From Singapore to the World: A Journey of Lesbian Love Across The Globe

Chapter 5.4: Different Emotional Levels

That night, I didn't stay over. I left before it got too late, thinking about our next meeting, which we had already planned for the following Wednesday—right before she was scheduled to fly to Germany. The borders had just reopened, and she hadn't seen her family in two years. A few days before our date, she cancelled, saying she didn't want to risk getting COVID and being unable to fly or, worse, end up quarantined.

When she cancelled, I wondered if it was really about COVID or if she just wasn't that into me. But I gave her the benefit of the doubt. To show her I was thinking of her, I sent a box of small items to her house on the Wednesday we were supposed to meet. Inside was a luggage tag with her name on it, some vitamin C tablets, and a box of biscotti from a small business run by a friend that I am supporting.

She sent me a sweet, grateful message, saying she was surprised and touched. She even promised to make it up to me once she got back from Germany. At the time, I saw it as a good sign. Why would she say she wants to make it up to me if she wasn't interested? I thought. But what I didn't realize was that her words and her actions didn't align.

She landed in Germany and texted me three days later. It didn't bother me much—I understood that she was with family, and that took priority. She said she'd be back in three weeks, so I waited. I counted down the days, anticipating her return. But then, silence. No word about extending her trip, no update on her plans. For the entire three weeks she was in Germany, I didn't hear from her once.

I started to see the cracks forming.

That's when it started to become clear. We were on completely different emotional levels. I was sitting there, waiting for her to text me back, while she was extending her holiday without even thinking to let me know. It wasn't that I needed constant messages or updates; it was the simple fact that she didn't bother to tell me. Shouldn't there have been a bit more communication? A text to say, "Hey, I'm staying longer"?

When I finally sent her that long, awkward message asking about the silence, confronting how she disappeared without texting me once, I laid it all out—where did we stand? It took her a week to respond, and when she did, her answer was clear but unsurprising. She said she liked me but felt we were on different emotional levels.

I couldn't disagree. We clearly were. The gap between us had become more obvious with every day of silence, and in that moment, I realized that while I had been holding onto the hope of something more, we were never truly on the same page.

I had never cried over anyone before, but when I thought I'd lost her, I cried. Twice. It sounds ridiculous now—crying over someone I only dated for a month—but it was more than just the time we spent together. It was the emotional weight I'd placed on those moments, the way I had started to feel like she might be someone I could really care about. And then she didn't respond to my last message—the one where I asked if she was ghosting me.

There's something particularly cruel about being left on "seen." You know the person has read your message, but they choose not to reply. It's this endless loop of waiting, hoping, and then realizing that hope is fading fast. She didn't care enough to answer.

But then she posted a photo on her stories. It was of the luggage tag I gave her, attached to her suitcase. It made me smile for a second, like maybe, just maybe, she still thought of me. But was I overthinking it? Probably. My friend told me not to read too much into it, but how could I not? That small gesture felt like a thread I was clinging to.

Desperate for answers, I turned to tarot. The first reader told me to move on, that there was no hope. But then I consulted six more readers, and all but one told me she would reach out, that things would work out. They told me to wait, that she would text me in two weeks, maybe a month. They said we had a future. I didn't know if I should believe them, but I held onto that sliver of hope. What if they were right?

If it hadn't been for those tarot readings, I would've forced myself to move on. I would have deleted her number, cut the ties, and done my best to forget her. But those readings—they told me to wait, and so I did. Even though deep down, I knew better.