How My First Heartbreak Helped Me Grow Up

In the spring of 2017, I packed my suitcase from Nicaragua to study abroad for a semester in West Palm Beach. As I boarded the plane, I began having intrusive thoughts: What if I am not good enough? What if the U.S. education system is harder? I landed in Orlando early in the morning, and my uncle who had migrated to the U.S. in his teenage years greeted me with encouragement and admiration. Still, I felt insecure.

The next morning, my uncle drove four hours to the college. He helped carry my luggage to the reception, where the Resident Assistant would hand me the key to my dorm. A not-so-tall, blonde guy with a weird smirk handed me a waiver and some documents to sign. I thought, “He must be having an awful day.” For an RA, he was rude and not very welcoming. Once settled in my room, I rushed to see my roommates, who were also from the same program exchange in Nicaragua.

On my first night on campus, I attended a basketball game. Our university was playing against some rookie team. We sat on the bleachers, and I quickly spotted him: the not-so-tall guy was part of the team. A few weeks into the semester, one of my roommates befriended him—I’ll call him John. My roommates and I began hanging out often with him, whether it was watching movies, learning how to dance salsa, or going out for drinks. We became inseparable.

During all that time spent together, I learned about his personality, what made him sad, and what he did for his family. He was the sweetest and most caring guy I had ever met. John wasn’t much of a talker but a great listener. He found so much joy in giving, whether that was time, gifts, or acts of service. Soon, I began seeing him with new eyes. I wanted to be the lucky girl to kiss him goodnight, hold his hand, and share conversations about the future. Our mutual attraction had been simmering through a series of encounters until we could not fake it in front of our friends anymore. After a night out celebrating the end of midterms, we began officially dating.

We were so focused on being together at whatever cost that we forgot about our goals and dreams.

The end of the semester came by too quickly. Our love grew more robust with each week, date, and conversation. But the distance posed a concern for both of us—would our love be strong enough? I was convinced and devoted to making it work. Deep in my heart, I wanted to believe the distance would end.

We were committed to FaceTime dates every Friday and texting daily despite our time zone difference. In the beginning, we agreed to see each other in person every three months. The months leading up to our visits felt like an eternity. I only felt alive when I was with him; the other months, I just existed and endured to see him next time.

The last time I saw him was May 2019. I visited the same city that reunited us to watch him graduate. It was the first time I met his parents. They had flown to Florida to honor him on his special day. On the night of his graduation, he told me he needed my help to pack his dorm. He had decorated the room and had a bottle of cold Brut on the night table beside two tumblers. I laughed nervously as he reached for his pocket, pulled out a promise ring, and asked me to be his one and only. I quickly rushed to hug him and say, “Yes.” After many trips to the U.S., my home country, and even the Dominican Republic, we set a date for when I would visit John’s home country, Australia, and move for good: March 24, 2020.

As you can imagine, I never got to use that one-way ticket to Brisbane. Three days before my flight, El Salvador shut down because of the worsening pandemic, and Australia had extreme quarantine regulations that did not allow foreigners in the country. I watched the news every day, hoping they would let me in. I even wrote a letter to Qantas Airlines and the Australian prime minister; that’s how much I loved John.

I sobbed for weeks, knowing in my heart that we wouldn’t make it. The pandemic marked the end of John’s promise. I don’t blame him, though. Life made us grow apart; somehow, over four years, we were so focused on being together at whatever cost that we forgot about our goals and dreams. He wanted to open a basketball coaching center while I tried to find a job, travel to New York, and later, when I had gathered enough experience, pursue a master’s degree in Europe.

It took me two painful years, a new job in a remote jungle somewhere in Central America, and a trip to New York City to heal. Ironically, the city that never sleeps brought back my sleep, love for the arts, and writing. Being in a town where no one pitied me felt so good. In a city with strangers that did not judge me for my failed love story, no one asked me about John.

I roamed the cheerful and vibrant streets across Dumbo and the West Village to rediscover a version of me that seemed lost—one who loved to walk but had forgotten to do it because being on the phone and with good wifi was always the priority. My trip to New York also marked the first trip I had done in four years that was not because I had to see John, but because I wanted to visit a city regardless of his company.

Some memories of John have faded away with time; I have forgotten his smell and some of his mannerisms. While in New York City, he reacted to one of my Instagram stories. In all, he was happy for me, as I was for him: He had begun dating a younger girl who was into basketball. She lived in the same city and seemed to be a good girl. Although he seems so different now, the way he looks and dresses doesn’t remind me of the muscular college student I met in the spring. The memory of who he used to be lives in my heart. 

In losing John, I found a better, stronger, and more precious version of myself—one that is more than enough in every aspect of life. So here’s to you, John, for giving me the best of myself.