What you’ll say about me

When your friends ask what happened to me, I know what you’ll say. You will shrug and say that you could never date an American girl. You will shrug and say we were just never a good match, that an American girl could never understand you the way a Japanese girl could. It’s where you spent 18 years of your life, anyway. It’s what you’re used to.

But I don’t think that’s true.

You’re not used to Japanese girls. You’re used to girls who don’t take up space in your life. Quiet girls who disappear into the turbulence of your schedule, who rarely ask you to spend time with them because you’re so goddamn busy all the time. Girls who can read your mind. Girls who know exactly when to leave you alone and when to text you to hang out. Girls who greet you with a smile on their lips when you finally meet them after canceling on them three times. Girls who never express their needs because they have none.

Maybe such women exist — most likely, they don’t. Regardless, I am not one of them. Me? I am fire and frost. I am the first thing you notice when you walk into a room and the last thing you wave goodbye to when you leave. I am the antithesis of invisible. I am the center of worlds. I am thorns and the roses that produce them. I am a tempest, yet I quelled the intensity of my emotions into a calm blue sky just to keep you comfortable. I am a giant, yet I loved you so much that I shrunk myself to fit into your endless list of priorities, of which I was the last. I was the first thing you crossed off once you realized you were running out of time.

I am a giant, and I would have turned myself into a mouse because I loved you.

If you had given me the opportunity, I would have learned to shape-shift — learned to be content with being relegated to a tiny semi-elliptical residence next to your bedroom door. I probably would have found it cozy in there; I would have built myself a fireplace and adorable miniature chairs and china sets in which we could drink honey lemon ginger tea, like we did back when you had the flu and your love was still a certainty. I would have squeaked with joy like a little kid when you came to check on me every once in a while.

I am a giant, and I would have turned myself into a mouse because I loved you.

Sometimes I wonder who I’d be if you had stayed. I don’t know if I could have kept up my second form, kept my colossal spirit sandwiched like a caged bird between my abysmal self-esteem and my love for you. But I like to think that, eventually, I really would’ve become a mouse. I like to think that, over time, I would have come to terms with my reduced existence. I would have loved it because I loved you. Others will tell me that’s toxic, but I see it as a compromise. All relationships require compromise, don’t they? And I would’ve compromised damn near everything to keep you.

I am a giant, and I would have turned myself into a mouse because I loved you.

Everybody says that people won’t remember what you say, but they will never forget how you made them feel. I will never forget either. Your words are etched into the folds of my gray matter like the scars of a gunshot wound. Words like “I guess so” and “I’ll think about it,” — words defined differently written across your lips than in a dictionary. I am a shapeshifter, not a telepath, but you and I are close enough for me to know that “I’ll think about it” is a poorly veiled “I gave up already and I don’t know how to tell you.” When I hung my head in defeat at Lan Ramen, where you told me those words, you were witnessing my heart fracture in real time.

And so, your friends will ask you what happened to me and you will shrug and say we just weren’t a good match, but I would have loved you forever in all your kaleidoscopic glory if you just stuck around. You will say you can’t date American girls, but you’re wrong. My superpower has nothing to do with being American or Japanese or Korean American and everything to do with how freely I give my love to those who misplace it.

My mistake.

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You might read this with a slightly furrowed brow, and you will think, “I don’t know why she’s making such a big deal about this when we only dated for a month.” And to be honest, I don’t know either; maybe it was the hearts I broke so we could be together, or the little things you remembered about me like that my favorite starter Pokémon is Piplup, or that you had “Late Night Talking” by Harry Styles on repeat for a week after I showed it to you. I can’t expect you to know all the answers when I’m just as clueless. But you do know that when I fall, I plummet. It’s one of my biggest vices. You knew.

You knew that I am a giant, and I would have turned myself into a mouse because I loved you.

So don’t you dare forget that when your friends ask you what happened to me.

Claire Shin is a head editor for The Prospect at the ‘Prince.’ She can be reached at claireshin@princeton.edu, on Instagram at @claireshin86, or on TikTok also at @claireshin86.

Self essays at The Prospect give our writers and guest contributors the opportunity to share their perspectives. This essay reflects the views and lived experiences of the author. If you would like to submit a Self essay, contact us at prospect[at]dailyprincetonian.com.