The Greed of Modern Relationship

Dear all the failed relationships

Since graduating in 2023, I’ve noticed a pattern in all my failed relationships. They all ended for the same reason: I wasn’t their priority.

And they will all say, that’s not true.

Life is full of things to figure out, what we want to work on, how to spend our free time, how to manage the endless demands of adulthood. And somewhere in that process, we often lose track of the connections that matter most.

Calls become “random,” and then, nothing.
Six months of silence, after all my messages and gifts, until one day everything is, gone.
“Personal space” stretched into a year, until even living together felt, like living apart.
“If you want to hang out, we can put it on the weekly schedule.” My roommate became another 1:1 calendar invite.

One way or another, we drifted apart. Whether it was gradual or abrupt, that was the end. I felt sad, but also strangely at peace. I saw it for what it was: a difference in relationship values. They made their choice, and I made mine.

No one likes to admit that a relationship is fading. We comfort ourselves with the idea: We might not talk much now, but when we meet in person again, it’ll be like no time has passed. But the reality is harsher, life is constant change. They change. You change.

A few years later, you realize you barely know each other anymore. You might know they switched jobs, but not that they abandoned their people-pleasing nature to become fiercely self-serving. You might know they went through a breakup, but not that they now guard their boundaries, and you’ve just crossed one.

You maintain a polite peace for years, until one day, you wake up to the truth: the “friendship” you’ve been holding onto was an illusion. The genuineness is gone, and even if you try to rebuild it, it’s too late.

I’ve always poured effort into the people I call close friends. Even with acquaintances, I feel a pang of sadness when we reconnect and they feel like strangers. I find myself thinking, Why are you speaking to me like a diplomat? Aren’t we screaming together on the hike 3 years ago?

But it’s 3 years ago.

We humans shy away from painful choices. We chase career growth while clinging to friendships, pretending not to notice the decay. We bury ourselves in productivity, applauding our own achievements, all while turning away from the bonds quietly unraveling. Time is finite, but we cram it full as if that will make it infinite. We value our work, our lives, our relationships, yet convince ourselves the relationships can wait. So we let them wait. Or we rush through the interaction, firing off a hasty reply to their Instagram story, just to check it off the list.

But avoiding the choice is the worst choice of all.

That’s why I feel so much frustration when friends don’t decide. I already know my answer: relationships matter. People I love matter. I’m willing to put in the work. When that effort is one-sided, the imbalance eventually breaks the bond.

Anger, frustration, sadness comes to me. But I’ve never been destroyed by a loss, because I know I’ll always have fulfilling relationships, not because I’m better, but because I’ve made that choice. Again and again.

To all the failed relationships: I’m sorry we couldn’t last.
I carry the pain — but I still carry me.