The Colour of Catherine

Of all things, the break-up taught me to love life, all those years ago.

Catherine was one of my first loves. I thought I had loved my life before I met her — choir, taking Arabic classes, I lived with friends. I worked hard at school.

Then I met Catherine.

There was little warmth or intimacy in my home growing up. I never learned how or when to be honest. Or vulnerable. I didn’t have real friends. I didn’t know what friendship was. I thought I did.

When I met Catherine, so many of my “interests” melted away. I spent less time with my “friends”, I quit learning Arabic, I went out of habit to the gym.

I wanted to see Catherine instead. I just felt more alive with her, more excited about my life.

When we broke up, it hurt. So much. Heartbroken, I slinked back to my unrewarding studies and superficial friends.

Emptiness gnawed me.

I had never known that joy before, so it seemed unlikely I would live it again.

But then I realized the lesson that would change my life.

I had given up many things while I had been with Catherine: friends and hobbies. I honestly felt more passionate for her than for my “fascinating” studies.

But I never stopped playing piano.

That was one of the few things I honestly enjoyed as much as Catherine.

Catherine had illuminated my life, forcing me to finally see what I truly loved and what was self-deception. The truth was the things that I didn’t compromise to be with her — music and my family. Everything I compromised was a lie, something I convinced myself I enjoyed when I didn’t.

I had a new mission: to paint my life the colour of Catherine. To fill my existence with relationships and a career that I loved as much as her. And, who knows, perhaps someday a new partner too.

Either way, I had much painting to do.