I’m a collection of broken hearts that never really manifested on the surface because once I feel a slight crack, I immediately push it as far as I could until I forget about it - not fully getting over it, just forgotten. Until it creeps up again into those lonesome nights, when I’m listening to the songs that reminds me of all my past lovers, holding all the little things they left me, a shirt, a book, the smell of their aftershave, the taste of their lips.. and I replay each romance through my head, trying to pin point for specific events to reason out why it ended. As I go through each one neatly organized from earliest to latest, from beginning to end; and then I see one thing in common, me.
As I was reading Milan Kundera’s The Unbearable Being of Nothingness, I empathized so much with Tereza’s character. Which naturally produced my outmost hatred for Sabina, since she’s the only thing that causes my beloved character pain and insecurity. But eventually, after a couple of months reading the novel, I’ve reevaluated my primary notion on Sabina and as I was pondering more and more, I’ve reached a point of respect.
As she was described to be “an extreme example of lightness”, Sabina in fact was the lucky one. Now I realized it wasn’t hatred that I felt for her, it was envy. I was jealous of how her character was able to swift through people’s lives; she was her own person. “She disappeared from his life without a trace. There was not a scrap of tangible evidence to show that he had spent the most wonderful year of his life with her”. She takes what she wants and then leaves without a trace when she’s done with you. I was jealous of her to the point of admiration.