Science was my first love. Laboratories and experiments, those were my daily dosage of happiness. But when life starts doing those tests on me, I’m less enthusiastic.

I mean, I’m not a lab rat. You can’t just throw random chemicals at me and expect me to react a certain way. And yet, love? It kind of works like that, trial and error, observing reactions, seeing if my emotions are worth keeping. Hilarious to recall my past relationship, it just feels like how easily he came in my life, and left, draining my complete mental peace for nothing.

It’s unreal how people just come into your life, soak up all your warmth, and then leave you feeling like a phone on 1% battery. Ugh. And here I am, comparing myself to non-living objects. But hey, let’s be real, that’s exactly how attachment works today: expendable, replaceable, and barely valued.

At 20, I’ve seen enough of this cycle to recognise the pattern. It all became clear one evening. I sat on my study desk, with my phone screen lit up, my ringtone on full volume. My fingers hovered over the screen, waiting. “Was he really leaving me?” A year of late-night calls, shared dreams, and future plans, all leading up to this moment of uncertainty. Seconds later, my phone vibrated. I felt numb before I even read the text.

“I have said it already, but to clear things again, I am repeating. I can’t continue like this. I am so far from you, I have trust issues, and this will not work out for the long term. Why stretch it?”

And just like that, he was gone. Blocked me right after. The 800 kilometres between us had never felt like a problem, until he decided it was. The distance didn’t break us. His doubts did. My commitment felt like a test, and apparently, I had failed.

For a long time, I tried to figure out where I went wrong. But maybe that’s where the real mistake was, believing that love is something you “get right.” Love isn’t a formula. It’s not about fixing variables to find a solution. And it’s definitely not about playing calculated games where feelings are treated as temporary and disposable. I used to believe in the kind of love that’s simple, deep, and unshaken. But now? Love comes with labels.

Benching (keeping someone as backup), ghosting (Disappearing without explanation), orbiting (watching but not engaging), love bombing (Excessive affection, manipulative intent)… When I first heard these terms, my jaw practically hit the floor. So this is what relationships have come to? A system of “trial runs” and “limited-time offers”? No wonder we’re all so exhausted.

But I’ve realised something, love, in its purest form, doesn’t need all these labels. It’s not about strategies. It’s about presence, understanding, and the willingness to grow together.

Would I try love again? Definitely. But this time, I won’t be measuring its worth by how long it lasts. Instead, I’ll focus on how it makes me feel, while it’s here. I’ll embrace it fully, knowing that whether it stays or fades, I am still whole.

Because at the end of the day, peace isn’t found in securing love. It’s found in knowing that I am enough, with or without it.