Adulting, Imprints, and Grey Areas: The Modern Dilemma of Love

As I grew up, burying my head in books, I believed in the kind of love that unfolded predictably, just as it did in the stories I cherished. Romance was a path of simple obstacles, where love conquered all and life transformed for the better. But adulting has taught me that life is rarely so straightforward. In reality, love is not black and white; it thrives in shades of grey, shifting constantly, full of contradictions and complexities.

We often focus on the visible, tangible aspects of love: intentionality, commitment, shared values, and compatible goals. But there are other quieter truths we sometimes overlook—the truths that lie in timing, circumstance, and the randomness of connection. No matter how deeply we care, sometimes liking someone isn’t enough. Being attracted to someone doesn’t always lead to dating, nor should it. Differences in personality might not even be the issue; instead, life can create unexpected barriers, and suddenly, someone becomes a “what if”—a road never travelled, but one that lingers.

Writing this brings to memory many realities. This truth became vivid during NYSC camp, where I met a man who mirrored my passion for K-dramas. Our connection was not an explosion but a slow, deliberate burn. It began with a passing glance, then a conversation during the platoon assembly. Soon, we were inseparable, bound by shared laughter and inside jokes. Yet, despite the warmth and ease, a chasm of irreconcilable differences loomed. I remember his fascination with my assertiveness, though it was a trait he couldn’t fully embrace.

One evening, I admired the black beaded bracelet on his wrist and, without hesitation, he slipped it off and placed it on mine. To this day, that bracelet rests on my left hand, a silent testimony to what we shared—beautiful, transient, and impossible. Our connection became a memory, an imprint that lingers.

There was a push and pull and glaring stark differences but there was something there. However, the unfortunate consensus was that we’ll always be the ones who had “something” but it just couldn’t work.

Adulting introduces you to the corridors of dating, filled with limitations and stark realities. Most of us won’t have a Meghan Markle fairy tale or a Georgina Rodriguez moment where love arrives wrapped in fame and fortune. The clock ticks faster as we grow older, and reality sets in. As we search for meaningful connections, we find ourselves flipping through “catalogues” of available acquaintances—unmarried classmates, colleagues, people we meet at gatherings or religious settings. Love can feel like a series of careful selections, tinged with the weight of time.

 

Reflecting on my journey, I realized how much of my language, music, and thoughts are imprints of past lovers and situationships. One of my favourite words, “alacrity,” belonged to a former lover, and it stuck with me, woven into my own speech. Love leaves traces; memories do not dissolve with time. They become fragments of who we are.

Then there was Mr. B, a chapter whose melody plays on repeat in my mind. His laughter was the first thing I noticed—a rich, hearty sound that stirred something deep within me. I was sixteen, sitting in my mother’s car, when I heard it for the first time. That laughter became the soundtrack of our relationship, punctuated by playful banter and long conversations. Life pulled us apart, but fate had other plans. We reconnected during the lockdown, and he introduced me to songs that would forever remind me of him.

Whenever I hear Mapariwo by Zinoleesky or Chike’s soulful tunes, I’m transported back to those quiet moments. It wasn’t just the music—it was the shared experience, the way the notes intertwined with our story. Even now, his laughter echoes in my mind, a lingering reminder of what we once had and what could never fully be.

Love’s impact extends beyond feelings—it’s present in the rhythms of our lives. Past relationships leave behind words we use, the music we listen to, and the days we remember. I have never forgotten my exes’ birthdays. I don’t go out of my way to mark them, but a small part of me always recognizes the date. There’s a quiet awareness that someone I once cherished shares this day, or that a song playing brings back their smile, their touch, their presence.

As I prepare to cut this thought trail short, I’d round up with MR C. Mr C’s and I’s story is one I’ll refer to as evergreen with a tinge of sadness. I always tell him, our meeting was like a k-drama played by the hands of fate. On that fateful day, I left to represent my university in a literary and debate competition at another school. When I came across an ex who I dated when we were very young, it threw me off course as I had anxiety because I was preparing to support or oppose the motion—the sides for the debates were determined a few minutes before the debate. Mr C noticed and tried to have a conversation but I assured him that I was fine. The debate came and I did my thing, but we ended up not part of the top three and that made me sullen and more withdrawn.

On the journey home, we sat together. Out of nowhere, the rain started with a mighty downpour and the driver was speeding like we were being chased by the mafia. The lightning and thunderstorms were no joke. I was shivering as I hadn’t taken a jacket along, and I was asthmatic. So, I was there shivering when he removed his suit jacket and wrapped it around me. I was flushed but was too out of my element to even put up an argument. The next thing was that he fed me food, right on the bus, and I felt sleepy afterwards and slept on his shoulder.

The remaining contestants on the bus teased us by asking if we were sure we weren’t lost soulmates or something. We exchanged numbers and he told me to refer to him by his surname and it’s stuck to date. I thought it was just a one-chance encounter. That encounter turned into a whirlwind of emotions. It was at a time when I had reached my elastic limit academically, I needed a boost in my cgpa, and I was discovering myself and how to navigate my personality and friendships. He came along and like glue, he refused to leave me. He respected my boundaries. He pushed me to be better, to see beyond my nostrils. The man stayed back after a year to explain things to me academically because he was a bloody genius. After classes in University, we were practically glued at the hip. He’d goof around and I’d join in. We’d argue and laugh loudly like mad people. He was sure, he was insightful, and he was kind. I needed him and he’d be there in five minutes if he could. I had an issue with a course and he took the materials, read it overnight, explained it to me in two hours, and I got it. He did all that and more that I can’t even begin to put on paper. In my final year, he stayed back and deferred some of his plans so that he’d help me out academically. Along the way, even though we casually always said we’d never date and we’d give stupid excuses, I fell for him and I knew he liked me.

Yet, love has its cruel ironies. I confessed my feelings, only to be met with a gentle refusal. Twice, I bared my heart, and twice he turned me down. But just when I thought our story had reached its conclusion, he confessed his love days before leaving the country. His words, heartfelt yet ill-timed, felt like a cruel twist of fate.

These memories, rich and layered, are the imprints of love’s journey. They shape the music I listen to, the words I favour, and even the dates I quietly mark on my mental calendar. I will never forget my exes’ birthdays. I don’t celebrate them, but a small part of me pauses to acknowledge the day, to remember the shared laughter, the fleeting touch, the whispered words. Dating has imprints of luck and the divine in it. Feelings, connections, and companions are just mere ingredients in the love bakery. They are usually not always enough.

At this point in life, I’m content to wait, letting time guide me toward whatever lies ahead. And for those who find their happily-ever-afters, whose hands of fate align just right, I feel nothing but joy. There is beauty in getting it right once and for all—a hope that maybe, just maybe, each journey has its own melody worth playing.