WHEN LOVE FAILS

CHAPTER 19 - Where the Heart Learns to Heal

Sometimes, I find myself smiling for no reason at all—just a soft realization that I've survived the kinds of heartbreak I once thought would destroy me. It's a quiet kind of victory, the kind only I can truly appreciate. Life goes on, and so do I.

Every sunrise feels lighter, every morning less haunted. I no longer seek closure from others—I give it to myself. Maybe that's what healing really looks like: not forgetting the pain, but choosing to grow through it.

There are still moments when I miss Wonnie—when I catch a glimpse of the sea, or when the rain falls softly against the window, I remember his laughter, his warmth, the way he made everything feel calm and safe. But instead of sadness, there's comfort now. I like to think he's watching over me from somewhere peaceful, smiling, proud of how far I've come.

My heart no longer aches the way it used to. It beats with quiet gratitude—grateful for the love we shared, for the lessons it taught me, and for the strength it left behind.

Maybe love doesn't end; it simply changes form. Wonnie's love still lingers—in the ocean breeze, in the golden mornings, in the small acts of kindness that fill my days.

And as I step forward, I know my heart is ready again—not because I've forgotten, but because I've learned to carry his memory with peace instead of pain.

Wherever he is, I know he's watching me with that same gentle smile, whispering through the wind, "You're doing well, Jagi."

And for the first time in a long while, I can finally whisper back with a smile, "I know. Thank you, Wonnie."

I sat at my favorite coffee shop, watching raindrops race down the windowpane.
Sarah Cong, a close friend, shook off her umbrella and plopped down across from me.

"You seem so happy today, Jeng! What's going on?" she asked, her smile bright as ever.

"Yeah," I replied, stirring my coffee absentmindedly. "I guess I finally feel content."

"By the way, thanks for the book. It helped me a lot," I added with a small smile.

I had just finished reading her book, A Gentle Reminder, and found its reflections on self-compassion and mindfulness deeply insightful. It was a quiet nudge to embrace life with kindness and patience.

"You know, Sah," I said softly, "I used to think I needed someone else to complete me. But now, I realize I was whole all along." I leaned back, a calm sense of peace settling over me. "I'm surrounded by people who love and support me—and that's enough."

Sarah nodded, taking a sip of her drink. "That's so true! Love isn't about clinging to someone for happiness—it's about sharing your happiness with someone who complements your life."

I smiled at her understanding. "Exactly. I'm open to love, but I'm not desperate anymore. When the right person comes, it'll happen naturally."

Our conversation soon shifted to the wedding of Angelica Mangajas, a senior high school classmate from 2018.

"Did you know Angelica got married?" Sarah's eyes lit up with excitement.

"Angelica? Our classmate from senior high? When?" I asked, surprised.

"Three months ago," she said with a grin. "And guess what? She's three months pregnant now! Things move so fast, huh?"

I laughed, remembering our school days. "Wow, it feels like just yesterday we were talking about prom dates and school drama."

"Now she's about to be a mom," Sarah said, her tone soft and nostalgic.

"Yeah, I remember her hosting all those school events—always so full of energy."

"Now she needs a different kind of energy for motherhood," I joked, and we both burst into laughter.

As we talked about life's changes, I found myself reflecting on the paths we'd taken. Dreams we once whispered as teenagers were slowly turning into reality—sometimes even in ways we never expected. It reminded me of how much we'd grown, and how life always leads us to places we couldn't have imagined.

I've learned that life's too short to chase fleeting things. Now, I invest my time in relationships that uplift me. Every shared moment reminds me that true happiness comes from connection, laughter, and the simplest joys.

"Cheers to friendship and finding joy in every moment!" Sarah toasted.

I clinked my cup with hers, smiling. I felt ready to embrace whatever the future held.

A year had passed since Wonnie's death. The pain had dulled, softened into something bittersweet. I often thought about our time together—but today, I felt a sense of closure. A warm glow filled me, knowing that Wonnie would always be part of who I am.

One rainy morning, my college friend Cess Dillo invited me out for a jog. We'd met through our shared passion for journalism, and since she lived nearby, meeting up was easy—especially now that I was preparing to move out of my apartment.

As we jogged along the damp street, I said quietly, "You know, I still talk to Wonnie sometimes. I tell him about my days, about how much I appreciate the love we had. It feels like he's still with me—in spirit."

Cess listened, her expression softening. "That's beautiful, Jeng. He'll always be part of your journey."

Her words stayed with me as we ran in silence for a while. What if, beyond the laughter and memories, a new love was waiting—one that could honor the love I lost while creating something new and beautiful?

I turned to Cess. "Do you think there's really someone meant for us?"

She grew thoughtful. She'd recently gone through a painful breakup with Eris, her boyfriend of nearly a year. The hurt was still fresh, though she tried to move on.

"You know, Jeng," she said after a pause, "I want to believe there is. But sometimes I think we need to be whole on our own before we find the right person."

I nodded. We both knew what it felt like to be let down by love—to wonder if "the one" was just a myth.

"It's so hard," she continued. "Eris and I had so many plans. Then suddenly, it was all gone."

I saw the pain flicker in her eyes and felt a pang of empathy. Love is complicated and unpredictable, and we were still learning its language.

As we slowed down, I shared my thoughts. "Waiting for true love but not chasing it—that's become my guiding principle. I'm learning patience and self-trust, believing love will come in its own time."

Cess nodded. "Sometimes it's tempting to hold onto anything, even if it doesn't make you happy."

"I've learned it's not worth forcing something that's not right," I said. "Better to be whole alone than settle for the wrong person."

A faint smile crossed her face. "You're right. Maybe we just need to learn to wait and trust the process. I've stopped chasing love I know isn't for me."

We fell into a comfortable rhythm, our footsteps syncing with the steady drizzle. It felt good to talk about love with someone who truly understood—the patience it takes, and the courage to keep believing.

I realized love comes when it chooses to, often teaching us lessons—sometimes painful, but always shaping us into stronger versions of ourselves for what lies ahead.

Sometimes, I catch myself smiling for no reason at all—just a soft realization that I've survived the kind of heartbreak I once thought would destroy me. It's a quiet kind of victory, the kind only I can truly appreciate.

Life goes on, and so do I.

Every sunrise feels lighter, every morning less haunted. I no longer seek closure from others—I give it to myself. Maybe that's what healing really looks like: not forgetting the pain, but choosing to grow through it.

And maybe, just maybe, the next chapter of my life will be written with gentler hands and a braver heart.