Eleven years ago today, a story started that changed my life forever. February 15, 2015, was the beginning of my first same-sex relationship—a five-year journey filled with monthly videos, big laughs, and even bigger lessons in forgiveness.

We’ve been through it all: the 'heavy' stuff, a painful silence that lasted years, and the difficult process of letting go when I wasn't ready to. But time has a funny way of bringing things full circle...

It all started on February 15, 2015. I didn’t know it then, but that date was about to flip my world upside down. It was my first time in a same-sex relationship, and everything felt electric—new, slightly terrifying, and incredibly sweet.

I became the person who made monthly videos for our "monthsary." It wasn't just a hobby; it was a ritual. I’d spend hours huddled over my screen, picking the perfect song to match the rhythm of our lives. I’d clip together the chaotic energy of night markets, where the steam from the food stalls blurred into the neon lights, and we’d navigate the crowds side-by-side.

I’d scroll through dozens of takes from the countless cafes we visited. There were videos of us laughing over steaming cups of coffee, the quiet clinking of forks against plates, and those comfortable silences that only happen when you truly know someone.

But the videos grew deeper as we moved beyond the city. They began to include the dust of the road and the view from bus windows as we traveled together. I’d piece together the way the light hit your face in a new town, or the exhausted, happy smiles we shared after a long day of exploring.

Those videos weren't just digital files; they were my way of saying, "Look, we made it another month, we’ve seen more of the world, and I'm still choosing you." Through every frame and every transition, I was archiving a love that, for five years, was my entire world.

But if those videos were the highlight reel, the reality was much heavier. Our five years weren't a constant loop of romantic music. We hit walls—hard. There were nights of long silences where the air felt too thick to breathe and "heavy" problems that felt like they might break us.

Yet, every single time, I chose forgiveness. I believed so deeply in what we had that no matter how much it hurt, we chose to bridge the gap, and keep us moving forward. I thought that if I loved him enough, I could fix any crack in our foundation.

Then came October 2020. The world was already messy, but my personal world completely collapsed when he told me it was over.

I wasn't ready. The desperation I felt was unlike anything I'd ever known. I fought for us with everything I had left in me. I’m not ashamed to say I begged him to stay—I pleaded through tears for one more chance, one more video, one more year. I remember the hollow feeling in my chest when I realized that no matter how much I wanted to stay, he was already gone. His mind was made up. He walked away, and for the first time in five years, the "monthsary" videos stopped. The screen went black.

We went completely silent. No texts, no calls—more than a year of static and the agonizing process of me learning how to breathe without him. I had to learn how to be "me" again, instead of just the other half of "us."

Time has a funny way of shifting things. After more than a year of zero communication, a simple notification popped up on my phone, shattering the silence. A chat. A "how are you?" My heart hit my throat.

Slowly, the static cleared. We started talking again, then chatting daily, and eventually, we decided to meet up. It started with milk tea, which turned into dinners at our old favorite spots. Walking back into those restaurants felt like stepping into a time machine. The ghosts of who we used to be were sitting at those tables, but this time, the air was clear.

Today, the romantic chapter is closed, but the story has a twist I never saw coming. We’ve transitioned into a headspace I never thought possible back in 2020: we’re friends. Not just casual acquaintances, but genuine friends and even workmates.

Seeing him at the office every day is a constant reminder of how far we’ve both come. We went from partners to strangers, through the fire of heartbreak, and finally emerged as teammates. Looking back at those 2015 videos now, I don't feel the sting of the breakup anymore—I just see two people who were brave enough to try, and wise enough to find a way to stay in each other's lives, even if the ending wasn't the one I originally wrote.

Today, we aren't partners, but we are teammates and friends. Grateful for the growth, the memories, and the fact that we can still grab a meal at our favorite spots as workmates.

Cheers to 11 years of knowing each other.