i never learned my lessons anyway

on trying, learning, and the lesson that stick

MY GRANDMOTHER taught me how to tie my shoes when I was in first grade. It was easy for everyone else, but it was too complicated for my little hands—my very little hands that also struggled to hold a pen and write. Around the same time, she taught me how to color properly, constantly reminding me to color in only one direction, simply because that’s the right way to do it. That same year, she also warned me not to talk to strangers.

Aside from my grandmother’s lessons and reminders, there were also our teachers’—as if they were aiming for world peace—explaining to our little brains that fighting is not good, that we should be kind to one another, that we should include those who feel left out, and that we should share our toys with each other.

When I reached high school, the list of “right” things to do just kept piling up. It only grew longer, even as I tried my best to tick them off one by one. It never ends. New expectations keep appearing, even while I still struggle with the old ones—like tying my shoes properly, or writing legibly, something my teachers still remind me about even now that I’m 21. Honestly, a first grader could probably color better than I do. Sometimes, it feels like I was taught all these things before, but somehow never really learned them.

It was also in my second year of high school when I experienced having a serious crush on someone who, at the time, happened to be taken. I never acted on it—I was only 14, and I knew it wasn’t right. Yet, maybe I was too young, too naive, and my system refused to let go. I thought I’d be fine as long as I didn’t act on it. But it felt serious to me. It wasn’t just the kind of admiration you feel because someone looks cute or cool when they play sports. It was the kind of crush that inspired me to study harder, to care more about how I looked. It was serious enough for me to feel not just love, but also the pain that came with it.

I admired him until we were in our 10th grade. No one knew I liked him—actually, loved him, at least how my 16-year-old self would have said it—or maybe it was just so obvious that no one needed to ask or point it out. Keeping my distance was nearly impossible. We were classmates, sometimes groupmates, and teammates in PE. His little actions, our casual conversations, our quick glances—though I knew they meant nothing to him—were still something I held onto. They were small moments, but to me, they felt like they carried weight, like they meant more than they really did.

A year after, I moved on, I convinced myself that I did. And so, I had the chance to look at other boys, and be interested in this other guy. He’s actually a close friend of mine. I never saw him as more than a friend, because I knew ever since that he liked my friend. However, he had always been there, and maybe that’s why I took him for granted. I never noticed how he’d always be there for me, how he would intentionally try to make me laugh whenever he noticed I wasn’t okay. And so, I found myself wondering if I had made the same mistake again—if I had missed something once more, not realizing what was right in front of me.

I liked him, but it was too late. My friend liked him back. From those experiences, I learned what love is—not just the romantic, fleeting kind, but the kind that stings with the weight of unspoken feelings. I learned that love isn’t just about the moments we share, but also the quiet pain of knowing it may never be returned.

Now that I’m in college, I find myself caught in a constant pattern. I have a crush, I fall in love, and I get hurt because of the circumstances. It’s always bad timing—too late, or not meant to be, or they just don’t like me. The reasons always seem to pile up, and I end up feeling like I’m not enough, like I never measure up to the expectations that love seems to demand. I’ve been ghosted, ignored, and left wondering what went wrong. And yet, somehow, I still try. I still hold onto the hope that maybe this time will be different, even when I know deep down that it probably won’t end well.

It’s like I’m stuck in this loop, going through the same motions over and over again, as if I’m trying to convince myself that the outcome will change. I know the signs now, I’ve seen the red flags, and yet I keep ignoring them. It’s almost like I haven’t learned anything from the past—like I haven’t learned how to protect myself from getting hurt, how to guard my heart a little more. But even though I’ve been taught lessons in love, loss, and disappointment, it feels like each time is a fresh start, as if I never learned how to do it differently.

Maybe that’s the irony of it all: even when I know the outcome, even when I know that things might not work out, I still try. I still give pieces of myself to someone else, hoping that this time, they’ll be the one who doesn’t break our hearts. It’s as if love has a way of making me forget the lessons I’ve learned, of making me believe that maybe this time, it’ll be different, even when everything inside me knows it won’t be.

But still, I try. Because what else is there to do? Maybe, in the end, that’s what love really is—fighting through the pain, through the uncertainty, and still believing, just for a moment, that it might work out. Even when it probably won’t.

Perhaps I do learn my lessons, but not to avoid the things that hurt me, I learn to keep trying. Whether it's love or anything that has something to do with life, I keep pushing forward despite the pain, the disappointment, and the fear of failure. I learn to be stronger, to hold onto hope, and to face the things that challenge us. It's not just about love, it's about all those little things that make me who I am—the lessons taught by my grandmother, the reminders from my teachers, the expectations placed upon me.

I choose to try, even when I know it won’t be easy. I choose to push through, to do the "right" thing, even when it feels like a never-ending list of tasks that won’t ever be enough. I’ve learned, over time, that sometimes it's not about avoiding the things that hurt, but about facing them head-on, and still choosing to live, to hope, and to keep trying.

And yet, despite all of that, I never truly learned my lesson. Because in the end, even when I know how things might turn out, I’ll still keep trying. I know what’s coming, but still, I’ll choose to live through it again—because even when I know the pain, I still hope that maybe this time, it’ll be different.

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