When heartbreak turns into growth

After being cruelly rejected by the person I had loved since I was 12, I decided to stop looking for love. I spent a lot of time with friends, mostly guys who were older than me. I became some sort of little sister to them, they protected me, took me to parties appropriate for my age, made me laugh, helped me with homework…

Soon, I became very close with one of the guys. Incredibly smart, an incredibly talented musician, weird, funny and gorgeous. He was simply the right person for me. When I look back to my diaries, I actually cringe because of the poems I wrote, the obsession I had with this person. After a couple of months, we spent most of the time out together, but, well, it was the early 2010s, there wasn’t a chill way to start a conversation on social media. Even though we could chat for hours in person, none of these conversations ever transcended to the Net. Until my cousin from Belgium came and visited. 

We look kind of alike, foreign, people say sometimes. Blonde, blue eyes and pale skin. As she didn’t visit much, she just tagged along wherever I went, she tried to speak with the people I hung out with. Even though I still don’t understand how they communicated, as she didn’t speak any Spanish and her English was poor, and he didn’t understand a word of Dutch. There must have been some affection-driven communication that my innocence and, well, love for him, didn’t allow me to see. Within two days, she broke the barrier I had been trying to break for months and started chatting with him on social media. Or so he thought. In a stupid attempt of being loyal to a family member, I spent hours translating her messages into English and his into Dutch for them to have a very slow but (to me) very cringy conversation. When I look back to that time I realize that I contributed to my own heartbreak, and that, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have been surprised at all. Things went spiralling down annoyingly quickly from that point. 

As I was younger than my cousin, I wasn’t allowed near parties until late in the a.m., and technically she wasn’t either, but that didn’t stop them both from disappearing somewhere I’ve never known for a long time, on her last night. When I arrived to the band at meeting time, a friend of mine broke my heart before he could do it, without doubt, without any consideration. After getting together with my cousin, he ditched me. He told our friends (who were closer to his age, of course) about my innocence, how easily I was fooled, and didn’t care about who heard it. I cried for hours, I didn’t think I’d get over such heartbreak ever again. I started avoiding my friends, out of shame of the stories that he told them.

A few days later, I got called to play in an orchestra with much more experienced people, university students, in a conducting course. Even though some of my friends went, I played it cool. I pretended I couldn’t care less about what he told them about me. I didn’t care about any more guys, I wanted to focus, I wanted to make new friends and meet interesting people. 

It goes without saying that that week was a turning point in my life. I met people from all ages, different nationalities, religions and cultures. People who read philosophy and poetry, people who played Beethoven in their spare time and who spoke and loved in other languages. I gained a friend who has been there ever since, who I know will always support me and I know I’ll always support. I laughed and got into trouble with the most amazing people who were there in my everyday life, but who became new people outside the classroom. I met the most beautiful soul, a pianist, who told me about his books and piano pieces, who showed me some of his magic during breaks. I spoke to a man older than my grandfather in age, but younger than me in spirit, who taught me about the joy of living. But, most importantly, I met an Israeli boy, just a year older than me, who was the dark horse of the program. Despite his youth, he understood music on another level. He experienced stress like the rest of us, but he knew of ways to overcome it that nobody knew. He was kind and funny, gave me an insight to a whole world I didn’t know. I laughed like I hadn’t in months, and like I wouldn’t again in a year. It was one of those times that make your life upside down, that make you reconsider everything you know, wish and dream, but make you grow as a person.

Sometimes you meet people whose stories and interactions you recall forever, and those were the people I met during the course, a place where I didn’t even want to go in the first place. Even though all of the people I met there left a mark in my life, the benjamin of the funny and diverse group is still the most important person I met there. Just knowing him, speaking to him, made me a better person, made me see the world in a way I didn’t consider at first. He gave me the tools to grow spiritually, and helped me to learn English in a way no teacher or textbook could ever do it. 

We spoke regularly for over a year, about diverse topics that nobody our age in the occidental world would even think about. We could speak about war and peace, about music and politics, history and science, the weather and society. Even though our friendship became less intense as years passed by, I still remember him with a smile. He was my first truly international friend, who helped me become the person I am, who made me forget about pain and grief and betrayal, and offered me his friendship.

