magically make him a loving, devoted husband? I mean, prayer, right? Prayer would give them the answers, wouldn’t it? Prayer would make their first night – and all the nights after – glorious, wouldn’t it? Did I not say Daffodil was all smoke and mirrors?!
Anyway. That phone call was just the beginning. From mid 2009 until the end of 2011, our conversations followed the same pattern – every few weeks to a month, she would call, and I would listen. We never really talked about anything else. Whenever she asked about my life, I hesitated. The way she asked – the way she responded – made it clear she wasn’t actually interested. It felt forced, obligatory, transactional. Like listening to my life updates was something she had to do in exchange for the space to air her grievances.
There were other signs, too – subtle but insidious. Small social media missteps that reinforced the feeling of being overlooked. In the first three years of her marriage, I could feel our friendship unravelling. I felt used. The dynamic had become lopsided, hollow, and sharp in a way I couldn’t ignore. The cracks were obvious from day one. On their wedding night, all the things she once idolized about him – his charm, his intelligence, his money making potential, his religion – began to feel wrong. And to this day, she still won’t fully admit it.
But her life tells the truth she won’t admit.
Infidelity isn’t just physical betrayal – it starts the moment you break the vows you swore to uphold. A wedding vow isn’t poetry; it’s a contract, the foundation of the relationship. And since the day they married, Daffodil has been breaking it.
Cheating isn’t just about sex – it’s about trust, commitment, and integrity. Society fixates on physical betrayal, but the deeper betrayal is failing to be the partner you promised to be. Staying in a marriage isn’t proof of loyalty. Loyalty is showing up, honouring your word, and standing by your partner not just when it’s easy, but when it’s hard.
Loyalty isn’t refusing to leave – it’s refusing to become someone unworthy of the vows you made.
4. When We Were Us
In 2012, Tahliya and I had drifted into an emotional affair. There were nearly three dozen moments when she tried to lure me into taking that final step toward sex. Each time, I was caught between two conflicting thoughts: first, that I was already in a long-distance relationship with Amber – fragile and unsteady as it was – and at that point, we hadn’t opened it up; and second, the fear that sleeping with Tahliya would throw her life into further disarray, shattering her dream of a large family filled with children. My libido wanted her, no question – but my principles and sense of loyalty held the line. Even so, the moments that followed still linger in my mind to this day.
This was originally published back in December 11th, 2020. The wording, some of the time stamps, and the names were changed to ward off knowing eyes.
These were recorded in private diaries as it unfolded, compacted to avoid repetition.
February 2012
Tahliya emailed me a photo of a poorly restored painting of Jesus, prompting laughter and a playful exchange. Out of nowhere, she suggested that in another life, she would have let me pleasure her’”a stark contrast to her usual jokes. Our conversation took a flirtatious turn, leaving me both intrigued and confused. I remarked, “I would love to have you over right now,” to which she replied, “I have errands I need to attend to.”
A few days later, when Tahliya and I met up, the atmosphere was strikingly different from any prior encounter. From her exuberant entrance into my home to our late-night visit to Denny’s and back again, her energy was charged with a newfound sensuality.
She greeted me with an unexpected bubbly enthusiasm, a stark contrast to her usual playful demeanour. As she walked up the stairs, I couldn’t help but notice the way she carried herself, glancing back with a smile that piqued my curiosity. Once in my room, our two-hour conversation was punctuated by her frequent touches’”an innocent inquiry about my workouts quickly transformed into her exploring my arms and shoulders, accompanied by lingering winks and smiles.
After we parked at Denny’s, her behaviour grew even more audacious. Just before exiting the car, she flashed me a mischievous smile that left me momentarily speechless. Inside, I was taken aback when her bare foot brushed against me, followed by her toe playfully teasing me through my pants. I reached down to caress her foot, occasionally tickling her toes, but mostly, just gently caressing them. I asked if she liked it, and she smiled at me, while she wiggled her toes in acknowledgement. We exchanged laughter and flirtation, and though I was perplexed, I felt a thrill in our playful banter. She stuck her tongue out between her lips, and pulled the tip back and forth, like she was beckoning me to come closer to her. She stared at me like a predator trying to lure her prey, and honestly, by then, I had a very hard erection, twitching towards her direction, yearning to penetrate her mouth and pussy. Her feet were soft, and while she playfully did her thing with me, I fantasized her giving me an oily footjob, before jamming my cock into her naughty mouth to lick up all the cum she churned out of me, just for me to shove it into her pussy for another round of deep pounding.
As the night unfolded, Tahliya became increasingly flirtatious. She playfully explored the dynamics of our friendship, asking about my preferences in intimate settings, leading to a series of charged encounters. At one point, she eagerly let me guide her around the room and playfully bent over a footstool, intensifying the moment. I pressed against her, our bodies intertwined in playful intimacy. Though we were fully clothed, the tension between us was noticeable. As I held her from behind, my hands slipped beneath her shirt, gliding over her bare skin. My fingers caressed the curve of her body, lingering just beneath her breasts as I asked if I could touch them. She responded eagerly, yet at the last moment, I hesitated, feeling her skin but choosing to withdraw my hands instead.
My reluctance stemmed from a deeper concern: crossing that boundary might undermine her aspirations for children in the future. Despite the turmoil in her current relationship, my friendship with her felt more profound than mere desire. I recognized that if we were to cross that line, further chaos may ensue in her life. Yet, knowing her nature, I also understood she could return for more, drawn by the affection and support I could provide – something her partner had failed to offer.
She expressed her fondness for missionary, appreciating the closeness it afforded with her partner. I invited her to lie down on the floor, gently parting her legs as I settled above her. She wrapped her legs around me, and we shared a moment of dry intimacy. As I turned to face her, our eyes met, and I leaned in to kiss her cheek, then traced my lips along her neck. When I glanced back, her eyes were closed, and I found myself drawn to her lips, yearning to kiss her fully. Yet, hesitation held me back, and I settled for a gentle kiss on the corner of her mouth, whispering, “Sorry.” She replied softly, “That’s okay,” a response that left me questioning the boundaries we had already blurred.
Sometime during that night, while our bodied were next to each other, I playfully remarked, “You’re wearing too many clothes!”
Tahliya smiled at me, her eyes sparkling as I reached for the hem of her shirt. She made no move to stop me as my fingers slipped beneath the fabric, gently exploring her bare skin. Her lips parted slightly, an unspoken anticipation hanging in the air. My heart raced, and a warm tremor coursed through me as my hands rested on her waist, holding her as intimately as I would if we were fully entwined. I slowly glided my fingers up her sides, pausing just shy of her rib cage, where I caressed the soft curves beneath my thumbs. The heat between us was obvious, and I felt the weight of the moment pressing down on me.
As my hands travelled upward, they brushed against the fabric that cradled her breasts, so tantalizingly close to crossing a threshold. Yet, just before I could reach that final inch, I hesitated, redirecting my touch to her stomach. Tahliya neither objected nor withdrew; she lay there, a mix of expectation and longing in her gaze, her relaxed posture inviting me to take that next step. I faltered, feeling the weight of my own restraint, as her expression shifted to one of subtle disappointment.
In that fleeting moment, I felt an urge to tear away her shirt and kiss her deeply, but fear gripped me, and I withdrew my hands. I noticed Thalia’s fingers clench into fists before relaxing once more, and her lips parted in a soft sigh that echoed my own internal conflict. I quickly pulled away, pretending not to notice the quiet tension that hung between us.
Despite the noticeable chemistry, I hesitated at crucial moments, weighing my desire against the fear of crossing boundaries. I caressed her skin, seeking closeness while refraining from crossing into more intimate territory. Our connection deepened, yet I remained cautious, not wanting to jeopardize the friendship we had built.
The night was filled with dry humping and tentative touches, each encounter fraught with unspoken tension. At one point, she requested the vibrator, her eyes revealing a longing that left me conflicted. After she took care of herself, we shared a lingering hug’”a new intimacy for us, before she drove off into the night.
The following day, I saw a Facebook post from her, expressing gratitude for her partner. It was clear she felt guilt for the previous night’s escapades. I scrolled past it, heart heavy but accepting, believing it was simply a moment of weakness for her, even if it left me feeling a bit heartbroken.
Spring 2012
In the months that followed, Tahliya and I found ourselves spending significantly more time together. On most days, her flirtation deepened into something more tactile and intimate. While she occasionally attempted to maintain her usual demeanour, it often led to playful teasing that culminated in her masturbating in my bedroom. Frequently, she seemed to challenge me to take the lead, donning outfits that revealed more cleavage than usual and leaning in closer, her gaze fixed on mine with a coy smile.
She posed herself in ways designed to entice me, always inching nearer. Yet, despite the charged atmosphere between us, I hesitated to take that final step. Tahliya had never explicitly forbidden me from undressing her or touching her, and whenever I made a move, she never resisted or said no. She welcomed my caresses, allowing me to explore her body, but I always held back from crossing certain boundaries.
I had touched the sides of her breasts, her inner thighs, her feet, and her neck. I had kissed her cheeks and neck more times than I could count, yet each time, I found myself retreating just before the moment of true intimacy. I tried my best to keep things from escalating too far, despite my overwhelming desire to explore deeper.
Early Summer 2012
On a different occasion, Tahliya arrived at my place in the late afternoon, radiating an effortless charm. She wore snug white shorts and a white t-shirt, unbuttoned to reveal a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage. A white visor framed her face, and her hair, tied back in a ponytail, cascaded down in silky waves, different from its usual style. With a light touch of makeup and her lips adorned in a creamy pink hue, she was utterly captivating, and I felt an overwhelming urge to kiss her right then and there.
As she parked her car, I walked straight to her, and our smiles exchanged a silent acknowledgement. There was a luminous quality about her, and she carried a delightful fragrance that lingered in the air. In a moment of boldness that surprised even me, I hugged her openly, something I typically avoided during daylight hours for fear of being seen. But the desire to hold her was too strong to resist. Tahliya embraced me as my ex-girlfriends had – feminine yet firm, resting her head on my shoulder. I pulled her closer and whispered how lovely she looked and smelled. It was rare for me to see her so overtly feminine, and on that day, she embodied it beautifully. I also squeezed her ass, and she made no attempt to deny me that privilege. She just moved-in closer to me and let out a sigh of relief – as if I had finally kissed her, but indirectly.
That evening, we spent hours in my computer room, her presence a comforting warmth beside me. Unlike our usual arrangement where she sat across from me, she either nestled next to me or sat on the floor, our bodies brushing against each other. I allowed her to lean against me, my heart racing as she looked up, her lips slightly parted, as if inviting a kiss. Time seemed to freeze, and despite the urge to lean in, I held back, fearing I might inadvertently hurt her. After about thirty seconds, she smiled softly and turned her gaze away, still leaning on me, and to this day, I regret not taking that chance.
Later that night, her partner called, seeking to arrange a late dinner. Tahliya hesitated, glancing at me as she expressed her fatigue, but after hanging up, she made a frustrated face and informed me she had to go. She mentioned she might not return, but I held her hands, imploring her to come back. “I really want to see you again tonight,” I said, and her smile reassured me that she would.
True to her word, she returned two hours later, and we spent another three hours together until around 3 a.m. Our time was filled with warmth and tenderness, sharing fleeting moments of closeness. During one instance, we locked eyes and smiled. When she looked away, I stole two kisses on her face. The first was a gentle peck, but the second lingered, as she tilted her head slightly toward me. I closed my eyes, hoping that in the dance of our movements, our lips might finally meet. Yet, as I pulled away, I noticed her face was still turning toward me, a moment of hesitation hanging in the air. We sighed simultaneously, a quiet acknowledgement of our unspoken connection, each lost in our thoughts as we glanced away.
We talked about things. We also did things that made us so close to each other.
I would lean my head on her shoulder, brushing my lips gently across her cheek, neck, and shoulders. When my hand rested near hers, she would place one or two fingers over mine, softly caressing them. The most daring gesture I made was to caress her arms while hugging her tightly, my desire unmistakably pressing against her. At times, she would embrace me more tightly, swaying ever so slightly to elicit a response. Her smiles were always met with a fleeting look of disappointment, a subtle acknowledgement of the tension that lingered between us. Before she left, we shared an extended, tight hug. I vividly recall her driving off, pausing at the gate to glance back at me. She waved, and I waved back as she disappeared down the road.
On another occasion, I discovered some old clothes belonging to Cindy and Monica tucked away in a box in my closet. When Tahliya visited, after a playful exchange, I asked if she would be willing to try them on for me. Her cheeks flushed as she admitted she never wore anything like that, yet she changed into Monica’s black frilly blouse and a wine-coloured skirt. I found myself wishing I had high heels for her to complete the look. After applying a touch of lipstick, she was breathtaking. In that moment, I was so captivated that I felt compelled to memorize her beauty, convincing her to let me take just one picture. I still regret not kissing her then and there, or making love to her on that couch.
Another day, we took a long walk around McNeely, engaging in deep conversation for nearly three hours. We often found ourselves sitting on benches at the baseball diamond, the bleachers at the basketball court, or the steps behind the high school. Each time, our fingers would brush against one another, but our hands never fully intertwined. Sometimes her fingers would cross over mine, and other times mine over hers. We seized every opportunity to touch, yet never achieved complete contact. In hindsight, I realize how torturous it must have been for her, just as it was for me.
Late Summer 2012
Tahliya came over during the day time, and for the first hour, we talked like we normally do about various things, like what friends do. As the minutes progressed, realizing she was closer to ending our time, as she had other things to do after, with my heart racing and my brain a blur, I laughably courageously asked her if she would be willing to change into a couple of dresses, that were left behind by Cindy and Monica. Tahliya shyly accepted, after asking me where they came from, and why they were still in my storage. When she changed into them, I was awash with longing. She was absolutely stunning and beautiful.
