Achy Breaky Heart

The other morning, after I made a heart shaped pancake for my nephew, I sliced it into pieces for him, and he said the most beautiful unexpected thing: "my heart is broken." I awed at his innocence, and wondered how one day he'll actually understand the figurative meaning behind his words. But until that day comes, I'll simply ask him, "Would you like syrup on that?"

I still vividly remember my first heartbreak: I was in second grade in India and had a crush on my teacher (what can I say, I always had a thing for older guys). As in most private Catholic schools here, teachers there were also allowed to discipline their students. Apparently I had interrupted the teacher by talking to one of my peers during class, so he walked over and sternly said, “Avani, give me your hand.” For a split second I thought, “Shouldn’t he be asking my Dad for my hand?” But that fairytale ended as soon as the ruler smacked my palm and sent a wave up my arm.

And so began the evolution of my heartbreaks. I know I’ve written about heartbreaks at ad nauseam but it’s one of those a forever young topics that’s always the new black, gives songwriters an endless source of material (see exhibit A and B), and gives Jennifer Aniston a reason to keep acting. So naturally I’ll talk about it... perhaps I’ll even sing about it at a karaoke bar one of these weekends. Ironically enough, I’m writing this blog at a point in time when I don’t particularly feel heartbroken. Nope, no Prozac for this gal.

I think it’s time we acknowledge heartbreaks the way we celebrate unions, and give the “have-nots” the attention they deserve. What about the broken engagements and the failed marriages? What about those who aren’t destined to put on a veil or a tux and renounce their sexual freedom? Are they not entitled to the same rah-rah, gift registry, and video montages? After all, where is “up-side” in a break “up”?

So here’s a toast to all the insomniac nights, the Kleenex boxes, and empty bottles of wine. I commend those who have suffered and surfaced, because eventually you learn to stop wallowing in your disappointment, and build the courage to stick your hand out for someone who will actually hold it.