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The glass facade of 1 Raffles Place used to reflect nothing but ambition. It was 1987, and as a young intern stepping into the corporate world, my mind was sharp, focused, and ready for the climb. But life has a way of introducing us to people who alter our trajectory entirely. That was the year I met Amy (not her real name).
Because of the 2.5 years of National Service that all Singaporean men give to the nation, Amy was two years ahead of me in her career, despite us being the exact same age. She was poised, capable, and confident. Yet, when we spoke, the corporate veneer melted away. We just clicked.
By October 1988, on my 24th birthday, that connection deepened. She treated me to a birthday celebration, and from that evening on, our hearts were intertwined. For five beautiful months, we lived a quiet, sweet romance. We integrated our lives, sharing Sunday dinners and introducing each other to our families. I even brought her to meet my Godmother, a woman of profound warmth whose blessing meant the world to me. In those days, love felt simple, certain, and expansive.
Then came March 1989. Amy told me she was embarking on a three-month tour of the United States. I remember standing at Changi Airport, alongside a few of her male friends, waving goodbye as she walked through the departure gates. I held a heart full of anticipation for her return.
What I didn't know then was that she wasn't just flying toward a new destination; she was flying back toward a past chapter. She was going to meet and reconnect with her former boyfriend.
The Irony of Alignment
The universe has a strange, almost poetic sense of irony. While Amy was away, the corporate landscape shifted. In a massive business move, her firm merged with mine. Suddenly, my desk was flooded with congratulations from colleagues. "You’re so lucky," they’d say, clapping me on the back. "Now that the firms are merged, you’ll get to see your girlfriend every single day in the office."
I smiled outwardly, but inwardly, a cold intuition was taking root.
When Amy returned in July 1989, the warmth of the previous year had vanished, replaced by an ocean of unspoken distance. The closer our companies grew on paper, the further we drifted in reality. By September, the silence became absolute. We broke up. Our firms had merged, but we had completely de-merged.
The finality of it didn't fully register until January 1990. I had just bought my very first car, a modest, red secondhand Nissan Sunny. It was a milestone that symbolized adulthood, independence, and the future. I drove it to her house one evening. Not to beg, not to fight, and not to demand answers. I went there to look her in the eye, formally wish her the best, and close the ledger.
Years rolled by. The pain faded into a quiet memory. In 1997, our paths crossed one last time, completely by chance. I was conducting a session as an instructor at our Toastmasters Club when she walked into the room.
Eight years had changed us into completely different people. We stood in the hallway and exchanged the briefest summaries of our lives. She told me she was married with two beautiful children. I told her I had been married for three years, though my wife and I didn't have children yet.
We parted ways that evening, and I have never seen Amy since. But as I watched her walk away in 1997, I remembered the look in her eyes back in 1989. Even through the heartbreak of our breakup, I had seen a profound clarity in her gaze. She hadn't left out of malice; she had left because her heart belonged elsewhere. She had found her true love in her past, and she had chosen it.
The Anatomy of Love Intelligence (LQ)
Looking back on that 25-year-old version of myself driving away in that Nissan Sunny, I realize that heartbreak was my very first masterclass in Love Intelligence (LQ). At its core, true intelligence of the heart requires three pillars: Care, Courage, and Connection.
Care: Real care is not possessive; it does not demand that someone stay to fulfill your own needs. My care for Amy meant wanting her ultimate happiness, even if that happiness required my absence.
Courage: It takes immense courage to stand at a crossroads, recognize that a relationship is over, and choose to wish the other person well instead of harboring bitterness. It took courage to drive to her house in 1990, not to cause a scene, but to offer a clean, honorable goodbye.
Connection: True connection recognizes that human bonds are dynamic. Amy and I shared a genuine, beautiful chapter. The fact that it ended didn't invalidate the five months we loved each other. LQ allows us to honor the connection for what it was, without letting the ending ruin the beauty of the story.
Embracing the SuperME
For a long time, the younger version of me wondered: Was I not enough? If I had been further along in my career, or if I hadn't spent those years in National Service, would she have stayed?
This is the trap of the ego, but the truth is found in the philosophy of SuperME.
To be a SuperME is to realize a fundamental truth: We are already whole and enough.
Amy’s choice to return to her former boyfriend was never a reflection of my lack. It was not a verdict on my worth, my capabilities, or my value as a man. She simply had a different destiny to fulfill. When we operate from a place of feeling "not enough," we cling, we resent, and we let rejection turn into a lifelong wound.
But when we realize our inherent wholeness, we can experience rejection without losing our identity.
I loved her before, and I let her go because I knew she had found her true love. In doing so, I didn’t diminish myself. I preserved my dignity, honored her journey, and kept my own heart whole.
Firms merge, markets change, and people separate. But when you are anchored in Love Intelligence and secure in your own wholeness, no separation can ever truly break you. You simply drive forward into the next chapter, grateful for the road you've traveled.
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