Her vulnerability was noticeable and incredibly touching. She was shy, blushing and pulling at the fabric as if to make herself invisible, yet the way she allowed herself to be seen in such an intimate moment made her even more radiant. Holding her hand, I twirled her around, a bit awkwardly, before she settled back onto the couch. While still holding her hand, I knelt in front of her, and kissed her hand deeply in appreciation. I wanted her to know how much it meant to me that she let herself be vulnerable like that, how beautiful she truly was, and not just in those dresses, but in her trust and openness.
Of course, I also had a bit of an inside-laugh remembering the beige underwear she wore in 2009, when I took her to get her traditional Chinese dress adjusted, as she wore a similar bra and panties this time around too. Tahliya isn’t a fan of thongs, as she feels it flosses her ass and pussy. Too bad, because she started working out a couple of months ago, and I would really love her to wear a thong. I could feel the hem of her panties whenever I hug her and my hands are placed on her waist.
A few days went by, and I saw some texts Tahliya had sent me, from her home, expressing her wish to see me, prompting me to call her immediately. She answered on the first ring, stepping out onto the patio. This was the conversation I had hoped would set the tone for our future discussions in 2018, where I could explain why I hadn’t pursued a deeper physical connection with her. To cut through the heaviness of our exchange, I told her how much I cherished our time together and how her encouragement had motivated me. I acknowledged that she still needed me to take the lead and confessed that, had our circumstances been different, I would have stripped her bare and made love to her. I expressed my desire to “fuck her brains out,” to which Tahliya responded that she would have welcomed that too. I reassured her that she made me feel special during her moments of emotional vulnerability when she allowed herself to open up to me. I emphasized that if we weren’t tied to our respective situations, this would have been a no-brainer.
That conversation etched this period of my life with her into my psyche. She knew I wanted her, and I understood she needed me. As the years progressed, particularly in 2012 and 2013, that desire sometimes grew so intense it transformed into a profound need. There were countless moments when I wanted to claim her right then and there, but I held back.
At the end of that call in 2012, despite articulating all my feelings, I was suddenly overwhelmed with grief and regret. ‘Wait, no, I can’t! I need to see you now. Can we meet?’ I implored.
Her tone perked up momentarily, only to quickly dampen again, ‘You want to see me?! But I can’t. He’s here, in the other room.’
I pleaded again, almost demanding, ‘Please, forget what I said. I really want to see you. How about I come by and we meet downstairs at the park?’
Ultimately, she didn’t want to raise any suspicions, and we remained apart. Thalia’s voice was soft and comforting, despite the sadness that lingered in the air. As our conversation dwindled into the restlessness of the night, I mustered the courage to say, ‘Thalia, I love you so much. I wish I could kiss you right now, and I would – you know I would!‘
Without a moment’s pause, she sighed softly and replied, ‘I love you too, Leeman.‘
In that moment, my heart shattered into a million pieces. She was merely a ten-minute drive away, and I could almost feel her warmth and the scent of her hair. Yet here we were, separated. I never imagined that this would be the only instance of complete honesty from Thalia. For me, it wasn’t merely about the arousal of sex, the sweetness of making love, or the thrill of prolonged kisses. It was about wanting to feel her heartbeat against my chest, to hear her breath close to me, to hold her hands and kiss each of her fingers and palms. I longed to demonstrate what true friendship meant to me with her. I never would have anticipated that this moment would be both the peak of our connection and the last time we truly understood each other.
Autumn 2012
Around this time, Tahliya was making efforts to mend her relationship with her partner, attempting to make things work. Consequently, our meetings became less frequent. However, she did visit my home twice while my parents were in Hong Kong.
During her first visit, she seemed anxious and rushed. She settled across from me, speaking in a hurried tone. Less than an hour into our time together, she asked if she could use my vibrator, then hurried off to my bedroom, leaving me momentarily stunned. Moments later, I heard the buzzing sound as she sought her own pleasure. Afterwards, she lingered for about 15 minutes before leaving, her demeanour noticeably cooler than before.
The second visit occurred just a day before my parents returned from their trip. Tahliya arrived and playfully teased me, then boldly asked if she could go to my bedroom to masturbate. As she stepped through the door to the computer room, she turned to face me and asked, “Do you want to watch me?”
At first, I responded with a hesitant, “Okay,” but she didn’t hear me clearly and asked for clarification. I faltered, retreating with a soft, “Never mind. Just go do your thing.” When she returned, she told me she had climaxed twice, disappointment etched in her gaze.
By this point, it seemed she had finally resigned herself to the idea that we would never take things further. Her attitude toward me began to revert to how it had been before February 2012, which filled me with sadness. I knew I was at fault, yet I cherished even the brief moments I had with her.
Late 2012
After a significant argument with her partner, Tahliya found her way back to my place. For the first hour, she ranted and vented her frustrations, but then, quite suddenly, she stopped. She stared at me intently, shifting her focus to what I had to say. Normally, when she sought my advice, she didn’t truly listen. I surmised that she asked merely to ease her guilt about occupying someone’s time, giving the illusion that others could contribute to her life in some way.
As I shared my thoughts, I noticed her gaze fixed on me while I fell into silence. I smiled awkwardly and asked, “What?”
She returned my smile and, unexpectedly, asked if she could use my vibrator again. This time, however, she was bolder, inquiring if I wanted to join her. My desire surged’”I wanted Tahliya so desperately. I sensed it might be my last chance, but once again, I hesitated and rejected her advance. She sighed heavily, jumped up from her chair, and disappeared into my bedroom. When she returned, her demeanour had shifted; she was noticeably cold towards me.
At the front door, she said, “I can walk back to the car by myself.” Typically, she preferred I accompany her, fearing the dark and cherishing our customary hugs before parting. My heart shattered at her words, but in that moment, I did something I’m grateful for, even amid all the things I left undone. As she stepped through the front door, I grabbed her wrist. She turned back to me, wordlessly surprised.
I stepped closer, looked deeply into her eyes, and whispered, “Thalia, I’m sorry,” before gently kissing her hand.
She gazed back at me, a mixture of sadness, anger, frustration, empathy, and stress flickering across her face. I took her hand, and together we walked slowly to her car. Once there, I held both of her hands in mine, and we simply stared at one another. We sighed in unison, followed by a shared giggle at our synchronized breaths. I enveloped her in a final hug and wished her goodnight.
As we parted, she pressed a soft kiss on my left cheek. The warmth of her presence faded gradually, like a gentle arctic breeze carrying away a cherished tune of farewell. She drove off, glancing back at me once before the gate fully opened. We waved goodbye, and she disappeared into the night.
Throughout 2013
We barely saw each other throughout 2013. Things were mostly back to normal – save the two times in earlier this year, when she came over to masturbate in my room. Both times, we barely spoke to each other. She just showed up, greeted me, spoke for about 30 minutes, then hurried off onto my bed to vibrate herself to orgasms. Afterwards, she won’t even bother hanging out like we used to. Instead, she’ll just tell me she has to go, then left.
Sometime in mid 2014
Everything began to fall into place for Thalia. By now, our time together completely dwindled. The last time I saw her, was at the bachelor’s party she and the rest of the guys gave me in August 2013. She pushed me aside, focusing instead on her life and her partner. What once felt intimate turned superficial, shifting from “I want to see you [hug] [stare longingly]” to casual conversations like, “Yeah, things are really happening [laugh] [joke], so what’s going on with you these days, BroMo? How is Amber?” I felt crestfallen.
On a side note, I regret asking her to call me BroMo; I don’t like that label. I prefer Leeman, which feels more personal, though Lee feels impersonal. I created the nickname to establish a verbal barrier, a reminder of our emotional distance.
Before she gave birth, we met at a restaurant near my home. Her stomach had ballooned, and her breasts were noticeably full, visible through her loose t-shirt. When she mentioned the baby was kicking, she invited me to sit next to her. I hesitated briefly but obliged. Tahliya took my hand and placed it on her belly, exclaiming, “Do you feel it? She’s kicking.” I did feel it – an odd sensation – and Tahliya beamed with joy.
For that moment, as Tahliya held my hand to her belly, and feeling the kick of her baby, I felt a warm happy feeling. I felt so proud and happy for Thalia, for she finally is a mom-to-be. Though, through my tired eyes, I saw our faces mere inches apart, recalling the last moment we shared when she kissed my face before parting those months ago. Despite being very pregnant, Tahliya looked beautiful with her ponytail and light makeup. I asked if she had been somewhere special beforehand or if she was headed somewhere after. She simply replied that she had come straight from home to see me.
Tahliya was a proud mama, and I was happy she chose to share this moment with me. I only hope her partner will step up and support her; there’s no reason for a grown man of religious conviction to shirk his responsibilities. He has hurt her repeatedly in the past, and he needs to man up and provide Tahliya with the love and happiness she deserves.
I was acutely aware this could have been my chance to fulfill a loose prophecy I had told Tahliya, half-jokingly when we first met, “One day, we will have sex together.” At the time, she expressed uncertainty and replied, “Umm, I don’t think so.” Yet, despite the lack of physical consummation, we did share moments of physical and emotional intimacy. It felt as though the year flipped back and forth like a coin – when she wasn’t in the mood for intimacy, we were just friends; when she was, she would attempt to seduce me.
For example, every single time we met, if she realized I wasn’t going to give in, she would ask for my vibrator, then retreat to my bedroom to masturbate. Sometimes, afterwards, she would tell me she fantasized about me while she did it, watching my reaction carefully before sighing in frustration. I wanted to, desperately, but I just couldn’t.
Then 2013 came and went. I married Amber in Germany, and in 2014, Tahliya finally got pregnant. In the summer of 2014, she took me to a restaurant near my house and sat across from me. Her t-shirt was very loose, and she wasn’t wearing a bra. Every time she leaned down, I could see down her shirt. When her baby kicked, she invited me to sit next to her, took my hand, and placed it on her belly. I stared at Tahliya affectionately and smiled slightly, feeling happy that she was finally becoming a proud momma. She looked beautiful – her hair was tied up in a ponytail, and she wore the same white visor she had worn in 2012 when we hugged affectionately in a parking lot. Her face glowed, and her lips were so kissable. That evening, after spending some time in my room talking about her life in general, she stood in my kitchen, about to leave. For a split second, I wanted to pull her in for a kiss. Instead, I asked for a hug. We hugged, and then she left.
5. Low-Key PTSD
After giving birth to her first child, Tahliya was eager for me to meet her daughter. Sometime in late 2014 or early 2015, she took me out to dinner, baby in tow. A cute little girl – quiet for the most part, with the occasional burst of giggles and soft babbling, never anything obnoxious. I had no idea what to do with babies, so I spent most of the night simply observing her and the way Tahliya interacted with her. It was clear how proud she was – after trying for so long, she had finally achieved what she wanted most, and I was genuinely happy for her. That evening, we spoke like we used to before she got married, and I enjoyed it immensely. By then, our past in 2012 wasn’t even on my mind. I was already married to Amber and focused on my own life. As always, I was there for Tahliya when she needed me.
After 2013, we saw each other less frequently, but phone calls remained a constant – happening every few weeks to a couple of months.
Tahliya’s struggles with Daffodil only worsened after their child was born. In a phone call in mid-2015, she admitted she had truly believed a child would mend their relationship – that it would remind them of their love and push Daffodil to step up as a father. Reality hit hard. Instead of rising to the occasion, he did only what he was explicitly asked – and only after dragging his feet. Their relationship devolved into petty competitions and second-guessing each other’s motives when what they truly needed was to adapt and grow as partners. Yet Daffodil refused to do more, insisting that his job drained him mentally and physically, and that his downtime was crucial for keeping their household stable.
What irritated me most was the imbalance. Both work demanding jobs. Both put in long hours. Both have responsibilities beyond their official roles. Yet somehow, Tahliya carries nearly all of the household burden – 95% of the chores, 95% of the child-rearing, 90% of the cooking, and the vast majority of the family’s needs.
Rest is essential for performance, but so is fairness. Some careers come with long hours and high stakes, but at the end of the shift, the work stays behind. Parenthood does not. Managing a household on top of a demanding career is an unrelenting, all-consuming job – one that Tahliya never gets to leave. If Daffodil justifies doing less at home because of his work, where is her reprieve? What’s his solution for her exhaustion? Right now, he isn’t a partner – he’s the family’s fifth child.
And as his attitude became the root of their problems, Tahliya changed – and not for the better.
From 2015 onward, her outlook on people changed drastically. The core of who she was remained intact, but how she handled me – especially when she sensed even the slightest personal criticism – became volatile. If I ever tried to bring up my grief over what happened in 2012, she would completely lose it. Her hostility turned into gaslighting, dismissing me outright like I was some kind of fool. Her responses became increasingly sharp and demeaning, laced with sarcasm and condescension. By 2018, I often felt like I was walking on eggshells around her. Gone was the curious, open-minded young woman who once valued my perspective. Instead, she began lumping me in with some imagined group of people out to undermine her. It felt like years of emotional trauma with Daffodil had built up into a wall of anger and grief. Any challenge to her views, any statement she perceived as disrespect, was met with immediate aggression.
I believe that, after everything she endured in her marriage over the last fifteen years, she has likely developed PTSD. However, I’ll expand on that later to maintain the continuity of our relationship timeline.
6. Special friend in name only
During our conversations in 2018 and 2020, it became clear that I was no longer her special friend – at least, not in any meaningful way. Instead, I was only special when it suited her mood, when it was convenient for her.
