Eight years ago, I was one of the thousands of women who cried inside the theater watching the ultimate broken film of all time One More Chance. From the trailer itself, I got curious off the bat how the story would go. My initial thought was Basha left Popoy for some hunky dudey Mark, but I was wrong. The trailer played me. It turned out, Basha left Popoy, and in the process of moving on, Popoy met Tricia—the woman who stayed with him and made him feel whole again.
And it was during this reveal that I started to get affected personally. At that time, I was entering a new relationship, and the person on the other end of the deal had a bad (some sort of) break-up with the woman he loved and thought loved him, too. With this situation on hand, I did not cry because I felt for Basha or Popoy. I cried because I felt for Tricia. I felt for the girl, who had a lot of physical similarities with Basha (haller the hair?!), used to cover up the pain and move on from the horrendous heartbreak of the past. In my pity party, I thought the same thing was going to happen to me—that at the end of the day, the woman, which the man I was beginning a relationship with, would come back, take him, and leave me with nothing. Fear covered me, and I could not stop thinking of the forthcoming agony.
After the film, all of the three friends I watched the film with kept repeating lines of Basha and Popoy, and I was there internalizing how Tricia managed the break-up by not saying anything and just leaving. I even told a friend or two that it would be nice to have a sequel with Tricia being at the center of the film, telling her side of the story. Why not? Not all are Bashas. Some are Tricias. Not all left their loved ones for self-preservation. Not all cut ties from the love of their lives just to find their selves. Not all experienced having someone run after them. Some are just like Tricia. Some are just there willing to love and care no matter how broken one might have been. Some are just there exerting efforts covering the scars of the past by creating new memories (or songs for that matter). Some are just not enough, and when the right time comes, some are just left.