The weather was chilly and cloudy as winter should be. The landscape cold, dark and gloomy, a perfect representation of my current state of emotions. I am in my element. Have you ever felt the ability to control the weather with your mood at times? It started to pour freezing rain, and then it snowed briefly before raining again.

Throughout it all, I wandered down the street mindlessly with my oversized shades under the insane weather feeling like Storm from X-Men, dictating the weather attune to the frostiness of my heart and the tears from my eyes.

Retail therapy failed me that day, as I passed by my favorite stores like a drenched freezing rat. Lovesick couples seeking shelter from the storm reminded me of our time in Bali. I knew I will be missing his playful smirk, his protective arms around my waist and then I recalled that he probably started with Izabela before Bali.

The next moment I was pissed. All these sweet kisses were bullshit, our time spent together was bullshit, the great sex was bullshit, his tender gazes was bullshit, all this I miss you crap was bullshit, his loving touch was bullshit, everything was bullshit and I was in a web of bullshit.

I was borderline bipolar.
In the end, I found myself back at the lobby of my apartment. The first thing I did when I got home was to change the bed sheets. His husky cologne envelopes the pillows, his scent lingers around the room like an unwanted ghost.

I got to work while the song we made love to in Bali played in a loop. The first chords of the guitar struck and it was befitting how the lyrics spoke to me, like every sad love song was meant to be when dealing with a broken heart.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you,
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do,
I'd never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you,
And I'd never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you.

No, I don't want to fall in love
No, I don't want to fall in love

What a wicked game you played to make me feel this way,
What a wicked thing to do to let me dream of you,
What a wicked thing to say you never felt this way,
What a wicked thing to do to make me dream of you.

I sang along like a broken record, punching the pillow of his as I muttered, "You are a wicked, wicked, wicked man". All his attempts to get my admittance regarding my feelings was probably part of his wicked games and a power trip to him, like the thief of hearts he is.

Yet, he wasn't all at fault, I participated in this game of chess knowing the rules weren't in my favor and got my heart checkmate in process.

By letting him dictate the tempo of our tango, and dancing to his tune, I have single-handedly granted him the baton of power in this game of love, leaving me vulnerable along the way.

Nate was right, he tamed me. I became the doormat, and not the bitch. By turning into a doormat, I became the rule and not an exception. Today, that doormat is dead and the bitch is here to stay.

It wasn't an easy feat to remove all the traces of Nate. His toiletries were lined neatly on the toilet sink countertop, his suits and clothes had a small space in my wardrobe, his favorite whiskey on the kitchen island. Every belonging of his was packed into a luggage bag which will be in the charity box by Tuesday.

Afterall, his suits were probably worth tens of thousands of dollars.

I cried myself to sleep that night, something I've not done in 8 years, the wound was still cut fresh in my heart. This must be stage 3 of ending a relationship. Grieve and sadness. I want to skip all these stages and just be at the final chapter of moving on.

The bed now no longer smells like him, it was if he was never here to begin with.

By the time I woke up the next day, my eyes were swollen into little slits and my face was puffy. I looked like a zero on a scale of one to ten today. Regardless, I don't intend to meet anyone.

My mother calls me during late noon. At times she'll randomly call during my lowest hours. I wonder if it's a mother's instinct.

I found myself sobbing to her, finding comfort on my pillar of strength.

"Cry all you want for 2 days, be sad, act crazy, scream all you want. You're allowed to grieve. After 2 days has passed, life goes on and you're going to toughen up and put it behind you", she gently advices.

"Thanks mum. I feel better after talking about it. I just wish love wasn't so hard at times".

She paused for a moment and softly says, "Sometimes I wonder if it was my divorce that made falling in love hard for you".

I was puzzled by her comment, "I don't even think about Dad. He's hardly there to begin with".

"Exactly why. Haven't you thought that might be the cause of your subconscious daddy issues?".

"The guy is only 4 years older than me. I wasn't dating an old man", I pointed out drily.

She chuckles, "Just google it darling. Maybe curing the root of the problem would be beneficial for the long run".

We hang up shortly after she made me promise that I'll read up about it.

Google did not disappoint, there are thousands of resources regarding daddy issues and apparently I've checked most of the symptoms. I didn't even realise all the red flags around me.

Serial cheating father. Divorced parents. Single child. A father that was never around. I was searching for a father that was missing in my life only to fall for guys that were replica's of my father. Which wasn't the best example set.