“I can’t believe you’re still hung up on that! Seriously, nothing ever happened between us, and nothing ever will. How dense do you have to be to not get that by now? It was all just playful teasing, nothing more! You, of all people, should’ve moved on ages ago with all the girls you’ve been with. I mean, for a nerd, you didn’t exactly struggle to keep that little black book full, right? Stop obsessing over something that’s been dead and buried for years! Whatever fantasy you cooked up in your head about me needs to stay there – far away from reality. ‘Us’ was never a thing, not in the past, not now, and definitely not in the future. I’m telling you this because I think you can handle the truth: it’s time to let go and grow up. You’re not Daffodil. While you look good in fantasy, in reality, I married up! Look, anything I said or did back then was clearly just a joke! I was curious, but it wasn’t serious. You said it was hot or something, but I made sure I didn’t take my clothes off! We dry humped a little, and then I went home. That’s it! We’re friends, and sometimes female friends mess around like that – teasing, joking, maybe a little friendly flirting. Any guy with common sense should know it doesn’t mean anything! Honestly, I hope you can just let this go already. Fine, if it helps, here’s another ‘tease’ for you: yes, I’ve masturbated to you before, and yes, I’ve had a sex dream about you. But that’s all it ever was – just fantasy, like whatever you’re holding onto from that day. It wasn’t real. Now let’s move on and stop dwelling on something so insignificant!”
-Tahliya in 2018
The 2018 conversation was a disaster. Tahliya attempted to gaslight me into oblivion – an effort that was doomed from the start – yet she carried on as if I were the instigator. With absolute arrogance and misplaced confidence, she insisted I had misinterpreted everything. The only thing she begrudgingly acknowledged was that night in February 2012, and even then, she refused to engage with any honesty. She laughed sarcastically, dismissed it as an insignificant detail, deflected to unrelated topics, evaded all accountability, and waved me off with the casual indifference of someone who had already rewritten history in their favour. In short, she dishonoured me.
I was furious, yet I held my tongue, allowing her to indulge in her self-righteous monologue. The conversation barely stretched to thirty minutes – most of it an exhausting display of her usual deflection tactics, a desperate attempt to sweep everything away as quickly as possible. When it ended, my resentment multiplied a hundredfold. We were supposed to be deeply close friends – not just two people with an affectionate past, but with a bond that should have stood apart from ordinary friendships.
That was the moment our relationship began to rot. In hindsight, I should have severed ties then and there. However, being someone who values logic and empathy – especially toward those I care about – I excused her appalling behaviour as the inevitable byproduct of her miserable marriage and years of compounding stress. So, while I was deeply disappointed and heartbroken, I ultimately chose not to end our friendship.
By 2020, my resentment had swelled into something vast and undeniable. I reached a crossroads – either let our so-called friendship wither into nothing or make one final, measured attempt to salvage whatever remained. This time, I refused to come unarmed. I spent days crafting a letter, meticulously distilling my thoughts. It began as eleven pages – I refined it to six. I arranged a call and read it aloud, determined to cut through the fog of avoidance that had plagued every past conversation.
She seemed agreeable enough at first, yet two weeks passed without a single word from her. I followed up – calm but firm. Her response was an explosion. She ranted about being under immense stress, that a relative had recently died. HOW WOULD I HAVE KNOWN THAT IF SHE NEVER TOLD ME?! She then proceeded to lecture me with Bible verses on my ‘bad’ behaviour – an insult wrapped in condescension. It wasn’t just snark – it was blatant disrespect. Somehow, she didn’t see me as Leeman, the friend exhausted from walking on eggshells around her. Instead, she saw me as an ungrateful burden, adding to her stress. So I let it sit. A few days later, she messaged again, this time offering to schedule a talk.
That second conversation took place in October 2020. At first, she was curt, but as I calmly read my letter, her tone shifted. She wasn’t as openly vile as she had been in 2018, but the core issue remained unchanged – she was still evasive, still dismissive, still allergic to direct engagement. Instead of addressing 2012, she talked around it, deflecting into irrelevant tangents, including yet another unsolicited confession about masturbating to thoughts of me and having sex dreams. It was a tired refrain – the same thing she had said in 2018, as if regurgitating these details somehow held weight. It didn’t. If anything, it infuriated me.
Everything with her – everything – always seemed to circle back to sex. It was as if the entirety of our connection was funnelled through that one lens, her dissatisfaction with her own sex life bleeding through every conversation, every interaction. I was exhausted by it – exhausted by the sheer predictability of her projections. By the end of our one-sided exchange, she insisted we erase 2012 from the ledger entirely and carry on with the ‘great friendship’ she had somehow convinced herself still existed. None of it mattered. I wasn’t interested in nostalgia or half-baked confessions. I was trying to talk about our friendship’s future, yet I could barely get a word in. She talked over me, filling the space with assumptions rather than actually comprehending what I was saying.
Then she veered into a tangent about her pseudo-intimate dynamic with Celestine, drawing parallels to Daffodil and whatever tangled web she had woven there. She admitted she often thought about Celestine, enjoyed her touch and her femininity. Then, with a half-laugh, she mused that – while she could theoretically pursue something with either Celestine or me – ultimately, she could get away with a pseudo-intimate relationship with a woman, but not with a man. I didn’t physically roll my eyes, but mentally, the force of it probably tilted the universe enough to create a black hole.
Beyond that, she delivered yet another cryptic contradiction. On one hand, she wanted me to ‘understand and accept’ her position. On the other, she didn’t want to entirely eliminate the possibility of us being in ‘a situation’ in the future. She was vague, but not so vague as to leave room for misinterpretation. In essence, she was saying she wouldn’t make a move like she did in 2012 – but if I did, she wouldn’t resist. Her words were clear: “I’m in a tough situation. My relationship sucks, and counselling isn’t working. We’re just using that time to take turns ranting about each other – in front of each other. We’re basically fighting without fighting. You know what I mean? But I don’t want you to think this means I can just pick up and go. I want to, but I can’t. I can’t be the one to make the first move.”
Do you see the pattern? Since 2015, she has spoken in riddles – framing her words in a way that suggests she wants something, only to retreat into ambiguity when confronted. I don’t even know if she realizes it, but she plays these insufferable, juvenile games with people’s emotions. It’s a cycle – a perpetual dance of implication, denial, and evasion – and I am tired of playing along.
7. The threat of divorce is a huge red flag
In the last bit of mid 2022, when Tahliya was at the last leg of her fourth and last pregnancy, she texted me that she needed to see me, in case something happens to her. I was like, “WTF?!”
She came over with a very pregnant belly, and massive swollen tits. She was wearing the same thing she wore in the summer of 2020, while sitting in the back of her car, when she took a selfie of herself, with the top few buttons of her shirt unbutton, and her tongue sticking out. Yes, that is the photo of her, minus her face.
During her time with me, Tahliya told me that their relationship dynamics were the shits. She even told me through a mixture of sadness, irritation, and stress, that when she asked her husband if she can have her fourth child, her husband said the following, which I found to be hurtful.
“When I asked if I could have another child, he responded, ‘It’s your funeral.'”
You know why it’s her funeral? Because he knows he doesn’t have to do much, as he knows he can get away with doing super minimal, and Tahliya will just suck it up. He is a super spoiled man-child, because his upbringing allowed him that privilege, and his partner isn’t holding him accountable.
“Maybe I’ll wait until the kids are old enough, and we’ll get a divorce.”
She spent the next three hours with me, just chatting, as I tried a mixture of consoling her, and trying to deter her mind from such gloom, even for just a moment. Note that this entire time, her shirt was mostly unbutton, with only two holding her breasts inside, and the bottom half barely covering her swollen belly. In the last few moments of her stay here, she stared at my crotch and remarked, “Maybe I should go, to leave you to masturbate or something? I think I see your erection.”
Tahliya didn’t get off her chair. Instead, her eyes gradually darted from my crotch to my eyes, and back again, repeatedly. For a moment, I wanted to be bold and ask if I could play with her breasts, since it would be the last time she would get pregnant. Alas, I chickened out, and said nothing. Instead, I responded, “Sure.”
I was a fucking moron. I even relayed this same message to Tahliya over a WhatsApp message saying, paraphrased, “I was a fucking idiot! I have a proposition for you. I would really love to massage your big swollen breasts, lick them, and suck on your nipples. I would love to lick the milk out of your big beautiful tits. I ask for nothing else, unless you permit me to.”
Tahliya responded, “I’m late into my pregnancy and it wouldn’t be safe for me to travel around so much.”
I didn’t press any further, because she’s right. The only way I could have my way with her, is if her comes here. So I definitely fucking missed my chance, but you see? How was what she said just a tease? That sounded a lot like she would otherwise let me have her, if she wasn’t in such a risky situation.
8. Our relationship reset, or so I thought
We stayed in regular contact through WhatsApp right up until her C-section in September 2022 and continued talking steadily until mid February 2024. Much of our conversations in those final months revolved around her websites and casual banter – surface level exchanges that, in hindsight, carried an unspoken distance.
At the end of 2022, when COVID-19 hit me, it wasn’t just an illness – it was a descent into something far darker. The anxiety and depression, fueled by relentless insomnia and breathing difficulties, pushed me to the edge. One night, the weight of it all became unbearable. I put on my winter clothes, walked over to the bed, kissed Amber’s forehead, and whispered, “I love you.” Then I went to Rudi, stroked his head a few times, and stepped out into the cold.
I walked through the snow covered sidewalks, making my way up Minoru. When I reached the intersection of Granville, I took a few deep, slow breaths. The rumble of an approaching bus grew louder. I closed my eyes. For a fleeting moment, my mind was crystalline, weightless, unburdened. I stepped forward.
Before I could fully commit, something deep within me resisted. Every fibre of my being recoiled, and I slipped – falling backward as the bus roared past. Lying there in the snow, my mind went blank. Then, like a tidal wave crashing over me, grief overtook every inch of my soul. I cried. I cried hard. I slammed my hands against the frozen ground, rage and sorrow pouring out of me in an unfiltered release of everything I had suppressed. Then I got up. Took a long breath. Wiped my tears. Laughed at the sky. And I walked home, savouring every breath of life I still had.
In the weeks and months that followed, something shifted. Memories I had long buried began surfacing, reshaping my perspective. I thought about my high school best friends – many of whom I was still fortunate enough to keep in touch with. I thought about Patrick and our childhood. I thought about the good days and long nights with Albert. Jenny’s mischievousness. Pepper’s warmth, and how deeply I missed her. Virginia – so kind, so undeserving of the way I had hurt her. Ryan. Jason. Amber. A flood of faces, places, and moments that had shaped me. Somewhere in that mix was Tahliya – present, but distant.
That was when I started making a conscious effort to reconnect with the people who truly mattered. Not out of guilt, but out of a newfound clarity – life was not meant to be navigated alone. Strangely enough, I didn’t think about Tahliya all that much at the time – she would surface in my mind now and then, but never in a way that demanded my attention.
Then, months later, as I was working on my computer in late August 2023, I stumbled upon something unexpected. I was sifting through my massive offline photo archive, scrolling through decades of frozen memories, when I noticed an old ZIP file titled “20140918-Tahliya-whenindoubtofyourfriendship.” The last accessed date was 2015. Curious, I unzipped it. Inside, there was only one photograph of her and a note I had typed up. The photo is the featured image of this post, cropped to hide her identity, of course. The note simply read, “The moment she disrespects you, by dismissing your needs, you dismiss her from your life.” Dated 2014/09/18.
I had no recollection of why I had zipped this photo up alongside that short message. Regardless, something compelled me to act on it. I took the digital photo to a commercial printer and had it printed on high quality photo paper. She is breathtakingly gorgeous in that picture – and in that captured moment, she was mine, even if only briefly.
Amber came home and noticed me lying in bed, hands crossed over my stomach, staring up at the ceiling. She leaned down, kissed me, and asked what was wrong. Nothing was particularly wrong, yet that simple question unravelled something deep within me. It led to a long conversation – one that ended with her reading the original version of The Dishonest Kiss (When We Were Us). She sat with it for a while, absorbing its weight. Then, after a long pause, she reflected, “There is no truer love than the friendship you gave Tahliya. Perhaps it’s time you tell her that. If she really is the type of friend you give her credit for, then she will take everything you say to her through empathy and understanding. It’s time you shed the burden of trauma and show her what an evolved friendship looks like.”
And so, I took up Amber’s decree. I found the perfect card – one with a joke on the cover that I knew Tahliya would appreciate. Inside, I decorated it with a simple stick man comic that represented us, surrounded by words that encapsulated our years together. It was a quiet acknowledgement – a way of telling her she was still part of my life, that I still recognized her existence in it.
At the time, I hadn’t fully realized that what had begun in 2012 as a pseudo semi sexual, step sister like fraternity had transformed into something deeper – something more venereal and intimately profound. I was not driven by sex – that was never the point – but I was driven by the need to heal what was broken in her. Given everything Tahliya had confided in me about her relationship, her realizations about herself, the history we shared, and the way she lit up when she received my card, something within me crystallized. I wanted to adapt to her emotional needs and desires – not to manipulate, not to impose, but simply to offer her a moment of relief, a space where she could exist untethered from the burdens of her fractured reality.
It pained me to know she was trapped in a life where she gave everything she had and more, only to receive next to nothing in return – except for what her children could give her, which, while precious, existed on an entirely different wavelength of necessity. I found myself asking, “What about Tahliya’s needs?”
Sometime in April 2024, she briefly spoke to me about being completely uninterested in sex.
