There is a peculiar thing humans do when we refuse to move on. We rename it. We call it love. Curiosity. Closure. Checking in. Just wondering how they are doing. Sometimes, it is simply an inability to accept that something has ended. I have been thinking about this because of someone who has somehow remained a character in a story I thought I had finished writing. He started asking me out in 2020. I said no. And I mean no. Not maybe later. Not convince me. Not try again when you have your life together. Just no. I did not like him enough to want a relationship with him.
That, to me, should have been the end of the mathematics. But I wanted to preserve the friendship. Unfortunately, every time he realised I still meant no, the cycle began. Cold. Angry. Distant. Blocked. Then, eventually, back again. We did this about three times, which is about two times more than any sensible person should need to recognise a pattern. There were also snide remarks and little digs disguised as jokes. At one point, I was called a “low-budget feminist.” I still think that is one of the more creative insults I have received. I am not entirely sure what the upgrade package was supposed to include. A premium subscription? Better branding? Perhaps a tote bag? But underneath the joke was resentment. Resentment that I had continued to say no. Eventually, I stopped talking to him. No dramatic goodbye. No 17-slide Instagram carousel about boundaries. I simply stopped.
He blocked me again in 2024. Then this year, he unblocked me. He posted his girlfriend. He also started viewing my Instagram stories. Maybe it means something. Maybe it means absolutely nothing. And that is the point. I do not need to know. It made me think about how much energy we spend trying to understand people and situations we have already decided to leave behind. Why do we check old lovers' pages? Why do we wonder if they are thriving, miserable, married, successful, or secretly regretting everything? Why are we still mentally auditioning for roles in stories that have already been cancelled? I think sometimes we confuse moving on with forgetting. But you can remember someone without wanting them back. You can care about someone without wanting them in your life. You can wonder about someone without returning to them.
And you can accept that something mattered without insisting that it must continue. I have also become very firm about something: If I say no to you, there is nothing you can become that will turn that no into a yes. Becoming successful will not change it. Getting richer will not change it. Becoming more attractive will not change it. Becoming the CEO of an oil company will not change it. Winning awards will not change it. Quite frankly, becoming the President of the United Nations and arriving at my doorstep in a helicopter would still not change it. Because the issue was never your résumé. I simply did not like you enough to want to be with you.
And I think we need to become more comfortable with the simplicity of that. Not every rejection is a referendum on your worth. Sometimes, someone just does not want you. And that does not mean you are not valuable. It means you are not their person. The danger of refusing to move on is that you can become so preoccupied with what you lost that you fail to notice what you are losing now. Your peace. Your time. Your attention. Your ability to be present. Your capacity to love somebody else. Your relationship with yourself. Social media makes this even harder. Someone can be completely absent from your life and still appear on your screen every other Tuesday. You can become an unpaid archivist of a life you no longer live.
Sometimes, moving on requires intention. Mute the story. Unfollow the page. Delete the number. Stop asking mutual friends. Stop interpreting every view, like, follow, unblock or cryptic quote as evidence of some grand unfinished love story.
There are still so many places I have never seen. So many people I have not met. So many stories I have not told. So many versions of myself I have not become. At some point, I have to keep driving.
And so do you.
