After meeting my ex-partner of 4.5 years at church, I felt it was an escape from daily life, a new way of approaching adulthood at the ripe age of 19. He seemed kind, gentle, approaching in a fast way. It turned me away when he asked to be my boyfriend so soon. Yet everyone there was somehow related to him, the culture, background, overall relevance. You invited me to dance, your boss gave us that VIP section. I was finally 21, and it was your birthday. I always felt you lived vicariously through me, and then came that day. You uttered the words, "I want to be like you." That one man who said "focus on your studies." I saw him walk past us in that neighborhood of your soccer game, when we drove past. I never knew what he really had to say. Inside I waited and longed for a connection. The other side, belonging to my family thousands of miles away. He traveled to the US after leaving his country as a refugee. Told me he helped kids escape gang violence. Had aspirations of studying physics yet flunked out his last year. Said his father hated seeing him pursue an education and made it next to near impossible. The hate that was then self-reflected. So many stories, hearing what he went through, now what would I be going through now was the question. Was I staying to benefit him, not once thinking what's in it for me? Was it really selfish at all? It was as if I was picking up the pieces, his and mine. That last trip was the stumbling block. That time when we were in the airbnb. You wouldn't let me see, yet you were completely exposed. After I finally said, "You know, I feel sometimes like I am the man and you are the woman." You met me with silence. Yet you understood. We went on that trip, yes, this final trip after your attempt to reconnect when I finally found someone else. That breakup, one of many brief moments, was where I felt I was finally convinced to make it on my own.