Starry Secrets

Welcome to another blog post on Starry Secrets! We’re getting personal and vulnerable today. Please bear with me haha.

I’m sharing a personal story about an unrequited love from 10 years ago. This was someone I never even dated, and somehow I still haven’t gotten over it.

Before writing this, I was a bit scared it would become one of those stories told by the robot voice on tiktok while some random Minecraft or baking video plays in the background. But I just needed to let it out somewhere, so here we are.

I was raised in the mormon church, so of course that meant I had to serve a two year mission when I turned 18. I was already pretty aware of my sexuality. I remember being attracted to men as early as 8 years old. I can’t pin point what exactly was my sexual awakening. Was it the underwear isle? The super sexy main character from Ninja Assassin? Harry Potter? Truth be told, I don’t think I had an “awakening.” This is just who I always was. However, my acceptance of it took much longer than you might expect. I was a devout mormon after all, and that meant fighting hard against this sexuality and trying to convince myself that it was all just in my head,

A part of why I decided to go on a mission was because I thought it was exactly what I needed to set things straight (pun intended). I was actually advised, on two separate occasions, by church leaders I had confided in, that serving a mission would help me overcome this “chosen earthly trial.” Yes, apparently, this was a trial I personally chose for myself.

So, I took up the call to serve and left everything behind for two whole years. Spoiler alert: It did not change anything. I came out of it even more sure than ever that I was GAY!

I think it was about 6 months into my mission when I met M. M was a bit newer to the mission than I was. He was just 3 months into his mission. I was transferred to an area that neighbored the area he covered.

Have you ever heard of the saying, “it takes 8 seconds to fall in love?” The idea is that prolonged eye contact with someone for eight seconds is enough to fall for them. Personally, I think that’s bullshit. Because with M, it took much less than that.

It felt literally like it all happened in a split second. He was with his companion walking around, which I was being introduced to the area by my companion. We crossed paths and stopped to chat briefly. My companion already knew both of them, but it was my first time meeting them. I know this sounds extremely cliché, but I swear it only took a second to fall in love with M.

The feeling I had in that moment is so hard to explain, even now. Not only was he absolutely beautiful, but I felt like there was something deeply destined between us. Like I had found a missing piece of myself. I felt as though if there was anything truly foreordained in this world, it was this – our knowing each other. M’s presence just clicked. Fit right in. In short, he kinda took my breath away.

Of course, I had to suppress those feelings. I was a missionary after all. Even so, I could not have possibly imagined just how close we would become.

For the sake of those who know nothing about the mormon church missionary lingo, let me explain just a few things quickly. First, a “transfer” in the mission is a six-week period. At the end of each transfer, the mission president decides whether to move you to a new area or keep you where you are, and whether to give you a new companion or keep the one you have. The training period for new missionaries is 3 months (or 2 transfers). M and I spent 3 transfers in that area together. The last two, we were both training new missionaries.

The bond we built was paradisiac. We used to tell each other that our friendship transcended mortality. In the mormon church, there’s a belief that all human beings existed in a “pre-mortal” world. A place where we all lived with God before coming down to this mortal world. M and I believed that we had known each other in that pre-mortal existence, and that’s why our bond here was so strong. We were inseparable. We were lovers… without really being lovers of course, considering we were both missionaries. I have to point out that we never broke any rules. We both worked hard to be faithful, obedient missionaries. So, I never pursued anything beyond the platonic friendship we shared.

Thinking back to the missionary experience, most of it was an insane struggle for me. I was fighting so hard to deny the part of me that was my sexuality, while surrounded by constant temptation because it felt like I was in a sea of men (the men being my fellow missionaries). I was also fighting hard to stay true to my faith, which was constantly being questioned and tested. And lastly, I was one of the only 2 black missionaries in a region of the United States that truly was not very kind to racial minorities (especially black ones). I did have happy moments on the mission, but they were almost always overshadowed by the darker moments and my internal struggles. In the midst of all of that, the happiest moment of my mission, and one of the happiest moments of my life, was a Christmas I spent with M. M and his companion came to sleep over at our place that night. I remember how excited I was. I put up all kinds of decorations that we could afford. I even put together an arrangement of sweets and treats and some sparkling non-alcoholic wine. We had such a beautiful time together that day. The four of us actually, but it really felt like it was a moment for M and me. We listened to music, opened presents, and even cuddled together. It was delightful. I don’t think I’ver ever felt so happy to be around someone before and since that.

