Eight Years Later ft. Something Old, Nothing New
I often wonder how many people spend their lives with the person they chose only after failing to get the one they truly wanted. What happens to this new person? Do they spend years being measured against the ghost of someone else, while their partner remains unsettled in the memories of "what if"? Or do they simply perform the oldest human alchemy i.e dressing compromise in the garments of contentment and convince themselves that the hand dealt by default was destiny all along? In fortunate lives, perhaps the consolation prize truly transmutes into the prize itself where the present grows rich enough to evict the past, and a bond born of circumstance becomes genuine affection.
But what happens when the past refuses to stay past?
This thought hit me with a sudden clarity while listening to a divorce petition. One spouse had entered into a marriage they had never truly wanted in the first place, but as in so many cases, the family pushed for the match. The person they had actually wanted belonged to a caste that their family considered beneath its social standing. The petition came after eight years of marriage, by which point the couple had already brought a child into the world. Yet after eight years and a shared child, one party abruptly decided to walk away from the entire arrangement because a ghost from the past resurfaced. The old flame unblocked them, double-tapped an Instagram story, and just like that, they decided to pack up and walk away for a rekindled fling
The arrangement was convenient enough for eight years, but what about the spouse and the child left in the wake? Or perhaps, at the start, the party genuinely convinced itself that the setup was its destiny. It is only after living the reality day in and day out, realization came that the match was never right. And precisely at that vulnerable hour, the past love decides to reappear. Suddenly, it feels like divine intervention as if the universe is handing you a second chance, and you tell yourself you cannot possibly be foolish enough to let it slip away twice. So, this time, you decide to break free. As an outside spectator, I might have even appreciated the cinematic pull of that romance had I been able to ignore the innocent spouse and child left standing in its debris. But seeing the full picture strips away the romance. There is no scandal in separating when you know you should, the real scandal is entering and sustaining a life for all the wrong reasons, only to abandon it the moment a convenient fantasy calls you back.
It is understandable that human beings need fantasy to remain human. We all carry old versions of ourselves, unfinished stories, roads not taken, and people we once imagined a life with. But there comes a point when nostalgia ceases to be a harmless memory and begins to interfere with the reality one has chosen.
And that is precisely where the betrayal lies. To look at the person who shared your roof, bore your child, and trusted your word, only to mentally shrug and walk away, is the ultimate moral default. It brings to mind an observation from Chi Ming Tsoi v. Court of Appeals and Gina Lao-Tsoi (1997):
"Love is useless unless it is shared with another. Indeed, no man is an island, the cruelest act of a partner in marriage is to say 'I could not have cared less.' This is so because an ungiving self is an unfulfilled self. The egoist has nothing but himself."
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Also, what is genuinely mind-boggling is the almost comedic asymmetry dealt to this third wheel. They broke no vows, brewed no drama, and showed up to the set, eight years ago, with a clean conscience and freshly ironed clothes. Yet, in no time, they are forced to compete for their life against a ghost because obviously the golden rule of relationship says that past romances have a notoriously spotless track record. Perhaps, some kinds of love corner us into a choice sooner or later, either we tear ourselves free and accept the consequences of that freedom, or we stay and withstand its rigour, even as it squeezes us into something smaller than ourselves.
There is something equally sociopathic about how the extended Indian family operates here. They will marry you off to anyone in the world except the person you actually want. We brag about 5G networks, Tech advancement and Mars orbiters, but the moment dinner is served, elders suddenly blow the dust off social hierarchies that seem to have survived since 1600. "Caste doesn't match." "Her complexion is two shades off our family standard." "His family is strictly vegetarian on Tuesdays, an absolute cultural catastrophe."
And When the domestic illusion finally shatters, the silence doesn’t stay confined to the bedroom, rather it gets drafted into sworn affidavits and tactical Section 9 notice for the Restitution of Conjugal Rights. A cold shoulder at dinner is promptly escalated into statutory "cruelty," an unresolved past turns into a legal crossfire, and the entire disaster is referred downstairs to be "talked out". Step into any court-annexed mediation center, and the tragic farce is laid bare. Mediators sit at tables urging "reconciliation" and "compromise" between two virtual strangers whose only shared crime, perhaps, was filial obedience. Meanwhile, the very parents who brokered this charade sacrificing their children’s futures to protect caste pride and neighborhood gossip sit quietly in the back row, leaving their children to dismantle each other’s reputations under oath.
Though, arranged marriage is certainly not a novel concept in this country, nor is the rising curve of divorce rates. But there is another, profoundly troubling form of marital dissolution where marriages are detonated years down the line because one party suddenly confronts the fact that they never truly wanted the person they married. These are not revelations that arrive by divine accident at year eight, these are fundamental truths that should have been settled long before setting foot inside the setup. A marriage is not a transient consumer lease signed over a joint home loan and a polite Sunday cup of tea. It is a grueling, lifelong endurance run that demands absolute self-awareness not just for the preservation of your own emotional comfort, but for the basic dignity and psychological well-being of the human being trusting you with their future. If two mismatched individuals wake up in the first year or two, recognize the irreconcilable absence of connection, and part ways, that is painful but mature. It is a clean cut before roots have intertwined.
But walking out on a family because a ghost from eight years ago texted back, or because you finally decided to mourn an ex after fathering or mothering a toddler, is not emotional liberation, rather an unadulterated dereliction of basic adult duty. Because while one party indulges the fantasy of an overdue reunion, the other is left to endure the silent agony of loving a hollow presence spending years waiting for an intimacy that was never offered to them in the first place. The torment of that one-sided devotion mirrors the profound observation of Justice Leonen in Republic of the Philippines v. Maria Fe Espinosa Cantor (2013) where it was observed:
"The waiting is as painful to the spirit as the endless search for a person that probably did not want to be found or could no longer be found."
As a matter of fact, all this courtroom chaos could easily have been avoided had an innocent third party never been dragged in as collateral damage to launder the family’s social standing. At its core, this mess unmasks a much deeper structural sickness of how ruthlessly rigid social boundaries still dictate our most intimate choices. Precedence is obsessively assigned to marrying within the cast, stepping an inch outside is treated as an existential blow to generational pride. Our Constitution promises equality, yet on the ground, that lofty constitutional text functions like gold leaf applied over cracked timber.
Narrowing this back to the core of the issue, the tragedy that unfolds in these courtrooms makes one wonder how many homes could be saved if the families offered a little more grace, and if we, as individuals, chose the temporary discomfort of an honest truth over years of borrowed peace. Because once promises are made, a home is built, and a child looks up at you, the ledger changes completely. The compromises once endured do not automatically grant anyone a clean slate to walk away. One does not rectify the past by inflicting a brand-new catastrophe on the people who trusted your word and escaping your own history cannot be purchased with someone else’s ruin.
“Friends see most of each other's flaws , spouses see every awful last bit!”