I feel I have become asexual. I am just not interested in sex anymore, and it has become a chore. I rarely masturbate as well. Is it possible for someone to just become asexual?
“He wants me to beg him for sex, like I really want it, but I don’t feel like it and I don’t even want it anymore.”
Unless there are underlying medical issues, a person doesn’t simply lose interest in sex. This tends to happen only when their partner is profoundly unsatisfactory. Three years ago, I bought Tahliya a new vibrator because the one she had was underwhelming. She was eager to try it out. I also got the same one for Amber, but Amber found it too weak. When Tahliya used hers for the first time, she experienced an intense orgasm and was thrilled with the new toy.
Friendship, contrary to what modern society often suggests, isn’t as restrictive as it is sometimes portrayed. The term “platonic” in “platonic friendship” has evolved in recent times to suggest a sexless relationship. However, the original meaning of “platonic friendship” was more complex—it often carried an ironic undertone, challenging the notion of friendships devoid of intimacy. As an essay from Merriam Webster notes:
They are named after Plato and reference his writings on different types of love. The term platonic was initially used to mock non-sexual relationships, as it was considered ridiculous to separate love and sex, but eventually this connotation faded away, leaving us with today’s notion of close friendships.
In essence, only Tahliya clings to the illusion – veiled in humour and insincerity – that our friendship is purely platonic. The reality – whether she chooses to acknowledge it or not – is that if the right mood were to arise, her carefully maintained facade would inevitably fracture, revealing a connection far more intimate than she publicly claims to want. I am fully aware that Tahliya would accept a friendship stripped of all intimacy – one that is purely surface level, devoid of depth beyond casual companionship. Yet, I also know that this was never the sole reason I was brought into her life, regardless of what she insists. Over the years, her words have wavered – contradicting themselves not as part of natural growth, but in erratic, back and forth oscillations. It is not evolution – it is deflection. Ultimately, it comes down to whether she can accept both me and the truth of what we are – instead of attempting to sculpt me into something I am not, simply to fit the version of reality she finds easiest to reconcile.
9. The Last Straw
In truth, the purpose of resetting my relationship with Tahliya was never about sex. It was about something far deeper – the recognition that I was here to fill a void in her life, and perhaps, in some way, she was here to fill one in mine. And who better to do that than a friend with true intentions?
from March to June 2024, Tahliya felt like a completely different person compared to who she had been from 2015 to 2023. She reminded me of how she used to be from 2003 to 2013. She was warm, receptive, empathetic, introspective, bubbly, and playful – simply a joy to talk to. I believe part of this change had to do with the way I approached her during this time. I spoke to her differently than I ever had before, regardless of the era. I was infinitely more affectionate, far more patient, and I gave her all of my attention, and then some. I greeted her with “Hola querida” – a Spanish phrase that means “hello darling” – a term typically reserved for lovers. I made a deliberate effort to focus on everything she shared, her moods, her feelings, and her needs. In return, she told me she wanted to see me more than once come August 2024 – twice at the very least, three times ideally, and four if she could find the time. She made me feel important and special, and when I saw her, all I wanted to do was shower her with affection. I wanted to offer her sanctuary in my home – a place where she could rest her mind and body, relieve her stress, and enjoy the attention I gave her.
I imagined the moment she would walk through my door in August. I envisioned embracing her deeply, pressing my lips to hers, brushing my hand across her face, and kissing her again. Then, I would take her hand, lead her to my room, sit her down on the couch, and kneel before her – bathing her feet, massaging them with intimacy and care. I would dedicate those 5.5 hours solely to her well-being, giving her a space to breathe, to feel loved – to experience what friendship should be when it is built on something real, something profound.
I wanted to hear her. Really hear her. I wanted her to tell me about the convention she was attending, to share the details of her life, both big and small. I wanted to sit beside her, trace my fingers along her face, and cherish every word she spoke. I wanted to listen to her spiritual moments – the signals and signs she had been receiving. I wanted to know her heart, her dreams, her struggles. I wanted to kiss her hand, each of her fingers, and tell her how much I appreciated the effort she put into life – as a mother, as a friend, as a teacher. I wanted her to feel wanted for all the right reasons.
But I also wanted her to release everything she had been holding inside. I wanted her to rant, to scream, to expel all the grief, sorrow, and frustration she had endured in her broken relationship. I was ready to listen. To watch her cry and not look away. To let her pound her fists against the earth in rage, and then, when the sobs quieted, to hold her until she no longer needed to be held. I wanted to love her until she understood that this – the evolution of our friendship – was meant to be something limitless, free of pretense, free of constraints.
I wanted to know her all over again. And I wanted August to be the moment where we could finally lay everything bare – openly, honestly, without fear.
In this evolution, I expected that neither of us would feel the need to walk on eggshells anymore. That we would be able to express everything – without critical judgment, without fear of being torn down. That she would finally accept me as Leeman Cheng, just as I had long accepted her as Tahliya Lee. We were no longer special in name only – we were special because we were.
In hindsight, I suppose I had hoped that, in time, Tahliya would become Pepper v2.0 – the kind of friend who could embrace the fullness of what we had without hesitation. However, from July 2024 onward, things changed drastically. More specifically, she changed, or rather, she reverted back to how she was from 2015 onward – toxic, dismissive, sarcastically negative, and explosive. Her demeanour, her attitude, her entire way of engaging with me regressed to what it had been before. I can only assume the pressures of her coursework, her increasingly hectic schedule, the lack of personal support, and the stress of planning her August trip all contributed to her shift. Regardless of the cause, the outcome was the same – she reverted to being an easily agitated slanderer.
Then July arrived, and with it came another segment of her coursework. Something in her shifted drastically. Gradually, yet rapidly, she began reverting to the person she had been from 2015 to 2023. While she did make an effort to keep things together and extend what patience she could, she became much easier to trigger and far more critical, with a noticeable lack of introspection. It felt as though a massive storm cloud had swallowed her whole, leaving her unable to see me for what I truly was to her.
The discontentment only grew when she told me how dismissive he had been – particularly one night when their aging dog, confused by dementia, frantically ran around the house searching for an escape. All he had to do was go downstairs and console her – help in some way. Instead, he lay in bed, complaining about an earache, disregarding her completely. Hearing that infuriated me. It made me desperate to see her – not just out of longing, but out of fear that she would grow numb to love altogether.
In my desperation to avoid losing her again, I told her I love her. I hoped it would remind her that she is loved for all the right reasons – not because of some obligatory role in a barely functional marriage, or because the people around her use her simply for what she can provide. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t help. She misinterpreted my confession as one of sexual desire. This has been a recurring issue since our conversation in 2018 – everything seems to boil down to sex for her, something she hasn’t enjoyed at all since getting married. Her husband is convinced he’s a sex god because she fakes all her orgasms and cannot bring herself to tell him the truth.
And so, Tahliya was lost to me once again.
Without delving into every detail, I had sent her a short series of messages, finally confronting the grief she had caused me over the years. I told her plainly – she had constantly deflected whenever I tried to talk about 2012. Her response was as predictable as it was disappointing. She did not reflect. She did not engage. Instead, she attacked me personally, hurling assumptions she had been holding onto since at least 2018, if not longer.
TBH, since that’s what it seems like you’re up for… this is starting to piss me off.
It’s like you’re beating a dead horse and u like to talk about beating a dead horse.
Yes I have shit memory. But I also lead one of the busiest lives I know. And honestly I don’t think u should focus so much on ruminating on things of stuff. The past is the past and we evolve and change as people to some extent as do relationships. They can never be the same. God I hope not. I would hope there’s a maturity that comes with experience and all that small stuff we used to sweat over isn’t as big of a deal now this shouldn’t really be given much thought.
To assume things will always be 100% the same is not realistic, but naive. And you beating around the bush is super annoying. It’s like you’re a kid again who can’t answer straight or, worse an adult who likes to play games to hook someone in
I hope it’s not the latter. I know you’re someone who has good intentions but sometimes it just doesn’t come out right, as expressive and eloquent as u can be. But I also know you can get triggered easily and retreat like a crab into a hole to lick it’s wounds. I just hope u can understand where I’m coming from. If not, that’s OK. Maybe just take a break and focus on what’s most important. Your mental health, physical health, Amber, Rudy, your parents…
Your words sometimes feel like cuts and I suppose my words can also. I assume that if u can dish it u can also take it. So, I’m not trying to be an asshole
I’m genuinely tired of this beat around bush shit and stuff that goes on and on should have been settled. I just don’t want to give it more air time than it needs. Unless u disagree about the amount of requisite time it needs which is a diff matter entirely.
Anyway, this is getting too long… I really hope you don’t take this the wrong way. Am I naive to think you won’t?
We’re all busy.
We all lead busy lives. The world does not pause simply because she does. While she undoubtedly shoulders a great deal, she is far from the busiest person I know. In fact, if I were to rank the busiest people in my life, she would barely make the top seven.
Take, for example, a couple I know – close friends of mine – who truly embody what it means to be busy with purpose. They travel the world, build orphanages and elementary schools in impoverished regions, deliver lectures on mental health, manage multiple charities, and run an art workshop for children. One of them is a certified mental health counsellor who once worked alongside Nelson Mandela during the apartheid. They have endured profound loss – including the death of his own son – yet have still managed to raise two more children with grace, resilience, and love. He is in his seventies. She is in her fifties.
That is busy. That is stress. That is sacrifice.
I am not dismissing or diminishing Tahliya’s version of busyness, stress, and sacrifice – but the reality is, hers is largely self-inflicted negativity, built on the full awareness that her husband is utterly useless, yet she chooses to pile more onto an already broken foundation. She knowingly invests in a failing structure and then complains when it collapses under its own weight.
So while I absolutely acknowledge that she is an extraordinary parent, tirelessly juggling countless responsibilities, she is not the busiest person in the world – nor even the busiest in my world. Perhaps she should meet more people. It might offer her some much-needed perspective – not only on what true busyness and healthy busyness look like, but also on the simple reality that she is not the centre of everyone’s universe.
When I read her message, I did not feel anger. I felt disappointment.
I showed Amber the message, and she exploded. She went so far as to post a response on her own blog, but before that, she raged, “Triggered?! You are one of the very rare people who gets triggered by anything, let alone retreat into a hole to lick your wounds! Who the fuck was she talking about?! You’re nothing like that! In fact, you’re the opposite, and your friends will attest to that! Sounds like she’s projecting herself onto you!”
I sat in silence as Amber vented. While I appreciated her fury on my behalf, the truth was, I had already checked out. The moment I read her accusations, that I was naive, immature, and manipulative – I knew she was projecting her life onto me, but even then, I also knew our friendship was over.
I had told Tahliya earlier in the year that she should never fear burning bridges when people became toxic to her. That toxic people do nothing but drain your energy, feeding on attention and ego at the cost of your peace. This had been in reference to a woman she knew – someone trapped in an abusive relationship.
Ironically, it now applied to my relationship with her.
Tahliya was the toxic one. No matter how much I had hoped she wouldn’t become that person, she had proven herself to be exactly that, over and over again since 2018. I thought back to all the times I had been there for her. Dozens of times.
After reading her final message, I set my phone down. Without hesitation, I backed up her three websites, sent a message to Andy – my nephew – instructing him to take over their management, removed myself from my administrative role on her Facebook page, and then blocked her everywhere.
She would no longer be able to call me, text me, or reach me through social media. Unlike her, when I know a relationship is over, I end it completely.
As I finalized everything, I did one last thing – I sent her a letter through postal mail.
It read as follows…
Dear Tahliya…
Thank you for all 21 years of our friendship. I cherished the memories and experiences we shared. Many moments in time, I had indulged on the laughter, the chats, the jokes, the loss, the misunderstandings, the grief, and the vexation of decline.
People become different things as they grow up or grow old. That’s just life.
Thus, this is where we part ways. This is where our friendship ends.
Goodbye Tahliya Lee. Please do not contact me again.
Moving forward, as I said, try not to let whatever remains of your light, dim any further.
-Leeman
As the last of her websites transferred over to Andy’s server, I received notifications from Andy and Amber, that Tahliya had reached out to them to check up on me. I told both of them to ignore her request for now. I wanted my letter to reach her first. It did however, made me feel a little sad, because she did search for me.
Two weeks had passed, and out of the blue, Amber said to me, “I am honestly surprised Tahliya hasn’t shown up at our door suddenly.”
I remarked, “I rather not have her do that. Plus, how would she get into the building?”
Amber exclaimed, “Still, I would have expected if she really cherished her friendship with you, she would have made a better effort in trying to get you back.”
I replied, “The last time someone showed up at my door unannounced, was Pepper in January 2010. She baked me a cake, sucked me hard, then we made love for the entire evening until the morning, where she told me she’s leaving for the woods. Then I never saw her again, save a text message I received from her that she had landed safely, and thanked me for the time we had. So unless Tahliya intends to have a passionate loving embrace with me, let’s hope she doesn’t show up at our door unannounced.”
On a side note, before I end this post, I really hated how she called me BroMo, and honestly, the only reason I made a promise to be her ‘brother’ recently, was because I couldn’t stand how she accused me of breaking boundaries, when she didn’t set any with me in the first place. What I really wanted, was to have a dynamically adaptive relationship with her, and not some railroaded socially driven categorized limited bullshit. Redundant relationships are boring. So Pepper v2.0, whoever you are, wherever you are, if you ever read this blog post, learn from the relationship woes between Tahliya and I. Let’s do better. Let’s become better individuals. Thus, become a better friends.