It suddenly becomes clear, everything is about patterns. When I was young my father was barely around and he was uncommitted as a parent. He would visit when he like, and I wouldn't know when. Yet when he does, he would take me out for fun things like fishing or riding a bike and then he would disappear again. Soon, his visits became less and I never heard from him anymore.

My father was non committal and he came as he liked, and left as he pleased, but he sure as hell was charming and fun to be with when he meets me.

I realised why it was so hard for me to say I love you. My father has never told me that before. How was I to tell a guy those sacred words easily, when the first man in life hasn't even said it to me as a child?

There it was, the answer buried in my past which I wasn't even aware about. If I found out soon enough, could I have saved all the trouble or better yet if he could've been a better father?

Suddenly I have a sudden urge to call my father. He disappeared 15 years ago. He did not call and neither did I. The last I know he remarried and has a new family. I wanted to tell him it was his fault, maybe if he could've been there and didn't keep cheating, my love life could've been easier.

It was a tempting notion, but it wouldn't change a thing. I wasn't going to feel better nor was a phone call going to be a magic pill.

In the end, I was satisfied by the epiphany and somewhere inside I was awaken. It was the reason why I only desired things that I couldn't get.

It was a disorder harboured from my past that led me looking in the wrong direction and eluded me inti the wrong idea of what being loved and to love mean.

With this clarity, I made a promise to myself to right the wrong. I may not forget him instantly but I will prevent myself from succumbing to the same mistake from future new loves to come.

Today, I did not cry to sleep, my eyes have no more left to give nor does my emotional bank have any resources left to feel. I was numb, and drained.

My locks were changed, though I doubt he will appear unannounced yet it held a significance to me. He no longer have the keys to my heart. He did not call since we parted, the first time out of 161 days. I have to get used to that from now onwards. Time, I will let you do your magic.

I was awaken by a phone call from Sarah the next morning. "It's a public holiday, lets go shopping. I feel like abusing my credit cards", she says.

I agreed, afterall it wasn't as if I've got anything else to do. Besides I was done moping around, my permissible 2 days of depression and insanity were up. It's back to life as usual.

I picked her up today and we head to Saks. My oversized shades still on despite us being indoors.

"You look like a poser. I'm embarrassed, walking next to you", she smirks.

I lifted the shades up revealing my grotesque swollen eyes, "No way in hell, I'm walking around looking like this".

"Wow, you sure do look shitty".

"Thanks, like I don't have a mirror at home", I was being sarcastic yet I was smiling. Trust your best friend to tell you the ugly truth to your face.

We roamed around and hit the stores till our hands were filled with bags before having tea.

I filled her in the details about Nate as she listens intently. "The both of you are so dramatic", she remarks once I finished updating her.

"Perhaps. It doesn't matter now, anyway I don't want to talk about him anymore".

"Which reminds me, make yourself available this coming Friday to Sunday. We're boarding a party cruise. I've already booked our side by side suites", she informs excitedly.

"As in 4 days time, this Friday? ", I double confirmed.

"Yes. Besides John and Thomas are going too. It should be fun", she mentions casually.

"Why do I have a feeling that John is part of this?", I grinned slyly, recalling how well the both of them were hitting off that night.

She looks away, almost shy and I knew that I nailed the right reason.

"I never would've thought that Pooh ended up being a killer pick up line. And it worked on you", I cracked up uncontrollably.

"Shut up. He's interesting to talk to", she snaps, yet her lips were curving upwards.

"Whatever makes you happy", I smirked deviously.

Before heading back home, I have a random desire to learn how to speak French and I wanted to paint. I bought blank canvases and art supplies on the way, dropping by the bookstore to pick up a couple of books on guides to speaking French.

Wasn't this all part of an eat, pray, love journey?

Once at home, the first sentence I've learnt was, 'je ne suis plus amoureux de toi' - I'm no longer in love with you.

I did the good old fashioned thing next, I deleted his number. Who am I kidding? I remembered it by heart. I saved it again and renamed it 'DO NOT pick up or call'.

The problem with a suppressed inner rebellious streak inside of me, is that I hate being told what I can or cannot do. The more I am not allowed to, the urge to rebel against it becomes even stronger.

In the end, I changed it to QQ, a random alphabet that meant nothing in particular. It was meaningless and insignificant, just 2 Q alphabets together, lost in my contact list.

I went to sleep that night, with the king sized bed feeling large and empty.