The End Of Fairy Tales: Why I Left My 5-Year Relationship

Refinery29 is proud to partner with Audible, Inc., the leading creator and provider of premium audio storytelling, to celebrate AAPI voices, stories, and authors — including Lily Chu who pens romantic comedies with strong Asian characters (her latest, Drop Dead, is exclusively available to stream on Audible). Here, in this personal essay, as told to Andrea Cheng, R29 Entertainment Director Melissah Yang shares how she knew when to reject the Hollywood rom-com blueprint and end a five-year-long relationship — and what she learned along the way.

I’m not ashamed to say that I’ve had many, many boyfriends (okay, maybe I’m slightly ashamed). As a serial monogamist, I’ve found myself constantly falling into relationships, versus falling in love. What I mean by that is: I’m guilty of staying in a relationship long past its expiration date, of turning what should have been a fling into an official thing. 

I was in seventh grade when a boy asked me out for the first time — it lasted all of two weeks. Ever since, I’ve been in back-to-back relationships for pretty much my entire dating career. My first, serious, I’m-going-to-marry-this-person-and-live-happily-ever-after relationship was when I was 17 years old. So many rom-coms spoon-feed you the fairy tale that you’ll end up with your childhood love, and I bought into it. As a teen in the 2000s — the heyday of rom-coms — I watched them all, like the magazine editor who makes a bet and falls in love with the ad exec, or the 13-year-old who wakes up as a 30-year-old editor and realizes she’s been in love with her childhood friend this whole time. These stories shaped what I came to expect out of relationships, and with my high school boyfriend, I truly believed he was “the one” — until it didn’t work out. 

My next two relationships were in college — and again, I thought, This is someone I’m going to end up with. We were both career-driven, we came from the same cultural background, we were involved in the same college activities. I thought we’d graduate college, find jobs, get engaged, get married, and have kids — all before turning 30. This was the relationship that was going to follow the blueprint that Hollywood taught me. And again, when that didn’t work out, it took a long time for me to reconcile what I saw played out in movies wasn’t going to match real life. That was when I realized that achieving “happily ever after” wasn’t as easy as I thought it was going to be. It was an eye-opening learning experience — or unlearning experience, if you will. 

But of course, it happened again. 

I met E when I was 24 years old at my friend’s place in Orange County — he was my friend’s boyfriend’s college friend. And the fact that we had mutual friends, that we were both in the same circle (even if it was on the fringe) immediately stripped away any of the discomfort or strangeness you’d normally feel meeting someone out in the wild. There’s a degree of familiarity. Here was this Korean guy who was unexpectedly funny, charismatic — and had this swagger that I found intriguing. He asked me for my number at the end of the night, and I, surprising myself, gave it to him (and you must know: I never give out my number). He texted me an hour later — and that was that. 

Everything on paper would indicate that this was my most serious relationship — everything matched up. He was also Korean. He also went to church. We were together for five years. We were involved in each other’s lives. We had met each other’s families. 

Unlike previous relationships, I pursued this one — a lot of it had to do with the fact that I was at the age where you’re supposed to be looking for your life partner. There’s this timeframe, this societal pressure to get engaged and get married in your mid to late 20s. So, I asked myself, Could this be the partner I’m supposed to be finding right now? The answer was: yes — at least for the first two, three years — so I ignored the red flags. I began to rationalize things in my mind or tried to pretend they didn’t bother me.

He was six years older than me, and I thought he lacked a level of maturity I expected of someone his age. I found myself getting annoyed with him whenever we were out with friends. He also lacked ambition that didn’t match my energy or drive. And he wasn’t really present or invested or engaged when we were with my family or friends. I felt that I was forcing the relationship to fit a picture of what I envisioned my life should look like. 

E moved into my Los Angeles apartment in 2017, and six months later I realized that this wasn’t working — but I think, deep down, I had known much earlier, after years of compromising or settling. We were heading in the direction toward an engagement, and I felt there was a lack of motivation on his part to make that happen. The final straw was when he decided to buy a $4,000 computer — that was the moment when I was like, “Wow, you made this decision to buy this computer instead of using that money toward our future and our plans together.” 

But it took a full year for me to actually end the relationship. 

There were moments when I second-guessed or doubted my instincts. Obviously, the biggest complication was that we lived together. But another major factor was that I had invested so much time into this person. When you give so much of your life and your love for an individual, it becomes that much harder to let go. After five years together, our lives were so entwined — not just the bills, but relationships with friends and family. My parents thought E was the one I was going to be with. There’s a level of responsibility you carry — it’s not just your time that you’ve invested in this person, but everyone else’s time, too. I felt guilty. I felt that I was disappointing everyone in my life who took the time to care about this person. 

It was scary ending the relationship — I was 29 at the time and I felt overwhelming anxiety about turning 30. I had preconceived notions of what my life was supposed to be like: to hit these personal milestones before the age of 30. And again, that was conditioning from watching rom-coms. It was a hard breakup, but I knew it was the right choice. 

The thing is, once I turned 30 — literally day one of age 30 — all that anxiety vanished. I felt better and lighter. And now that I’m in my mid-30s, I can say that I love my 30s. I feel so much more secure and confident in making decisions because I chose to make them. That’s one lesson I took away from that relationship: I’m never going to be a victim of my own complacency anymore. I’m going to be very intentional about the time I spend with people. 

In many ways, I’m also very jaded. Having been in so many long-term relationships and thinking my life was going in one direction and then realizing it wasn’t, has left me in a place of: been there, done that. I want to find joy in those milestones again. With my current partner, I have to catch myself from dismissing major moments and remember, This is a unique experience with someone different, so it’ll be special. It’ll be new.

But I am a lot happier now. I’m not as concerned about having or finding “the perfect partner,” because I’m realizing that I’m very okay with being alone. I find security in my own sense of self. It’s a gift from that experience (and the culmination of all my relationships): the realization that I don’t need anybody anymore. And it feels really powerful that I’ve made the choice to be happy.