Moving forward, it has been about a month since I blocked Tahliya. I went from thinking about her every moment of every day from March to July 2024, to barely thinking about her in the last month. She went from being a hopeful special friend to evolve with, to a disappointment that treated me disrespectfully, projecting her own issues onto me, without any remorse for who I have always been to her. I have been a bit of a doormat since July 2024, and even before that from 2018, for allowing her to keep accusing me and dismiss me, but this was the straw the broke the camel’s back. When Tammy and I spoke about Tahliya back in May 2024, Tammy could not for the life of her understand why I kept my friendship with Tahliya. She thought Tahliya was a waste of my time, emotions, and effort. I repeated something Pepper said to me back in 2008.
No one truly deserves love. Yet, we still love and get loved. Otherwise, it would be too conditional. Not that love doesn’t have conditions, but to love truly, it would mean I get to love you for what you mean to me, instead of loving you, just because you give me things.
-Pepper
This was in response to the topic of me being a terrible friend to her – a sentiment rooted in the fact that, at one point, I had been a bit of an asshole. The conversation surfaced as I reflected on how I had treated Pepper.
Pepper and I were never in a conventional romantic relationship, but what we had was something rare – a true friendship that was both intimate and uninhibited. We spoke freely, expressed ourselves without limitation, and existed in a space where nothing felt censored or restrained. It was absolutely delightful.
So when I look back at my brief yet sweet correspondence with Tahliya from March 2024 to June 2024, I realize now that a part of me was hoping that Pepper would be reincarnated into the evolved version of Tahliya. Or, to put it more accurately, that Tahliya would finally step into the most enlightened version of herself. If she had, wow – I would have swooned over her like never before.
This longing felt especially poignant when I remembered something she had said back in May 2024. I had casually mentioned that Amber would be leaving for Germany next year for a week and that I expected Tahliya to join me during that time. Amber, ever unbothered, had even remarked that Tahliya was welcome to stay overnight if she wished.
Tahliya’s response came in the form of a voice message…
That’s so cute how Amber is taking a sort of interest in me, or being sensitive to me, and I think that’s very cute. However, [in a goofy voice] what does she think of our relationship? Does she think we’re going to start doing something? Like, it’s so funny. I hear your voice. You’re very giddy-sounding, it’s just like, it’s kind of funny. Umm, but umm, like, I know you guys have an open-ish or an understanding, umm, but what does she, does she think something is going to happen? Because like, I don’t, I don’t really think anything is going to happen, I don’t necessarily want, don’t want anything to happen. You know? It could just be like old pals, just uh, reminiscing and talking about stuff, and I don’t want there to be…. Ummm, anything that would, you know, yeah, you know what I mean?
-Tahliya
What she said here, initially excited me due to the prospect of what could be. However, as time went on, and I revisited what she said here, I could not help but feel annoyed, especially with the disparaging things she said to me in August 2024.
So, she doesn’t think anything is going to happen? Or, she doesn’t necessarily want anything to happen? Or, she doesn’t really want anything to happen?
Which was it?
Tahliya was correct to assume that “anything” could have happened between us, even if we don’t necessarily want anything to happen, because if she stops focusing solely on sex, it comes down to what feels right between us.
10. Aftermath
Tahliya sent me a letter via postal mail. Basically, she told me she refuses to believe our long friendship is over, and she will fight for us. She also told me she believes we have a special relationship through an unique bond. If by the end of the year, she doesn’t hear back from me, then she will take it as a sign that things are really over. However, she said if that is the case, she would still come by unannounced just to give me a last goodbye hug.
I didn’t respond to her, thinking I have until the end of the year to respond. So since she seemed to show some sincerity, I decided to craft a private blog that laid out everything under the sun, and then some. However, barely two weeks later, I received a knock at my door and Tahliya standing outside of my home. I invited her in, somewhat coldly, and during her 20 minute stay, she broke down into tears, triggered primarily by her PMS. Her tears were not all for me, or for our broken relationship though. It was partially due to her dying perverted disrespectful friend who has a terminal illness, on top of her other daily stresses. To put it simply, while I was quietly angry, there were moments, I wanted to grab her and bring her into a full loving embrace, and kiss her, as she looked so broken and worn-out. Alas, I couldn’t bring myself to it, since she has also wronged me so much.
Before she left, she asked for a hug awkwardly, and I just hugged her. She squeezed me tightly, longer than most of the hugs she has ever given me. After she left, I told her to expect the blog soon.
Since her visit in October 2024 to mid-January 2025, she seemed more cautious with her words when speaking to me, but occasionally, I could see/hear her true feelings come out. After I sent her the blog link, she told me on November 13th that she would read it over the upcoming weekend. On the 17th, she said she would read it after December 4th, once her workload eased. However, due to the significant delays and her lack of consistency, I unpublished the private blog on November 27th. In its place, I posted a much shorter letter, accompanied by my terms for any future engagement. Then, from December 3rd to the 5th, a miscommunication occurred, and she didn’t follow up until December 16th. Finally, on December 17th, she read the letter.
The following is what was in that letter…
Dear Tahliya…
At this moment, it is 2024, November the 27th at 1:54am. I am listening to “Purple Rain” by Prince.
Earlier, I recounted a scene from a modern Three Kingdoms film called Battle of Red Cliffs. Lord Cao Cao was sending a massive 220,000-strong army to lay siege to Eastern Wu. The combined forces of Lord Sun Quan and Lord Liu Bei, with their 50,000-small army was preparing for battle at their encampment. As they stood in position, in formation, they were urged by their general to write their final letters to loved ones, hurriedly penning what might be their last words. After they finished, one by one, they either tore up their letters or cast them into the wind, their emotions spilling forth – some weeping openly, others struggling to remain stoic. The general himself tore his letter in two and let it drift into the wind, his eyes looking forward, glistening with unspoken pain.
It was a ritual of release, a way for them to say what they had long carried in their hearts before marching toward inevitable death. In a way, that’s what this blog has been for me – a battlefield of unspoken words, a desperate attempt to leave nothing unsaid. It has been my act of emotional intercourse with you, laying bare my inner self, in hopes of forging a connection that transcends the barriers of distance, time, and understanding.
When you sent me that WhatsApp message about two weeks ago that you needed to wait until after your report cards are done, the blog was already completed. Then a few days later, you told me you will read this blog after December 4th after your current course load is completed. So I took the chance to revise it some more. As of a few hours ago, I had what I believed to be the most perfect version: five entries, painstakingly shaped and reshaped. It started as four entries completed two weeks ago, then five, then six, then one, then four again, back to five, six, then five once more, and finally, none.
The question that stirred me was, “What’s the point?” I understand what I desire and have so much to express and share with you, yet deep down, I know it will make little to no difference. You will remain the same, seeing me through an unchanging lens, no matter the truths I reveal or how sincerely I strive to connect with you. Your vices hold you down, your influences – too many.
This process has drained me in ways I can hardly describe. Amber, watching quietly from the sidelines, bore witness to how deeply this consumed me. She saw the anxiety and stress bleed into every corner of my life. Before she went to bed earlier this evening, she told me calmly but firmly, how angry she is with you. Angry for the emotions you’ve stirred in me since 2018, and especially for how much of my time, energy, and effort I’ve poured into this blog for you. And that made me stop and think.
I’ve invested nearly 300 hours into crafting that blog, revising it over 500 times, agonizing over every word, every nuance, every tone, relentlessly striving for perfection. It has been a gruelling battle within myself, a clash of wits and emotions, like an endless game of chess played in my mind. Each move was deliberate, each word chosen to convey my feelings with clarity and depth. In the end, what emerged was, to me, a masterpiece – a creation born from turmoil and relentless effort.
Alas, I decided not to let you read the blog, as I wonder what ailments of time would obstruct you from truly reconnecting with me. After you got married, from 2009 to 2011, you visited me about three to four times a year. In 2012, you visited me just under fifty times. Then in 2013 to 2014, you visited me twice. From 2015 to 2022, you visited me once per year to one and a half years. You didn’t see me at all in 2023, until June 2024, where we briefly met at my nephew’s recital, then a few days later, when you dropped something off at my house.
From March to June 2024, your tone with me shifted dramatically. It was as though you reverted to how you were with me back in 2012. When you reached out to me in March, I truly believed we had a fresh start – a relationship reset. I thought whatever negativity had built up between us since 2018 had finally been wiped clean. When you told me in March how much you were looking forward to seeing me again in August, even asking if we could meet two or three times or more, I felt genuinely excited. Despite lingering doubts, I let myself be open with you, though I still held back on a few things.
Unfortunately, my doubts proved valid. By the start of July, you slipped back into the toxic patterns you had adopted from 2014 onward, which grew stronger by 2018 and persisted right up until the start of 2024. To be clear, you weren’t always toxic. But you seemed to reserve that side of yourself for the moments when I tried to share brief yet deeply significant parts of our shared history – moments that mattered to me. In short, you want to cherry pick who I am to you, keeping the parts that satisfy your ego, discarding the parts that challenges your emotions.
It felt like watching two different sides of you emerge, like Dr. Jekyll and Miss Hyde – vastly different personalities, each triggered by its own set of circumstances. And as the years pass, this duality seems to be growing more pronounced, squashing the part of you I adore.
You set out to marry a loving partner who shared the same faith, knowing he would stand by you unconditionally, offering support without hesitation. Yet, what you ended up with is someone who enjoys the privileges of marriage while neglecting its responsibilities. Even worse, you find yourself making excuses for him.
The reality is that you’re living as a married single mother, caught in a web of denial – and what hurts most is that you choose to carry that denial even with me, someone who sees and cares for you deeply.
You told me we share a special relationship through an unique bond, one defined by a sense of freedom and the ability to be our true, genuine selves with one another. I wish that were true. The reality is, only you have been able to freely express yourself fully with me. I cannot say the same for myself, and I haven’t felt that freedom since 2013. I walk on eggshells around you, and as I admitted back in June, I feel a deep insecurity whenever I try to share my inner thoughts. The blog touches on this, among other truths, in greater detail.
My understanding of our ‘special relationship’ differs from the one you hold now. To me, it’s rooted in a connection long buried – one that hasn’t seen daylight since 2013. From March to June of this year, I was able to see a fleeting glimpse of the light you once brightly shone.
My conversations with you are unlike those I have with anyone else, but I approach every person uniquely, shaped by their nature and our connection. With you, I try to hold space for your struggles, your energy, your scarce time, and what I sense might be undiagnosed high-functioning PTSD. Perhaps no one has ever said this to you before – few would dare to question your moods, your defensiveness, or why you push yourself so relentlessly, even when you lack the support you so clearly need.
You see yourself as ‘the busiest person you know’ and I understand why it feels that way. Alas, you would be about 7th on my list of the busiest people I know. The difference is that none of them have met me with the same intensity of frustration, negativity, or unspoken turmoil that I’ve felt from you. That’s why I spoke up in August, though far more gently than I would have with anyone else. Disappointingly, though not unexpectedly, you responded exactly as I feared you would: with dismissal, condescension, and a sharpness that left me feeling unseen.
The life you’ve fiercely pursued over the past decade – the people, the self-imposed routines, has reshaped you into someone so entangled in chaos. Even when you strive, with great effort, to organize your world into neat ideals and clear-cut relationships, there’s still a deep, discordant turbulence in you. You are the only person in my life who brings me this chaos. And yet, paradoxically, I ache to see you, to hold you so tightly that you might feel the depth of the affection I still believe you deserve. But in the same breath, you make me question whether I want you in my life at all. It’s a painful contradiction. How do I look at the story of ‘us’ and let it all go? That’s why, even now, I’m offering you a little more of my life, as fractured as it feels.
You carry more weight than most people around you could fathom, shouldering endless responsibilities under a relentless cloud of stress. But adulthood, as I’ve come to see it, is about sacrifice – conscious choices to nurture some things while letting others go. You told me you have only two weeks of freedom before the demands of life pull you back into months of absence.
This is why I struggle to believe that you see us as special. You hold on, not to me, but to a sentimental memory – one of a time when we could speak openly, without walls or second-guessing. I’ve always felt that what we shared was rare, extraordinary even, but you will never truly know that because you’ve been misreading me for a decade. Since 2014, you’ve formed conclusions about my character and who I am that are so far from the truth. I wish you were still the curious, unguarded woman you used to be, from 2003 to 2009, again in 2012 to 2013, and briefly, from March to June of this year.
There’s a misquoted line often attributed to Walt Whitman: ‘Be curious, not judgmental.’ What it truly means is to pause, to wonder, listen, allow yourself to not have all the answers. Instead, judgment rushes into your psyche, like you put up shields because this is how you’ve protected yourself for so long. You imagine the worst, draw hasty conclusions, and let that spark of curiosity die.
Earlier this year, I had hoped to engage in a lighthearted Q&A with you, with the intention of rediscovering you’”of understanding the aspects of you that I may have overlooked or failed to fully appreciate. My aim was to show you, step by step, that I truly want to know and acknowledge every part of who you are, and perhaps even reignite the curiosity and openness you once shared.
But it seems the idea made you uncomfortable, perhaps because it touched on things you weren’t ready or willing to confront. If that’s the case, I can’t help but question how you view our relationship as one where we can freely express ourselves without judgment. It feels like the moment my presence stirs discomfort in you, prompting reflection on what you see as a blemish from your past, you pass judgment on me.
What you see as a ‘taint’, I still hold dear, because it was in those moments you were most free with me, and I could be open with you too, even if I still shielded parts of myself to protect you.
I am someone you hold close when your mood is light, and someone you cast aside when the darkness comes. Yet, no matter what I feel, you remain special to me, and I always strive to never hurt you, never to speak ill of you. No matter the circumstances, I will never dismiss you.
