Longing for that last break up confirmation call
NOT so long ago, I proposed that some public relations and communications guru should establish a division for break-ups in their company.
I have found that even the grandest of wordsmiths are reluctant and tormented by the idea of initiating the break-up conversation.
We need an agency, with no vested interest in the relationship, to send an agent to the person you need to dump and facilitate a clean break from them. It would be great if they could visit them at work during tea time — to minimise the interaction to no more than 15 minutes.
They’d inform the unfortunate lover of the dissolution of the relationship and apologise profusely on your behalf.
You would only have to cringe at reading the feedback on how they reacted to the news without the burden of personally dumping a person. Then both parties can grieve the relationship without any messy confrontations.
Of course, the idea is absurd, but the task of ending a romance remains one of the most exacting exercises in the entire scope of adulting.
This is perhaps the reason I have found myself lingering in an “it’s complicated” relationship phase.
There were moments when I would meet potential lovers with great prospects who would want to know if I am single or not — a fair question when one is trying to find favour with your heart and hopes to have your undivided attention. However, it proved quite a tricky question, considering that I, myself, wasn’t quite sure.
A few years ago I was in what appeared to be a great relationship. He was tall, and won my heart with those long phone calls that went on until I’d fall asleep with my phone in my hand.
Even the texts read like the kind of treasures I would collect and keep forever. I was in love and had no doubt that I was loved too.
There must have been a quiet storm that I missed while floating on cloud nine. I woke up one day and realised that I had not gotten a hold of this guy for a few days.
The strange thing was that his phone rang on all attempts of calling him. Only he did not answer a single call, nor did he bother to respond to my messages of varying emotions.
I cannot deny that there must have been a few curses thrown amid the texts I sent to express my concerns and frustrations. I refused to believe that he was ignoring me on purpose. I could not fathom how a guy whose last words were “I love you” would suddenly not want anything to do with me in a space of a week.
So I started formulating all forms of excuses for him — including the possibility that he had been kidnapped by Boko Haram, or something!
Eventually, I told myself I would write one more message then accept that he is dead and probably got buried by the government as a John Doe.
So I sent a “YOU BETTER BE DEAD!!!” text in the middle of a non-goal-directed meeting at work. Surprisingly, he sent a response. It was a short, “Busy. Will call later.”
The relief and jubilation was short lived. No call was forthcoming. I spent a few weeks in confusion and dismay.
That man did not ever call. He left me hanging, wondering if I should consider myself single and continue dating or wait to hear what went wrong. I spent the next several weeks aching for that call so that I could tell him to voetsek sideways and never call me again.
The deprivation of closure held me hostage to a nonexistent relationship.
I wanted that one last call. I wanted to at least hear him tell me that it is over. It would have been better than just sitting in limbo wondering what could have possibly gone wrong. — By Kwanele Ndlovu, Sowetan. co.za