Ozonḓu Chronicles: It Doesn’t Get Easier, You Get Stronger

It wasn’t a loud moment.

There was no orchestra.

No cinematic slow motion. No one clapping.

No Eureka! moment.

It was quiet.

The kind of quiet that happens after months of writing letters and burning them. Months of yoga, therapy and that in-between space that comes when we choose another pathway, another option, a way out of the dysfunction.

My yoga instructor says it every time I’m shaking in an uncomfortable pose:

It doesn’t get easier, you get stronger.

And randomly, in the most unceremonious setting, I realised she was right.

I went car shopping on a whim. “I’m just browsing,” I said. But once I was in the dealership…

There he was. My heart skipped a beat… but nothing more.

I expected shock. The heart-racing, stomach-dropping kind. But what I felt instead wasn’t nothing; it just wasn’t the me from before.

He awkwardly greeted me. He asked if he could talk to me; the sales guy hadn’t yet noticed me. He was trying to broach the topic.

Eventually, the sales guy did notice me, and he walked around with me while the sales guy showed me a few cars. We made small talk.

At some point, we finally addressed the elephant in the room. He made vague statements about it not being a big deal what had happened. He even said, “I can’t even remember her name. Your friend… I’ll recall it once it’s mentioned.” He tried to seem casual while admitting he had attempted to make me jealous.

He explained that he was afraid he was falling for me more and more.

Strangely, the details blur.

Because the revelation wasn’t in what he said.

It was in what I didn’t feel.

The excuses didn’t move me anymore.

The half-confessions didn’t seduce me.

The almost-love didn’t tempt me.

He had become simply insignificant.

And that’s when I knew.

I want a love that chooses to love, chooses me.

A love that isn’t afraid… A love that has already conquered its inner demons and doesn't rely on making others pay for its voids. A love that isn’t cowardice.

A love without disclaimers, without strategic confusion, without emotional instalment plans.

When you come to me with your unhealed, unloved version of yourself, I naturally repel it now.

Not because I am cruel.

But because I am loving from fullness.

I am learning what being loved loudly looks like, because I am doing it for myself first.

There’s a quote by Maya Angelou that lives in my spirit these days:

“Be careful of a naked man offering you a shirt.”

She attributes it to an African proverb.

And it makes sense now.

I am tired of naked people offering love they do not possess.

What surprised me most was not seeing him.

It was seeing myself.

I thought I would spiral.

Check my phone every two minutes.

Decode tone. Revisit memories. Romanticise breadcrumbs.

Instead?

I went to the gym.

And I achieved my first headstand… wall-assisted, but still.

A far more impressive feat than a grown man still struggling with the concept of vulnerability.

It didn’t get easier.

I just got stronger.