That is why, when you came to see me unannounced on October 20th, I went from feeling mostly indifferent from the end of August to that day, to suddenly yearning for you again. When I saw your tears, brought on by your PMS, and you asked for a hug, and then held me even tighter, I realized just how deeply I could be something meaningful in your life. If only you would let down all your walls, allow yourself to be free with me, and grant me the same freedom to be fully myself with you.
You were once a truly beautiful woman – inside and out. That’s what I meant in August when I said I loved you. It wasn’t a declaration of desire, a crude craving to get you into bed like those who have twisted the concept of love to serve themselves – Chris, Jacqueline, Julia, even your husband. When I said ‘I love you,’ I was reaching for you as you slipped further into chaos, grief, and turmoil. It was a lifeline I cast into the heart of the hurricane, a desperate attempt to reach you before the storm swallowed you completely. I was clinging to the fragile pieces of you I still had left, afraid to lose you forever. I said it to remind you that you are worthy of love, worthy of friendship, and worthy of being cherished – the same way Jon once loved you, perhaps even more profoundly from me, and not to be discarded or used behind the facade of love by those you have given your trust, but broken them so whimsically. Alas, you misunderstood my affection and my words, as though love could only mean the kind of love you’ve known since 2009: transactional, shallow, reduced to sex – the kind you’re used to – one way and self-serving.
And that broke me. You’re surrounded by toxicity, by people who only take, and it blinds you to the connection I’ve always felt we shared.
Throughout our entire relationship, I have protected you, sacrificing my own desires, my own feelings – trying my best to be a supporting character, rather than a main character. Yet, of course, you would never see, nor will ever have known that, as you’ve chosen to judge my words through the lens of people like Chris and your husband, rather than recognize me for who I truly am – Leeman Cheng. Have you never considered, that you’ve had me for half of your life? Longer than all of your romantic relationships, and most of your relationships with your friends. Yet, you still saw me, and reacted to me on the same wavelength as you do with Chris and to some degree, with your husband. I am nothing like them, and quite the opposite.
My affection for you has never been driven by lust or a desire for physical intimacy. It stems from the deep connection of our friendship and the profound yearning I’ve felt for you – a longing that kept you in my thoughts daily from September 2023 to August 2024. Knowing the emotional and physical pain you’ve endured in your marriage breaks my heart. That pain has awakened in me a desire to show you your true worth – that you are far more than a mere object for an indifferent husband or a fleeting fantasy for shallow companions.
You’ve expressed feeling asexual, shaped by the way your husband has made you feel – less than a friend, barely a wife, and someone without a safe space to confide. But you deserve so much more. You deserve to be treasured for all that you are through every high and low, and not for what others can take from you. True love should only ever be expressed with respect for the bond shared and a deep reverence for the person cherished.
What I feel for you goes beyond mere desire. It is a sincere longing born of friendship – a desire to nurture and fulfill your emotional and physical needs in a way that transcends the superficial. It is the hope of evolving our connection into something deeply enlightened, where both heart and soul find peace and joy, even in the little bubble we mutually share.
To me, you are extraordinary. There’s no one else in this world like you. If only you had truly let yourself connect with me in August, with the same clarity and openness you carried from March to June, you might have seen it too. That is why, when you said what you did at the end of August, you truly and absolutely broke my heart. I have not felt a literal physically broken heart for a very long time – well, since 2014 and prior to that, with Pepper in 2010.
Sentiment may guide your intentions, but reality ultimately shapes your choices. Spreading yourself too thin only compounds stress and diminishes the meaning of what you aim to accomplish. Since 2009, I’ve learned the value of stepping away from what drains me or feels insincere. That choice has been liberating, allowing me to invest wholly in the people and things that truly matter. Sometimes, burning bridges isn’t an act of destruction. It’s a path to renewal. Insincerity erodes the foundation of any meaningful connection, and if I cannot hold a place of priority in your life, perhaps this has been a sign all along, since 2015, that it’s time to let this relationship die and just let me go.
Please don’t misunderstand me: there’s no anger or resentment in this realization. This is not a condemnation, but an acknowledgement of life’s realities. If this is what must be, then so be it. It’s just life.
However, I am not unreasonable. I will permit you to prove that I am important in your life, and not just a token of sentiment, a copper trophy of sorts, you want to keep on your shelf, hidden behind layers of toxicity. So, in this regard, let’s test this special relationship, you believe we have, as defined by what we really had.
The following are my terms of engagement.
- Whatsapp me when you’ve finished reading this private letter, but respond to everything I’ve said here ONLY in person. If you have something to say to me, say it in front of me. Depending on how things go, I may reveal my five page private blog with you.
- Schedule a time to meet me as soon as possible in person, alone. Set aside at least 4 hours for us. More, if possible. If it was up to me, I would have you for at least a weekend – a month even.
- Please come after a shower. This is utterly important. Don’t eat anything spicy before you see me. If you’re hungry, I will take care of you.
- Only come when you’re past or at the tail end of your period. I don’t want to have to deal with your ‘moods’ and your triggers.
- Stop hiding behind empty walls and superficial labels, clinging to comfortable yet hollow forms of connection. Not only are they draining, but they are ultimately futile. The defenses you put up are meant for casual acquaintances, not for someone you claim to have a meaningful bond with. Do we share a connection in name alone, where I am merely a convenient sounding board? You can pretend and withhold the truth with others if you wish, but if you truly believe our relationship holds any significance, you must let go of your anger and stop masking your true feelings with the facade of “everything is fine” whenever it suits you. You must be authentic with me. Otherwise, what’s the point?
- Acknowledge the truth of your marital trauma. Yes, it exists and if other people don’t or choose not to see it, then that’s their chosen ignorance, but I see it and it’s clear as fucking day. You cannot be authentic, if you’re in denial.
- If there’s something you want or need, don’t hint at it. Ask for it. Of course, this doesn’t mean I will automatically agree to your demands.
- Spare me the condescending tone. Spare me the shallow ‘I get what you’re saying’ line. These are the things you do and say, to people whom you have shallow connections with. So if you do it, I will immediately close myself off from you.
- Reflect on the entirety of our relationship, my character, and the dynamic that shaped its very foundation. If my words cut deep, consider why they resonate that way, rather than presuming they were meant to wound. Your words and actions reveal the weight of the trauma you carry. In shielding yourself, you’ve often blurred the lines between who I truly am and who you perceive me to be, conflating me with others who share similar patterns in your life.
- Prepare your questions, and ask everything you’ve ever wanted to know – even ones unrelated to us. This is where we will build the framework for the foundation of an evolved relationship.
- Be ready to confront all of me, with honesty and openness. I’ve walked on eggshells around you since 2015, and it has been nothing short of stifling. I’ve had my fill of shallow connections and hollow encounters.
- You will be thoroughly challenged. I will ignite a fusion bomb at the very core of your trauma, shattering the hardened layers of toxicity and pretense, to reveal your light once more.
- Step into our moment in a softer, yet enduring graceful side of yourself. Something delicate yet inviting, ready to bask in the warmth and tenderness of true self-expression. Think about what you normally wear that feels most like you, then shed one or two layers, allowing yourself to become more emotionally open. Let your essence flow more freely, embracing your softness and femininity – a dress, a skirt, painted nails, heels, your favourite earrings, a subtle touch of makeup, and a fragrance that wraps around you like a soft, soothing embrace. This is about surrendering to your vulnerability, letting every detail gently reveal who you are, and allow yourself to willingly accept the adoration I feel you still deserve. And if you’re not able to come as such, you will change into the dresses I got for you and help you tap into that deeper, more tender version of yourself. I bought four dresses specifically for you, that I wanted you to wear, whenever you come see me. I bought them in April and May, especially after you told me you would willingly wear them along with some make-up and high heels. Don’t be afraid of being vulnerable around me, especially when I desire to see you differently than what you’re normally accustomed to. There has never been a time, I don’t want to see you more femininely. Of course, I would love to see you wear black toe and finger nail polish, whenever I see you as a girly girl, or as a tomboy.
- And lastly, I’m not waiting until after April, or your kid’s high school graduation, or when you put your husband into a retirement home to meet with you. Either learn to let our relationship end immaculately, or prove to me we have a relationship worth your time.
Show me authenticity, and I’ll give you a part of my life.
If you disagree with anything I’ve said, feel free to send me a simple message on WhatsApp stating that you’d rather not engage with this, and I’ll respect that. Keep it brief. I don’t need lengthy explanations when a couple of lines will suffice.
-Leeman
After reading that, her response was, “Read it. Will formulate a reply soon. My reply will be about scheduling a date.” That was on the 17th of December. Then on the 30th, she sent me another message, “So I’m not trying to avoid setting a date but Christmas festivities and family from out of town have pretty much claimed my time until things are back in session.”
I sarcastically responded, “So, after your children graduate from high school, or after you retire from your job then? 😉 I am certain you’re not trying to avoid setting a date, but at the same time, I also did not expect you to drop anything to make time for me, as I stated in my letter. So continue to do whatever you do anyway. I don’t need you to tell me why you’re not making time for me. It’s expected.”
Which she replied with, “No, January 2025. Before it ends. Your birthday’s coming up… I think it would be fitting to make time for that. Th Jan 16? 10am to 2pm? Generally trying to avoid rush hour unless you can drive out to meet somewhere in the middle?”
This annoyed me, so I told her, “If you don’t want privacy, then I can meet you somewhere, but then I don’t know what we’re doing. Just hanging out?” Later that same day, I thought about what she said, and decided to cancel the meeting, as it didn’t sit right with me that she would want to meet half way. So I sent her the following:
Let’s call off the meeting on January 16th. I find myself questioning whether your mindset truly aligns with the spirit of the letter I sent you. If meeting in a public park in the middle of winter or at a crowded cafe feels sufficient for this conversation, choosing a location for the sake of convenience, then I wonder about the meaning behind meeting with me in person. Is this simply an attempt to fulfill a perceived obligation, to “get it over with”? If that’s the case, then meeting in person isn’t necessary. Respond however pleases you, over WhatsApp coinciding my letter.
You might argue that I requested an in-person meeting as a condition for further engagement, but if our roles were reversed, I wouldn’t consider meeting halfway in a public space or allowing so much time to pass before scheduling something meaningful, regardless of how busy my calendar was, or whether there was rush hour to avoid. I think back to the time when I told the board of directors and a client – at the company I was a partner at, that I needed to leave a meeting early, just so I could be there for you after your breakup with Jon. Or when you had a painful confrontation with your husband, and I dropped out of a 4 hour work meeting with a company in Sweden, just to be by your side.
Yes, our priorities are clearly different, but I would also say that I would never suggest meeting in a public place simply to sidestep inconvenience, especially when it comes to something that is important to you. Even if I could not drive, I will rather spend $50 on an Uber to find you, then suggest otherwise. So let’s make this simple for you. I posted a heartfelt letter to you. Instead of meeting me in person, wasting time driving and schedules, just give me your response here through WhatsApp.
She then responded with, “Can we redo this? Ignore that dumb comment of mine. I’ll come out and see you.”
Instead of making a bigger deal, I just let it go, and said, “Okay. I hate that i have a very soft spot for you.” Which she responded, “I thought it was a hard spot. Lol jk“.
A few days later, she sent me a message, “Happy Birthday BroMo“.
I responded with, “Actually, I’m looking forward to seeing you in black toe and finger nail polish.”
Which she said, “I don’t own any of that stuff! I have some trace purple on my toes from last time I got a pedi in the summer.”
So I asked, “Red nail polish would go along succulently with the red lipstick and liner I got you. Surely, you have red nail polish to indulge me with.”
And of course, again with more deflections, “Lol you sound like Albert with the nails painting thing. I prefer not to paint my nails because I wash dishes and stuff a lot so it ends up looking blah pretty quickly. And when I do get pedicures i don’t do them myself. I prefer to treat myself, maybe once a year”
I didn’t bother doing more back-and-forths. She was wasting my time. Then the next day, she sent me the following, “Fck my kid barfed at school just now and needs to go home. Tomorrow he won’t be allowed to go to school and no one is able to babysit him. Should I bring him? Lol”
I was a little annoyed, because this keeps being pushed further and further back. One could argue, I should be more empathetic due to her busy motherly schedule. Actually, I don’t need to be more empathetic. She said she wants to fight for us. I never asked for any of this. I ended our relationship already. Alas, I responded, “just reschedule for a different day“.
Which she replied, “Augh man so hard. I’m sorry.” At least she apologized.
Then another day passed, and she sent this, “So I’m thinking next Thursday? Was gonna go to a funeral but I think I can skip out.”
This angered me – not because she had a funeral to go to, but the fact that she made it sound like she could skip something important, to come see me, as if she was trying to guilt trip me into make this my problem. So I sent her another digital letter:
Tahliya, you took too long to get back to me.
Like I mentioned previously, sentiment may guide your intentions, but reality ultimately shapes your actions. Spreading yourself too thin only compounds stress and diminishes the meaning of what you aim to accomplish.
What began as a commitment to read my letter over the weekend of November 13th was postponed to, “I’ll get to it after finishing the report cards” on November 17th, with the new deadline set for December 4th. When December 3rd and 4th passed without any follow-up, I assumed that perhaps my terms of engagement had been too much for you. I let it go, resigned. Yet, it wasn’t until December 16th – two weeks later – that you finally responded. Even after you read my letter, you told me on December 30th that you couldn’t arrange a meeting because of family and friends visiting from out of town.
