This essay is not about Taylor Swift. It is about me. And if you have ever considered the phrase, “The opposite of love is not hate, it’s indifference”, it might be relevant to you as well. As much as the phrase intrigues me, isn’t indifference the opposite of any human emotion? Isn’t the opposite of feeling anything, is feeling nothing? Elie Wiesel's original quote asserts that indifference is the opposite of virtually everything. This makes the idea of indifference fascinating in theory; but in reality, is it not rather scary? Indifference lingers with nonchalance and mystery. I had romanticized indifference in so many ways, that it is an irony that I am putting up an argument against it.

Indifference is the northern star of a person floating in the tears of a recent heartbreak. How wonderful it would have been to not remember, as if it had never happened? Would it not be better if I forgot how I had been played?

On the path of getting over someone, it is easier to feel the hatred. It is only natural to hate someone who made me feel betrayed. Nobody loves to be made a fool of. When hatred becomes mundane, only the foolishness of my actions prevails. It is embarrassing. Why would I still feel any emotions for the person who made such a fool of me, let it be hate? Isn’t indifference the only thing that they deserve? It would just add salt to the wound if the person never acknowledged my existence again. Why not let me be the first one to forget them and be indifferent?

Thus, I never understood Taylor Swift. I never understood any singer who sang about their ex. I never understood any artist who talked about their heartbreak. Gradually I failed to understand Wong Kar-wai and his romanticism in the melancholia of unrequited love.

As a person who is intrigued by the idea of indifference, its influence does not stop at romantic interactions. It bleeds into all of my relationships. It is always easier to avoid the conflict, even after I feel betrayed. And, especially when I am the one who had wronged them. It is easier to forget. It is easier to be indifferent. Yet, I was too young and naive to realize, that indifference is a double-edged sword. It is a powerful tool with a price to pay.

Every time I chose to be indifferent instead of confronting, I risked the relationship. But why keep a relationship where I have to tip-toe around the individual? Why keep a friendship where I cannot even trust them? Obviously, I am allowed to choose what relationship to keep and what would be left to taper off. However, I failed to realize what each and every relationship meant to me. These relationships were not only bound to the interaction between me and them; these relationships carried the marks of time that we spent together. The marks expanded beyond the shared experiences. They carried the experiences solely personal to me. When I chose to walk away from those relationships I risked walking away from a part of me. When I chose to be indifferent to them, I risked forgetting them and forgetting a part of me. When long-term relationships from my childhood began to fade away, I did not realize I was not only letting go of those people but also the shared memories that we carried.

It is only natural to be indifferent to a past lover. There are reasons we are not together. Every time such a relationship ends or a talking stage fails, I keep on wondering, did I ever love them in the first place? Or I was in love with the idea of them? Was I only in love with the idea of being loved? Navigating these emotions is complicated. Talking about these feelings gives the impression that I am yet not over them. I keep on thinking, that the more time I give myself to process these emotions, the more I let that person take up my precious existence. And in turn, letting them have an upper hand over me.

I was unable to see beyond the conflict, and I was throwing away anything and everything that contained a part of them, for good reasons. Sometimes the nostalgia is not worth the relationships, but it took me a long time to realize, that the shared memories and experiences were also mine. In a more literal sense, the memories and experiences were only mine, and they were real. Who they are shared with does not change this fact. Maybe I only loved the idea of them, maybe my love for them was not real, maybe their love was not real either. It does not matter how it could be defined or how the universe registered those moments. I understood the reality through my senses. The experience was then processed into memories. Memories are not perfect representations of reality- yet they are personal and only mine to be defined.

Therefore, I wonder, Is an essay about my memories of relationships with people, written for the the people it contains?