God, I was such a mess! I often had dreams of what our future would be. I knew I wanted, no I needed M to always be in my life. It felt like fate. We were soulmates.

But at the end of our third transfer together, we were separated. I was sent almost as far North as you can go within our mission’s boundaries, and M was sent almost as far south as you can go. I remember thinking that God had such a cruel sense of humor. The one person who I felt grounded me and made me feel okay being there on the mission was now taken away from me.

We spent the next 14 months apart. We rarely saw each other. Our only means of contact was through weekly emails, and M was a terrible emailer.

I wonder if he knew how hard it was for me being pulled away from him. Perhaps it was just as hard for him? He really was a pillar for me in the time we spent together and my pillar was gone. I sound so crazy right now, but I promise I thought of M every single day of those 14 months we were apart. I prayed for him every night. I talked about him so much all of my companions were sick of me. And I desperately waited for when we would come back to each other. I have to admit, it took longer than I hoped, but it happened.

For my very last transfer as a missionary, I made a request to my mission president to have M as my final companion. I couldn’t know if the request would be granted. I just asked and hoped for the best. When the announcement came that we would be companions, I nearly shit myself. Finally, we were coming back to each other, and this time as companions. I desperately needed this! I didn’t care if it was God’s intervention that made this happen or just my mission president being kind enough to accept my final request. I was just so happy.

Now all I have are memories. Sweet, precious memories that make my heart ache. How could I not have known then just how madly in love with M I was? That last transfer was the happiest six weeks of my mission. M and I were so in sync in every single way. We cooked meals together, solved puzzles together, wore matching shirts and jewelry. We did everything together and loved every minute of it.

I have never loved anyone as much as I loved M. We made plans for our future. Plans to stay best friends, be roommates, go to med school together. No matter what, we were always going to have each other.

Everything changed after the mission.

I didn’t expect anything more than the beautiful friendship we shared, but I also never expected that friendship to die so quickly. I waited three months for M to come home, hoping I’d be one of the first to welcome him. Sadly, I wasn’t. M started dating a girl from our mission almost immediately, and within just a couple months, they were engaged.

Before the engagement, I had only seen M maybe two or three times. We drifted apart so quickly. And remember how I said M was a bad emailer? Yeah, he was an even worse texter.

It tore me apart. I thought I was special to him. At least as special as he was to me. During those last 6 weeks of my mission, M told me once that he was upset and hurt about something I did. There was a song we sang together, and I had sung it with someone else while we were apart from each other. The version I sang with that other person ended up becoming very famous in our mission for some reason and missionaries throughout the mission had it saved to their playlists. M said that he thought that was “our” song, and it was special to us. Him saying that made me feel like I mattered so much to him. It might’ve been my delusion, but I felt like we had this special thing between us.

Who would’ve guessed that less than a year later, this is what would become of our relationshio?

I don’t know why, but I feel like I was lucky enough just to be invited to his wedding. But I am really glad I went. It felt like we were so distant at the wedding. Like I was just some random acquaintance, but I was still really glad to be there.

I have to admit, a part of me felt guilty for requesting M as my companion on my last transfer. I don’t believe we were brought together by fate or some kind of divine intervention. I asked for it. But maybe M never really wanted it. Maybe he was fine with it, but would’ve been fine without it just as well. Maybe I was selfish. Maybe I took him away from someone else he was actually divinely designed to be with that transfer.

I can’t help feeling now like everything was all just in my head. It’s so typical of me to have a one-sided love. To fall in love, alone. Maybe M meant a whole lot more to me than I ever did to him. Maybe I was merely a passing acquaintance in his mortal existence. Maybe the plans we made were all just funny little jokes. Maybe all those memories were meant to be just moments.

We don’t talk anymore, and it really hurts sometimes. But why? It’s been 10 years since we first met, and since then I have had countless other people come and go in my life. Why does this one still linger? M is married and has two beautiful children. I am happy for him. Really! From a distance, I see how happy he is with his family, and I am deeply happy for him. But why does it still hurt so much?

To M,

You are someone special to me. I hoped that we would always be the best of friends. I never expected anything more than that, though a part of me definitely wanted it. I am happy that you’re happy. I will cherish the beautiful memories between us. I love you, Bev.

Thanks for following along on my very personal, very vulnerable story.

P.S. If I ever decide to publish this story in a book, you have to pretend that you’re seeing it for the first time 😅