Then, on January 5th and 6th, you suggested scheduling for January 16th, proposing we meet halfway – perhaps at dim sum among 200 people, or a baseball game with a thousand. When January 15th came, you cancelled due to your child falling ill – understandable, of course, but suggested you could bring him along, even though he was ill enough to skip school and stay at home. Then on January 16th, you mentioned the possibility of skipping a funeral to meet on the 23rd. While attending the funeral is unquestionably a priority, your suggestion to bypass it in favour of meeting me, felt like a subtle attempt to guilt-trip me into accepting your lack of time. It seems more like a deflection – splitting your accountability between two competing priorities: one an unavoidable obligation, the other, something to be reshaped at your convenience.
Be honest with me.
You read my letter only once, didn’t you? Just once – not to truly understand it, not to sit with the weight of my words, but just enough to prepare your rebuttals. It feels like you skimmed through my thoughts and feelings, dismissing them as mere exaggerations or fanciful thinking, rather than taking the time to fully process what I was expressing. This isn’t an accusation. It’s an observation of your recent actions. It wasn’t merely an accident that you suggested we meet half way, out in public. Also, it wasn’t a simple brush-off, asking if I would mind that you brought your child along, even though, he was supposedly ill enough that he needed to stay home. Then of course, the funeral you could skip, but obviously shouldn’t. These are all the result of inconsideration and insincerity.
As a ‘test’, I recently mentioned looking forward to seeing you in black finger and toe nail polish. You responded that you didn’t have any, and when I suggested red as an alternative, you made excuses, saying you’d only do it for yourself once a year, as a treat. I couldn’t help but snicker when I read that. Even in the smallest of things, you still manage to make it about you – about what you can’t or won’t do. Does that sound familiar to you? Doesn’t it echo the same mindset that your husband displays, doing the bare minimum for you, always making it about what he can’t or won’t do, rather than what you need? If this is your version of “fighting”, it feels more like a self-deception – convincing yourself that you’re making an effort when, in reality, you’re only doing the bare minimum, hoping to extract as much as possible with the least amount of effort. This mirrors the same minimal effort your husband has put into you and your marriage for the entirety of your relationship. It’s as if you’ve become a reflection of the way he’s treated you for the past fifteen years: doing just enough to keep things afloat, yet expecting everything in return.
This situation reminds me of the times when others made extraordinary efforts to be there for me, showing what it means to truly value someone.
In 2003, a friend sensed I was struggling and left her two young children with her parents that she doesn’t even like, an hour away, to spend the night with me. In 2008, Pepper, who was visiting the Okanagan on her second day, left her friends from Europe behind, and drove five to six hours just to be with me because she had a hunch I needed support, even though I never asked nor hinted it. She just felt something was ‘off’ with me. Her friends understood her priorities and respected them. In 2020, Patrick, despite a packed schedule, cancelled a business meeting with a golf champion in Washington state to spend time with me, telling me that while money can always be made, time with those who matter is irreplaceable. Even Thomas, amid the demands of a busy weekend, took two hours out of his day to be with me, before embarking on a five-hour drive back home to Logan Lake, choosing to prioritize our friendship over rest and family obligations.
When you and Jon broke up, I was there immediately – no excuses, no delays. Whether it was through MSN Messenger, in person, or on the phone, I showed up because you mattered. I cancelled plans with dates, FWBs, clients, and with my team, rearranged priorities, and made sure you never felt like a burden. In 2012, after every explosive fight with your husband, I was there – countless times – whenever you needed me. I dropped everything without hesitation. There were no excuses about out-of-town friends, no mentions of being busy or tied up in meetings. I even chose not to go on a trip to Hong Kong with my parents because I couldn’t bear the thought of not being there for you during such a tumultuous time in your life. From 2014 to early 2018, whenever you needed someone to vent to, I made myself available – whether online, over the phone, or sometimes in person. Even when my own life was falling apart – battling depression and other personal struggles – I never told you I was too busy. I prioritized you because when you care deeply about someone, you show up. You make the time.
These moments, from what others have done for me over the years, and what I’ve done for others, including for you, stand out because they represent the essence of genuine care and prioritization. When someone truly values you, they make time – regardless of life’s circumstances.
If the roles were reversed, and I had sent you that dismissive WhatsApp message in August, followed by receiving a letter from you revealing years of suppressed feelings, I would have handled it quite differently. I would have read your words slowly, carefully, and repeatedly, ensuring I fully grasped the depth of what you were trying to convey. No distractions, no “I’m too busy” excuses, no half-hearted justifications. I would have shown up exactly as you requested – no deflections with family events, out-of-town friends, or a child who was miraculously too sick for school but still well enough to go anywhere with you. I would have gladly shown up as you desired, wearing whatever you asked of me, especially when it was a reasonable request. Did I ask you to show up in a bikini, or dressed as a clown, or anything utterly absurd? No. Oh, it’s not something you normally do because it rubs off when you do laundry or dishes? Well, what does that have to do with me? Surely losing relationships isn’t a normal occurrence, right? All of this, isn’t normal, is it?
I would have made the time, ready to listen and engage, within a couple of days at most, because when someone matters, both their words and expectations carry weight. I would never risk wasting their time, nor the effort they put into me, when in fact, I should be the one to step up. I would have taken your terms of engagement absolutely seriously.
So, what happened to all that talk of “fighting for our special relationship”? It’s clear now that you don’t care nearly as much as you claim – certainly not as much as I’ve cared about you. Have you forgotten that I ended things? Despite that, I’ve continued to put in the effort, while you’ve been the one pretending to “fight” for us. Your actions, while not as overtly toxic as that WhatsApp message in August, still betray a fundamental lack of respect for me, my time, and the anxiety you’ve caused.
This endless cycle of games and excuses ends here. I don’t want to meet with you anymore. What’s the point? I asked for authenticity in my last letter, and all I’ve gotten is a stream of excuses and deflections. Enough.
She responded with:
The funeral is not for someone super close, and I don’t think my lack of presence will be noticed. But I want to meet up with u
I was trying to say I’m prioritizing you, but I guess I blew that too.
I honestly was upset about my son being sick. I was looking forward to seeing you and thus suggested to you I bring him cuz I did not want to cancel. He threw up but was otherwise normal, still mischievous etc.
Sigh, are you basically telling me to fuck off?
There were so many things I thought u wanted to speak in person about. Honestly, I have another friend dying right now so I’ve also tried to be there for them. It’s been rough… Sigh. Tell me what you want me to do. I still want to see you and don’t consider our friendship over. It’s been pretty shitty in terms of illnesses in my house (3 kids on antibiotics) and just general trying to hold shit together and not burn the house down. If you think I’m making excuses cuz I don’t care, that’s not true. They’re not excuses but legitimate reasons, and if you don’t believe me I guess that’s your prerogative. You have been a wonderful friend, a loyal and supportive one and I’ve been really shitty at reciprocating and in the way that you need. I’m sorry for that… I guess I know why you hermited a lot over the years… To protect yourself. I tried to be patient then when you would disappear and tend to your things… Sigh. Please, let’s meet up on Thursday. I’m dead serious. The sickies in my house should be back to school.
She also sent me a voice message. Giving her another one of the endless chances I already gave her, I reiterated, “Thursday 10am to 2pm then. Take a shower please before you come.”
Now, before moving on, I want to reiterate what she expressed here. She has made plenty of assumptions about me in our 2018 and 2020 conversations – and this statement is no different. For instance, she claimed I became a hermit over the years as a way to protect myself. Alas, no. I was a hermit from childhood. I learned everything on my own. I taught myself how to ride a two-wheeled bike. I taught myself how to use a computer. I taught myself how to do art, create websites, dabble in programming, and troubleshoot hardware/software issues. Nearly everything I know, I taught myself – and for the things I didn’t, I turned to third-party resources.
Being a hermit is not a defence mechanism – it’s something I enjoyed then, and still enjoy now. That doesn’t mean I dislike company – it simply means I limit my time with others, because most people are not dynamically attuned with me. The only people I ever felt 99% at ease with were Jon and Pepper. With Amber, it’s about 90%. With Tahliya, in 2012, it was 95% – but from 2014 onward, it dropped to around 30%.
I wasn’t retreating to protect myself from Tahliya’s behaviour. I was simply letting our friendship die on its own – the natural result of what she said to me in 2018 and 2020.
She finally did come on Thursday, but she was 20 minutes late. On top of that, she barely dressed up, so she did not fulfill terms of engagement #13, “Step into our moment in a softer, yet enduring graceful side of yourself.” She came dressed conservatively. I didn’t say anything about that. The more important thing was #10, “Prepare your questions, and ask everything you’ve ever wanted to know – even ones unrelated to us. This is where we will build the framework for the foundation of an evolved relationship.”
An hour passed as she sat across from me. I barely engaged her because she didn’t seem to have any questions for me. When I asked what her questions were, all she said was, “I don’t really have any. I guess if you have something to say to me, then you will share your thoughts with me.” This annoyed me, of course, because it confirmed my earlier suspicion: she had only glanced through my letter and hadn’t truly read it. Yes, she had read the words, but she didn’t comprehend the seriousness of them. Somehow, she expected that I had a lot to say to her and that the purpose of our meeting was for her to act as my sounding board.
Never in my life have I needed a sounding board. As far back as I can remember, the only sounding board I’ve ever relied on was myself. If someone genuinely wanted to know about me or my struggles, they would show their interest by engaging me with questions. Tahliya did nothing of the sort.
By the 40th minute of our meeting, I considered telling her that she could leave and do whatever she deemed more important than being here with me. The lack of questions on her part made it clear that she had no intention of truly resolving the issues between us. Even worse, her self-centredness was evident – she seemed oblivious to the fact that this meeting was entirely about how our dynamics have obviously changed for the worst over the years, for her to speak to me so disrespectfully. Out of all the terms of engagement I outlined in my first letter to her, she fulfilled only five of the fourteen – the easiest ones: #1, #2, #3, #4, and #14. Terms #5 through #12 could not be fulfilled because they required her to come prepared with personal questions, something she failed to do. She read the letter on December 17th and had an entire month to write down her questions, yet she arrived empty-handed.
By the two-and-a-half-hour mark, I started drinking alcohol – something I hadn’t planned on doing because I wanted to see if I could engage her without needing to prompt her myself. Despite my frustration, I even cooked udon noodles, a few dumplings, and some bok choy tips for her lunch.
During our four-hour meeting, it became clear that nothing meaningful was happening between us. So, I asked her three semi-rhetorical questions:
- Why are you stressed out?
- How is your husband learning your love language?
- Why is Robin still in your life, despite his repeated disrespect, sending you sexualized messages, and requesting explicit media?
I call them semi-rhetorical because I already knew the answers to the first two, and for the third, I had a partial understanding. I had hoped these questions might prompt Tahliya to reflect and start asking herself deeper ones. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen. Specifically regarding #2, her response left me floored:
She said her husband:
- Reads to their children.
- Cooks when asked.
- Plays with and talks to the kids.
- Can gather the kids around the kitchen table calmly when no one else can.
I kept a blank expression, but internally, I was trying not to laugh out loud. In summary, her husband is doing the absolute bare minimum of what a father should be doing. It’s his basic responsibility to care for his children, play with them, and read to them. Are you fucking kidding me? THAT is how her husband is learning to speak her love language? Is this some kind of joke? The man is in his 40s, has been married for 15 years, a father for a decade, and THAT’S the best he can offer?
Guess how she excused his blatant incompetence as a husband and father? Tahliya has somehow convinced herself that her “stubborn” approach to chores and household tasks traumatized him so deeply over the years that he stopped taking the initiative out of fear she might blow up at him.
Let’s break this down: Daffodil grew up in a household where his mom treated him like a prince. He rarely had to clean up after himself and did almost no chores growing up. He was spoon-fed the belief that he was excellent at everything he did. His only challenges were academic, with no personal accountability ever instilled in him.
The things Tahliya shared with me during this meeting – and from previous conversations in 2018 and 2020 – completely contradicted what she told me between 2009 and 2014. The strain and stress on her well-being are glaringly obvious, the direct result of being married to a practically useless husband. Their relationship seems to exist only on paper: they have a marriage certificate, exchange gifts on Valentine’s Day, birthdays, Christmas, and their anniversary. Tahliya is a married single mother, and Daffodil is a husband in name only. He wants all the benefits of marriage with the minimum of the responsibilities. They’re roommates who occasionally have sex.
Even though Tahliya confided in me in 2022 that she considered divorcing him once the kids are older, she still found a way to dismiss it by saying, “I didn’t mean it. I said it to make myself feel like I have some control over my life – some power over him.” Right. Is that why she cried her eyes out during 30% of the times we met in 2012? Is that why she has repeatedly told me she is uninterested in sex with him, even asking if it’s possible to become asexual? I told her that people don’t normally threaten their spouses with divorce, when things are otherwise decent between them, and they sure as hell wouldn’t tell their friends about divorce either.
This cycle of dismissing and deflecting has become her default mindset. She twists everything wrong in her life into something justifiable, refusing to confront the reality of her situation. She has effectively learned how to gaslight herself and others, into believing that the toxicity in her life is just part of a normal, acceptable pattern of behaviour. While she’s been busy trying to neatly categorize everyone into specific roles within the hurricane of chaos that is her life, she has also made numerous attempts to gaslight me. Of course, I’m not a drone like her or the rest of her relationships. That meeting felt like stepping into the same tired narratives, playing on repeat like a broken record. Talking to her was like talking to a drone – a shallow husk of the person she used to be.
There were moments throughout that meeting when I wanted to reach out to her – to pull her into an embrace – but I always stopped myself. It was as if she was constantly bracing for impact, shielding herself from something unseen, even if she wasn’t consciously aware of it. Or perhaps, on a deeper psychological level, she had trained herself to be perpetually guarded – clinging to her defences so tightly that even kindness might feel like a threat.
