The Flavor of the Vortex

The Flavor of the Vortex

I once loved a strange man. And when we were in a relationship, he would only send me a message once every two or three days. He always said he was busy. It wasn’t until we lived together that I finally understood what his “busyness” really meant.

Sometimes, I didn’t even want to mention whether he had a stable job or not, or if he was only doing part-time work that any ordinary person could do. But eventually I asked myself: What do you even believe about this man?

He was with me as if I were a way to fill his emotional emptiness. He only texted me when he needed something. I told him I was afraid of that — afraid of being needed only temporarily — but he always forgot, and said:

“You’re not a princess. Don’t be like that.”

Then he would message me again, a lot — so much that even while he was cheating on me with another girl, he could still say he had been “faithful” the night before. And I truly believed him.

He always told me:

“I’ll be there when you need me. Just call me.”

More than thirty missed calls.

I stood in front of my cousin, waiting hopelessly for him to pick up.

5:30 a.m., the sound of suitcase wheels scraping against the ground in sub-zero snow. I didn’t understand anything. I was lost.

He acted completely normal, replying half-heartedly to my messages, until I finally told him I wanted to break up.

Then he saw me as prey among other men. He came back, exaggerated small stories into big gestures, and I foolishly believed he loved me. He returned to his “work routine,” only to continue the same pattern — with his ex, with a new girl, and then with three different women on other nights.

I broke.

I moved out of that area and completely cut ties with him three months before the New Year. But he still called, reminding me of his birthday, saying he needed “someone who understood him.” Every day, he carved into my heart a little more.

And I unblocked him at exactly midnight on January 1st of the new year.

Right after that, I entered a long journey. I took more than eight flights, from Asia to Europe. I moved between three homes. I faced countless types of people — their virtues, their status, their greed, even within families.

I was stressed when I realized the path I’d been running on since childhood was never mine. I had been running, abandoning my own safety, to support the unrealistic decisions of others. I started healing with the money I had left and started a small business. The income only covered the losses, but it healed me more than anything ever had. Until one day, I unlocked my social media again and saw his message:

“I think you’ve done really well. I wanted to text you because of the mistakes I made…”

And the same old line:

“Contact me if you need anything. I always put you first.”

It was ridiculous — because at one time, I had believed those words.

We have broken up now, and he replies to my messages the way a doctor tries to resuscitate a heart that has already stopped. We’re not even friends online, and I know he has said that same line to every woman he has ever met.

Looking back now, I don’t understand how I fell into such a meaningless vortex. He never truly did anything for me, except knowing my real name and my birthday. Maybe being with him helped me see this generation more clearly — how everything operates, and how easily values fade.

I am grateful, but I still :

“His parents have respectable jobs, almost like entrepreneurs in their hometown near the capital. So why does he think and live the way he does?”

I’ve analyzed and answered that question many times. And I’ve realized: our generation treats companionate love lightly, and treats the idea of having and raising a child even more lightly. After nearly a year observing the patterns of emotions, family, children, and friendships, I feel like I’ve become a different person. I quietly watch people rotate through each other’s lives, and I see the values of the next generation slowly fading.