After being cruelly rejected by the person I had loved since I was 12, I decided to stop looking for love. I spent a lot of time with friends, mostly guys who were older than me. I became some sort of little sister to them, they protected me, took me to parties appropriate for my age, made me laugh, helped me with homework…

Soon, I became very close with one of the guys. Incredibly smart, an incredibly talented musician, weird, funny and gorgeous. He was simply the right person for me. When I look back to my diaries, I actually cringe because of the poems I wrote, the obsession I had with this person. After a couple of months, we spent most of the time out together, but, well, it was the early 2010s, there wasn’t a chill way to start a conversation on social media. Even though we could chat for hours in person, none of these conversations ever transcended to the Net. Until my cousin from Belgium came and visited. 

We look kind of alike, foreign, people say sometimes. Blonde, blue eyes and pale skin. As she didn’t visit much, she just tagged along wherever I went, she tried to speak with the people I hung out with. Even though I still don’t understand how they communicated, as she didn’t speak any Spanish and her English was poor, and he didn’t understand a word of Dutch. There must have been some affection-driven communication that my innocence and, well, love for him, didn’t allow me to see. Within two days, she broke the barrier I had been trying to break for months and started chatting with him on social media. Or so he thought. In a stupid attempt of being loyal to a family member, I spent hours translating her messages into English and his into Dutch for them to have a very slow but (to me) very cringy conversation. When I look back to that time I realize that I contributed to my own heartbreak, and that, in hindsight, I shouldn’t have been surprised at all. Things went spiralling down annoyingly quickly from that point. 

As I was younger than my cousin, I wasn’t allowed near parties until late in the a.m., and technically she wasn’t either, but that didn’t stop them both from disappearing somewhere I’ve never known for a long time, on her last night. When I arrived to the band at meeting time, a friend of mine broke my heart before he could do it, without doubt, without any consideration. After getting together with my cousin, he ditched me. He told our friends (who were closer to his age, of course) about my innocence, how easily I was fooled, and didn’t care about who heard it. I cried for hours, I didn’t think I’d get over such heartbreak ever again. I started avoiding my friends, out of shame of the stories that he told them.

A few days later, I got called to play in an orchestra with much more experienced people, university students, in a conducting course. Even though some of my friends went, I played it cool. I pretended I couldn’t care less about what he told them about me. I didn’t care about any more guys, I wanted to focus, I wanted to make new friends and meet interesting people. 

It goes without saying that that week was a turning point in my life. I met people from all ages, different nationalities, religions and cultures. People who read philosophy and poetry, people who played Beethoven in their spare time and who spoke and loved in other languages. I gained a friend who has been there ever since, who I know will always support me and I know I’ll always support. I laughed and got into trouble with the most amazing people who were there in my everyday life, but who became new people outside the classroom. I met the most beautiful soul, a pianist, who told me about his books and piano pieces, who showed me some of his magic during breaks. I spoke to a man older than my grandfather in age, but younger than me in spirit, who taught me about the joy of living. But, most importantly, I met an Israeli boy, just a year older than me, who was the dark horse of the program. Despite his youth, he understood music on another level. He experienced stress like the rest of us, but he knew of ways to overcome it that nobody knew. He was kind and funny, gave me an insight to a whole world I didn’t know. I laughed like I hadn’t in months, and like I wouldn’t again in a year. It was one of those times that make your life upside down, that make you reconsider everything you know, wish and dream, but make you grow as a person.

Sometimes you meet people whose stories and interactions you recall forever, and those were the people I met during the course, a place where I didn’t even want to go in the first place. Even though all of the people I met there left a mark in my life, the benjamin of the funny and diverse group is still the most important person I met there. Just knowing him, speaking to him, made me a better person, made me see the world in a way I didn’t consider at first. He gave me the tools to grow spiritually, and helped me to learn English in a way no teacher or textbook could ever do it. 

We spoke regularly for over a year, about diverse topics that nobody our age in the occidental world would even think about. We could speak about war and peace, about music and politics, history and science, the weather and society. Even though our friendship became less intense as years passed by, I still remember him with a smile. He was my first truly international friend, who helped me become the person I am, who made me forget about pain and grief and betrayal, and offered me his friendship.