I realized then that no matter how much I wanted to bridge the gap between us, she was no longer someone I could reach. The person I once knew had buried herself beneath layers of deflection, self-deception, and misguided justifications. Maybe she thought she was protecting herself, but all I saw was someone trapped in an endless loop – too lost to recognize the walls she had built around herself.
So I kept my distance.
Anyhow, the meeting ended without any resolution. She left, and two days later, I sent her a message, “When will you be available? I don’t need 4 hours. Though more would be ideal.”
Which she replied, “I don’t know. Just really overwhelmed right now. I don’t think I’ll be less stressed until May“.
And as a semi-joke, I said, “If you come sooner, I will give you a massage. Even for an hour.” I mentioned this on the notion that since she wasn’t able to spend a tiny amount of time to make questions for me, and I was so sick and tired of doing this cat-and-mouse bullshit, perhaps, I can show a little further empathy, and affectionately come to some middle ground with her. I understand she doesn’t deserve any of this, but despite my anger and disappointment, I still have feelings for her.
Alas, she said, “It’s really difficult for me laa. To drive out for an hour (total 3h)… And then leave with more questions isn’t really enticing :p”
She meant driving out to see me for one hour isn’t enough time to figure things out, especially, if she has to make a total of 2 hours to drive here and back. Then for the next few hours, I contemplated hard on what I need to do as my next step. While of course, this should have been something Tahliya should be doing on her end, I am impatient for things like this. I needed this resolved now. It was taking too long and since I was giving her a chance, then I thought perhaps it’s time I put my pride aside, and just give her a simple choice.
Originally, I spoke to Amber, that I will tell Tahliya that I will grant her a peace of mind, and have her meet me again in May and this time, she is to read my terms of engagement again, and prepare the questions required of her, and also give me at least an additional hour, making it 5 instead of 4. Amber agreed hesitantly that this was the way to go.
When the evening came, my thought process changed, as I kept thinking about why she would put so much emphasize on her friend Robin, when he has disrespected her multiple times, insisting on asking her to let him see photos of her crotch, and ask what underwear she’s wearing, etc. In our meeting, Tahliya told me about their history going as far back as when they were in high school together, and how he was a big nerd, being bullied, and she played a prank on her friend that got her in trouble, and Robin rescued her from possibly being suspended, and a bunch of other things. Then how helpful he has become as adults, helping her through some tough times as her sounding board, but actually never meeting up with him. Etc. And this whole thing bothered me, because Tahliya basically told me, without saying the exact words, is that she cherishes her friendship with Robin, who by the way is the one she was talking about, who is dying, and since she keeps him around and cherishes their friendship, she is also putting me on the same wavelength as Robin’s relationship with her. I thought about this last year in 2024 as well. It’s just that, after our meeting and after she told me her story about him, it confirmed my original thoughts.
So that evening, instead of telling Tahliya that I would give her a peace of mind until May, I sent her the following, “I have a simple question for you, but will need about 15-30 minutes of your time. will you be able to loosely correspond with me tonight through WhatsApp?”
My intention here, was to ask her if she wanted me to be the same sort of friend she has with Robin, and if she does, then it would make everything easy between us. I would become her sounding board, and nothing more. If she agreed to that, then I would block all of her WhatsApp media uploads to me, in case she sends me naughty/lewd photos. That way, I will never see anything sexualized from her, and I would only respond when she vents to me.
My readers may scream at me right now and ask, “WHAT IS THE FUCKING POINT LEE?!?!?!?!?!”
Alas, this is what she responded to me with, “I just don’t understand I was there for 4h… So I don’t think another 15-30 mins will change anything. I am now in crunch time mode. Need to hermit for a bit.”
This, finally set me off. I responded, shaking with anger…
You were here for 4 hours. Now, from the tone of your comment here, it’s clear that you’re trying to turn this around, and make this about me.
I took the last few days to process the zero engagement and you showing up here without meeting any of my terms, so I was going to ask a simple question based purely on empathy. However, as it stands, with your tone and gaslighting, I’m so fucking done. It’s too bad.
And it was here – January 26th, 2025, at 10:49 pm – that I blocked Tahliya for the second and final time. Immediately afterwards, I logged into her domain registration account, where her domains were located, and removed my email from her administrative contact. This was the only connection to her that remained. Just a couple of months earlier, when I saw a notification about her expiring credit cards, I still cared enough to message my nephew and remind him to tell Tahliya to update her payment information. You see? Even then, I still cared.
After removing my email, I went through all of her social media accounts and her contact information on my phone. I blocked everything. She was no longer a part of my life.
Later that evening, when Amber was awake briefly, I told her what happened. Amber sympathetically and rhetorically asked, “It’s truly over?” Which I said, “Yes. It’s finally over.”
Amber then thought about it for a moment, and said, “I’m proud of you.”
Previously, after asking Amber, Sylvie, and Tammy for advice about Tahliya, they all – on separate occasions – told me to ditch that “gaslighting bitch” – in their words, not mine. I didn’t make excuses for Tahliya, and I did agree that she has next to no self-accountability, often deflects blame onto others, and makes everything about herself. Yet, there is a part of me – a small part, but a loud one – that still wants her in my life, not the parts of her that became cruel and wicked, but the part of her that existed in from 2003 to 2014.
Later in the day, Amber sent me the following message on WhatsApp, “I just thought this about Tahliya: you are having a harder than usual time at the moment, regardless of her, and she is 0% available for you as a friendly person, not even as a friend. When you broke up with her, she thought you must have been sick or something like that could be going on, but has she since then even considered how you are doing? No. Yet you have, even though you are she one who she is actively and consistently hurting, on top of all your other problems. The thing about Tahliya doesn’t matter, I just noticed it. Also the way she made her dying friend about her, like it actually doesn’t have anything to do with you, unless you are the one taking care of that person 🤔”
There isn’t much more to say about this. I still love Tahliya, but love, as much as it can heal and transform, doesn’t conquer all – and it certainly doesn’t give her the right to use me as her emotional and relational doormat. Unlike her, when I sever ties, I don’t just burn bridges; I obliterate them. She and Albert were the only ones I allowed multiple chances over the years, far beyond what I’d grant to anyone else. While Albert once felt like a brother to me, someone I loved and admired deeply, our paths diverged too far. The bond we once had, faded into something unrecognizable, and we were no longer in sync.
As for Tahliya, I loved her deeply, just as I did in 2012, but even more intensely during those brief months from March to June 2024. I wanted to show her the worth she had in my eyes – to remind her that she deserved love, genuine adoration, and respect. She wasn’t meant to exist solely as a caregiver, a chore-doer, or a wife fulfilling obligations without receiving the companionship and tenderness that role should come with. I saw the foundation of something meaningful, something beautiful, and I poured my time, my energy, and my heart into her. Yet, in the end, she squandered it all, dismissing me, deflecting my efforts, and excusing herself as she always had.
When she wrote to me about how she believed we shared a “special relationship,” I felt nothing. In my life, when people truly saw me as special, their actions reflected it – through conflict, through distance, through time. Tahliya’s version of “special” was hollow, built more on longevity than on depth, more on familiarity than on true connection.
Take Robin, for example – someone she made fun of in high school, only to later befriend out of guilt. That misplaced guilt festered into a saviour complex, which somehow twisted itself into him becoming one of her “sex-friends” – her own words categorizing someone who loves sex and talks about sex a lot, spoken many times over the years. Yet, despite the stark differences between Robin and me, she lumped us into the same category, as if my relationship with her carried the same weight as her relationship with Robin.
It was insulting. I am not Robin. I never was. I never will be.
Her definition of a special relationship was an illusion – a shallow, empty phrase she threw around to justify her own narrative. If she could claim that what we had was special, despite treating me in a way that suggested otherwise, then what did special even mean? If I was expected to exist on the same wavelength as her relationship with Robin – where was the meaning in that?
It felt less like a declaration of closeness and more like a cheap attempt to keep me tethered to something I no longer wanted to be part of.
She claimed our connection was unique because we could be open with each other without judgment. Yet, from 2015 onward, every time I tried to be honest or vulnerable with her, I was met with disdain or outright judgment. That openness she spoke of only existed in one direction – hers. This imbalance is where my resentment and anger took root. Yet, even with all the frustration and disappointment, I know that from time to time, I’ll think of Tahliya. I’ll remember her smile, her glow, her quirky, goofy charm. In those quieter moments, I’ll think of her warmth, the touch of her hand, and the soft breath of her whispers when she leaned in close in 2007, then throughout 2012, and a part of 2013. And yes, I will miss her.
Alas, I am 46 now. I cannot afford to allow toxic people to hinder my life – to linger like tumours, blocking my way to meaningful, healthy relationships with those who genuinely matter. Tahliya will always be a memory, but that’s all she can be now. It’s time to move forward, leaving her behind.
So with this said, adios carino.
11. A summary of my thoughts & feelings
The Private Blog and Her Indifference
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- The private blog I dedicated over 300 hours to, refining it through 500 revisions, will never be read by Tahliya – not because she doesn’t know it exists, but because she simply does not care.
- Despite knowing the effort I poured into it, it never even crossed her mind to ask for it. That, in itself, speaks volumes.
The Illusion of Fighting for Our Friendship
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- Although I ended our relationship at the end of August, she was the one who claimed she wanted to fight for us.
- Yet, the only person who ever put in the effort was me. The only thing she did was spend an hour driving here, then another hour driving home.
- Where, exactly, was the “fighting” she spoke of? What did she do beyond showing up?
A Relationship of Meaning Requires Depth
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- If our relationship was truly special to her – if she genuinely believed in our unique bond – she would have read my letter more than once and taken my terms of engagement seriously.
- She would have shown up prepared, with dozens of questions, ones that would have reflected true engagement and curiosity.
- Yet, she asked nothing of depth – because she had no interest in depth.
Her Passive Aggression and Avoidance
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- She assumed there might be a moment where I would attempt to romantically or intimately embrace her. Instead of addressing it directly, she offhandedly told me she had a cold, making a vague excuse about how it was good that “we wouldn’t be doing anything that might pass it to me.”
- My terms of engagement, #7, state:
- “If there’s something you want or need, don’t hint at it. Ask for it. Of course, this doesn’t mean I will automatically agree to your demands.”
- If she wanted to avoid intimacy, she should have simply stated it outright. If she had truly wanted to kiss me, she should have just done it and let me decide. This passive-aggressive, indirect nonsense is one of her most irritating vices.
Her Lazy Approach to ‘Fixing’ Us
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- During our meeting, she whimsically asked, “What do you hope we can do to move forward?”
- I had no answer – because that was a lazy, all-encompassing, generic question.
- She claimed she was in “survival mode” – and it showed. She sat before me like a near-mindless drone, responding with the same pre-programmed phrases she has been repeating for years.
- If 2007 Tahliya saw what she had become, she would be deeply disappointed. If 2012 Tahliya saw how she had treated me – how she had allowed all of this to unfold – she would have divorced her husband before their first child was even born.
Burning Bridges with Her Was Both Easy and Hard
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- When I burn bridges, there is always a tiny part of me that wishes things had been different.
- For most people, this is relatively easy. But for Tahliya, it was both easy and difficult at the same time.
- It was easy because I had been fighting for us since 2018, while she spent those years diminishing me, thinking she could get away with it – without even realizing it, because every single one of her other relationships has the same behaviour as she does.
- I am not the same. I don’t exist for her emotional convenience and battery.
- The hard part? Despite my nuclear policy on burning relationship bridges, she was special to me.
- And I hate that. Because, clearly, despite everything she said about our “special” relationship, to her, it was sentimental, but to me, she was truly special.
- To her, I was just another sounding board – the same way Robin is to her.
Understanding Where I Stood in Her Life
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- In the end, all I needed to do was remind myself that her definition of our “special relationship” was the same as her relationship with Robin – except with him, she had a saviour complex.
- Once I recognized that Robin and I were in the same category, I felt nothing but detestment.
- That detestment drove me to fully sever our relationship.
- She can keep her toxic relationships – I will have no part in them.
The Weight of Her Words vs. The Weight of My Actions
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- Back in the day, especially in 2012, I cherished and adored Tahliya.
- These were not just empty words – I have always been about action.
- More than that, I have always been about gratitude.
- Tahliya can never claim to have treated me as special as I treated her.
- While she did offer me special treatment in 2012 and in a couple of instances in 2007, over time, her words became hollow.
- Her words held no weight, because they were never backed by action.
- The primary reason I never initiated physical intimacy with her, especially what she said in 2020 about needing others to take the initiative, is because when the mood was right for me, her demeanour was wrong. It was like a game of cat-and-mouse, and despite her insistence that I’ve been the one playing games, I dare say, the only person playing these stupid games, is Tahliya. Hence, my #7 of my Terms of Engagement, “If there’s something you want or need, don’t hint at it. Ask for it. Of course, this doesn’t mean I will automatically agree to your demands.”
A Final Moment of Disappointment
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- I confess: I did hold on to a small hope that, for our meeting on the 23rd, she would surprise me in some way.
- Of course, I didn’t expect anything – but even so, the complete absence of effort was disappointing.
- Everything she had written in her letter to me carried no weight – no substance.
- It was just sentiment, without the act of sentiment.
- All she did was show up.
- And she expected me to do something to fix us.
- Funny, isn’t it? That I was the one fighting for us all along – even when she claimed she was too.
- In reality, she didn’t do a damn thing.
- I had hopes, that when she read my letter, and the fact that she agreed to my terms, that she would actually make an effort to pour her guts, soul, and heart out. Alas, she did the opposite. She expected me to do what she was supposed to do.