This Christmas, my unrequited love returned to London for a wedding. I managed to see him a few times, and at moments, I wondered if there might still be lingering feelings between us. But deep down, I know he’s someone I’ll always have feelings for, no matter what.
My husband works in hospitality, which comes with its challenges—low pay, long hours, and the sacrifice of special occasions like Christmas and New Year’s Eve for work. This year, I spent Christmas alone and will do the same on New Year’s Eve.
Initially, a friend had planned to host a Christmas Eve dinner, but their plans changed suddenly. Her husband’s father passed away, and while it wasn’t unexpected—he’d been given only three months to live—it was still heartbreaking. The family was meant to fly out on Christmas Day to be with him, but they moved their flight forward by two days.
With their plans disrupted, I decided to host Christmas Eve dinner at my place for two friends and my unrequited love since everyone else was away. I hadn’t booked a grocery delivery in time, so on Monday, I went to the shops with my travel backpack and a shopping bag, picking up whatever I could carry. By the time I got home, I was exhausted, my legs trembling from the effort. That night, I spent hours baking a cheesecake and tidying the flat.
The next day, I left work early to pick up a roast ham and a few more essentials. I wondered whether I would have gone through all that trouble just for my friends—or if I was doing it for him. Thinking back, I realize I’ve always been thoughtful towards him.
When he bought a place in Sydney, he never invited me over, even though our mutual friends had visited. Still, I bought him a Lego plant for his housewarming—a considerate gift, as I knew he was considering a move to Hong Kong at the time and didn’t want to burden him with anything heavy or impractical.
On Christmas Day, with no public transport running in London, we had loosely discussed having lunch together. His flight was at 8 p.m., and he mentioned he could drive our friend’s car to pick me up since our friend was flying out early that morning. But when I texted him that morning, it was clear he wasn’t keen. He ended up having lunch alone, and honestly, I was fine with it—pubs open on Christmas Day were charging £40 or more for their menus, which I wasn’t eager to spend.
Still, it struck me: even as friends, he has a way of blowing me off and disappointing me. It’s always been like this. He doesn’t give me much thought, and that became painfully clear when he thanked everyone for spending Christmas with him, mentioning the two friends he stayed with—but not me, despite hosting Christmas Eve dinner.
I thought our friendship might have evolved over the years, but it feels exactly the same. Or maybe I’m the one who hasn’t changed—still feeling hopeful for no reason. I’m married, with a baby on the way, so why am I letting myself feel disappointed? I’ll always remember the sting of his rejection when he told me he liked me “as a friend.” A part of me wished he’d regret not giving us a chance, but I know now there’s no regret on his end—because he never felt the same.
That was one of the most brutal lessons I’ve ever learned, but I’ve grown because of it. Without these experiences, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. In the past few years, I’ve mellowed. My early 30s were marked by emotional instability—largely because of him and another ill-fated connection with an Italian bus driver. I was hot-headed and let my emotions lead me astray. But now, I feel calmer. I still have moments of insecurity, but my emotions are steadier.
This Christmas reminded me of how far I’ve come. While the past still tugs at me sometimes, I’ve learned to embrace growth and let go of what was never meant to be.