WHEN LETTING GO MEANS LOVING MORE

 Love was something I never truly believed in.

I grew up watching how it broke people — not strangers, but the very people who once promised forever. My parents said those words too once, in that tired kitchen with the cracked tiles and quiet resentment. But I saw how forever crumbled into silence, into slammed doors and cold dinners. Their scars became mine, etched not on skin, but in the way I stopped believing in happy endings.

"Love is a trap," I used to tell myself. "You give someone the map to your heart and hope they don’t burn it."

So I built walls. Told myself I didn’t need love — that I was strong, independent, complete on my own. And for a while, I believed that. Or at least, I tried to.

But the truth? The one I whispered to myself late at night when no one was around to hear?
I wanted to be seen. I wanted to be chosen — not just liked, but loved. Deeply. Wholly. Without condition. My heart longed for it, even when my mind pushed it away.

It was along the quiet charm of Boulevard, in Pagadian City, that everything changed.

That night, the waves whispered secrets to the shore while the moon spilled light on everything — even the parts of me I thought I’d buried for good.

And then... there he was.

Kenneth.

At first, he was just another face. But something about the way he carried himself made me pause. Not just his smile — though yes, it was disarming — but the calm in his eyes, the kind you only get after surviving storms.

"Don’t look at him like that," I warned myself. "Don’t be stupid. You know how this goes."

But it was already too late. Kenneth didn’t just catch my attention — he caught parts of me I didn’t even know were still vulnerable.

He was kind in a way that didn’t feel performative. Gentle, but not soft. Resilient. Grounded. And there was this unspoken understanding between us, like we both knew what it meant to stand alone for too long.

I told myself I was just enjoying the moment. But deep down, I could feel it — I was falling. And it didn’t feel reckless. It felt inevitable, like gravity. Like something I no longer wanted to fight.

With him, everything was easy. Natural. I laughed again — not the polite kind you give to strangers, but the kind that bubbles up from your chest and surprises you.

"Is this what it’s like?" I remember thinking. "To feel safe with someone? To let go?"

I started to dream again. Quiet dreams, small ones. A future. A home. Mornings that began with coffee and his sleepy grin. I never told him, of course. How could I? What if I scared him away?

Still, for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t just imagining love — I was living it. And for a while…
That was enough.

But love, as I came to learn, doesn’t always stay. Sometimes, it arrives like a miracle and leaves like a thief.

The day I found out about his ex — and the pregnancy — was the day everything cracked.

At first, I couldn’t breathe.
"No. Not him. Not this. Not now."
The words kept replaying in my mind, looping like a cruel song. The future I had secretly held onto disintegrated in a matter of seconds.

I tried to reason with myself.
"He didn’t cheat. People have pasts. You can be mature about this."

But no amount of logic could drown out the ache. Because it wasn’t just about the baby. It was about the shift — the sudden realization that the life I imagined with him wasn’t going to happen. That I would never be first in his story.

The pain was sharp. Silent. The kind that creeps in at 3 a.m., whispering questions into the darkness:
Why him? Why now? Why me?

But in the wreckage of what we were, I found something I never expected to: myself.

Letting go wasn’t easy. God, it hurt.
But I realized that walking away wasn’t weakness. It was strength — the quiet, stubborn kind. The kind that says, "I love you, but I love me more."

Kenneth will always be a part of my story. Not because he broke me — but because he awakened something in me. He showed me what love could be, even if only for a moment. And he taught me that love isn't always meant to last.

Sometimes, love is a teacher. And sometimes, the lesson is this: you can survive the loss of what you thought you couldn’t live without.

This memoir isn’t just about Kenneth.

It’s about me — Ericka.
The woman who dared to love, who dared to shatter, and who stitched herself back together with thread spun from resilience.

It’s about the girl who stopped waiting to be chosen and chose herself instead.

It’s about self-love — the kind that whispers, “You deserve more,” and means it.
The kind that stays when everyone else walks away.

It’s also about hope. That quiet, stubborn hope that even though this love ended in tears, my heart still beats. Still hopes. Still believes.

Because now I know: love is never wasted.
Every smile, every memory, every heartbreak — they’re all steps on the path toward the love I deserve.

And one day, someone will meet me at my fullness — not to complete me, but to stand beside me. Because I am not broken.
I am becoming.