I am Arlene, eighteen years old, a simple student who dreams of graduating from college. Since I was a child, my mother taught me that a woman’s dignity is not a toy. The word “puri” has always been engraved in my mind, and that is something that should never be traded. I met Ryan in senior high. He was good in class, had a charm that girls loved, and a smile that could make people feel good. When he first started dating me, others even made fun of me. But I believed him, I believed that there was goodness behind everything. We were happy at first. He would pick me up and go, always bringing flowers or chocolates. We dreamed of graduating, having a job, and starting a family. In the nights we talked about the future, I felt like he was the one for me, so I trusted him wholeheartedly. But as time went on, he changed. Every time, he would always talk about “proof of love.” He said that if I loved him, I should show it by giving of myself. I was confused, because for me, that was not the measure of love. One night at the plaza, he repeated the question. “Arlene, why are you so stubborn? If you love me, you should show it.” I froze. “Ryan,” I said, “that’s not what love means. It doesn’t need to be like that.” But instead of listening, he only got angrier and turned his back on me. Since then, he has changed. His treatment has become cold, he rarely chats, and when we do talk, it’s full of accusations. “Don’t you know how to love? Maybe you’re just afraid,” he once said. I held back my tears, because the protection I expected, he was the one who was causing me pain. Until one night, a message came that I never expected. “If you can’t give me what I ask for, we’re done.” I cried as I read it. It was as if the dream we shared had suddenly collapsed. But instead of begging, I chose to fight for myself and the dignity I was taught. I told him, “Ryan, if that’s the measure of your love, we’d better end it.” He didn’t answer. Since then, he hasn’t shown any emotion. It hurt, but I know it was the right decision. I would rather be hurt now than spend my life regretting a wrong decision. It’s hard to get up after a breakup. In every corner of the school, there is a memory of him. In every song I hear, there is a trace of our dreams. But I learned to embrace the pain as part of the healing. As I cried, I got to know myself better, who knows how to appreciate myself. People’s reactions were different. Some said it was a shame because Ryan was handsome and smart. Some were impressed because I chose to stand up for myself. But in the end, only I know how important that decision was. It wasn’t about their opinion, but about my dignity. As time passed, I learned that trust is more important than the sweetness of the relationship. True love knows how to wait, knows how to respect, and never makes you feel afraid. If he’s gone because I didn’t give him what he wanted, it means he didn’t deserve to be in my life. There were days when I chose to focus more on my studies. I spent more time on my dreams. Every test, every project, every small success in class served as a reminder that I was more valuable than a relationship full of conditions. One day, I saw Ryan at the mall with another woman. He was smiling, holding the hand of his new companion. It hurt at first, but suddenly my chest opened. Because that’s when I understood: I wasn’t the problem. He was the one who didn’t know how to respect and love truly. Over the months, I gradually learned an important lesson. Love cannot be forced. It is not measured by physical things, but by trust, respect, and care. If someone can’t wait, he is not the one I should choose to be with for the rest of my life. I learned to be stronger. Every time I think about what happened, instead of getting discouraged, I use this weapon to not make the same mistake again. I know that one day, the right person will come along—the one who won’t force me, the one who will accept me for who I am. And there came a time when I came to know my own worth more. I learned to love myself more, I learned to trust my own abilities more. Because if I can’t love myself, how can I learn to love others properly? That’s where my new beginning began. Now, it’s nice to think that I got through the ordeal. Yes, I was hurt, but I also survived. Instead of giving up, I chose to fight. And that fight wasn’t a fight for Ryan, but a fight for my own dignity and future. If there’s a girl who goes through the same situation, this is what I can say: don’t
Let love be measured by something you are not ready for. Your pride is wealth. If love is true, it will never ask for anything in return. A true lover knows how to wait. In the end, I learned that it is better to lose a false love than to lose self-respect. Because relationships can be lost. But honor and determination, you carry with you for the rest of your life. And that is what I chose to keep—a decision I will never regret.
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A few years passed, and with each passing day, I became stronger. I graduated from college with the course I dreamed of, and found a job that not only provided income but also dignity and joy. All the tears and pain I suffered then became the foundation of my success today.
Once, at a reunion of our high school batch, I saw Ryan again. He was no longer as energetic as before, and in his eyes there was a trace of regret. He came over and said, “Arlene, I wish I had listened to you back then. I wish I had learned to wait.” I smiled, not out of anger, but out of understanding.
“Ryan,” I replied, “we all have lessons to learn. In my case, I learned the importance of respect and trust. In yours, you learned that not everything can be obtained by force.” I didn’t continue. I left with a smile, carrying the peace of a liberated heart.
Now, as I write this page of my life, I can say that I have no regrets. My decision to fight for my honor opened the door to seeing the true value of love—a love that asks for nothing, but knows how to care and wait.
In the end, I didn’t lose. Instead, I was the one who truly won. Because I chose to stay true to myself, and I chose to fight for the thing that no “proof” of love can equal—my honor.