My name is Pernell, and boys used to be the bookends to chapters of my life. Eras of my teens and 20s were defined by relationships, real and imagined. But now I'm older and finally understand that the men I’m attracted to are the least interesting part about me*.
Lately, I've been feeling broken. So, I wondered: Could I find the pieces of myself that I feel like I'm missing in the chapters that I closed? And that was why I reached out to all the men that I used to have feelings for. Even the straight ones.
I wanted to know the whole story, not just my side, of these crushes, gain some closure, and hopefully catch glimpses of my “past self” from their point of view.
I reached out to 10 guys in total and nervously waited for messages back. Every time my phone lit up, my heart missed a beat as I lunged for the phone (it was usually just Duolingo reminding me I haven't been taking my Spanish lessons). It totally felt like I had sent a text I wasn’t supposed to…10 times.
Thankfully, 7 out of the 10 guys I reached out to responded: My high school crushes known as The Teacher, The Upperclassmen, and The Straight Guy came through, as well as key men from college and after — The Stud Abroad, The Lawyer, The Sophomore, and The Dream Guy.
I sent these seven generous men a survey that dug into their attraction (or lack of one) to me and their overall opinion of me in the past and in the present. I figured it’d seem more professional and a lot less awkward if I asked them about the story of us through a Google form.
Once their feedback was in, 72% (five) of the guys that filled out the survey agreed to get on a video call with me to further break down what happened, or what didn't happen, between us.
You can't get everything you want.
There’s a lot to unpack here, so let’s get into it. Here's everything I learned from all the boys I loved before:
Back then, I couldn't comprehend that a person who had such an impact in my life could just exit it like that. I was spiraling from a schoolgirl crush, while he was dealing with a very adult career crisis that I couldn't comprehend as a teen. Now I do.
I'm still writing to this day, and I'm so grateful he saw that in me when I was a freshman. Even though he said my long story annoyed him, I recalled that he encouraged me for it in front of our class instead of shaming me for it. And I needed that back then.
Maybe that's why I cried when he left our classroom.
Through The Teacher's words, I caught a glimpse of my old self from a time I'd scrubbed out of my memory. I had tried to impress a teacher during my freshman year of high school and in the process, ended up discovering a love that became a through line for the rest of my life: writing.
Now I understand that he was going through growing pains, and I was...well, 14 years old. We were blips on each other's radar. It was never going to happen. But I'm very thankful our paths crossed.
We did not elaborate on Zoom.
I looked up to The Upperclassman when I was younger. And there he was, over video chat, telling me I influenced him too. It didn't even occur to me before our conversation that the boys of my past who had such an imprint on my life could feel a similar way about me, platonically.
Back then, I was in awe of him — around him, I felt like a sandcastle next to a skyscraper. I figured he saw me as some dumb closeted teen, but that was a narrative I wrote in my own head. It wasn't the whole story.
I was fascinated to find out that the artist I looked up to as a teen always saw me as his peer. I felt a warm feeling of gratitude as I heard about our friendship from his point of view. I had this story in my head that the appreciation I showed all the straight men in my life was only one-sided. Perhaps that wasn't the case for all of them.
We ended our video call in good spirits and promised that it wouldn't be the last time we talked. We even discussed working together in the near future — pretty remarkable for an old friendship I previously believed had run its course.
Our talk helped me prepare for the next interview I felt I wasn't ready for: another straight man who I believed I was still in love with.
Before I reached out to The Straight Guy, I figured the six-year silence between us was his way of saying I crossed a line, and wrecked our friendship. There was never real closure, so that was the ending I wrote for us. But for him, it wasn't over.
"I have to thank you," I said over Zoom. "I felt so lost when we were 18. It felt like everyone knew where they were going and who they were supposed to be after high school, except me. So, I moved to California, because it was the place you always talked about." He blinked at me. Crap, I thought. How am I supposed to recover from that?
"I love my life here, and I wouldn't have any of it if it wasn't for you," I blurted out. "It was my way of always having a piece of you with me." I guess I was doubling down.
"I have to show you something," he finally said. He disappeared out of frame. I took the opportunity to quickly fan my pits — I was sweating.
He glided back into frame with an antique frame that was worn and chipped. It was the gift I left him with before I ran away from home over a decade ago.
"I keep it at the front of my place," he said. "It's the first thing people see when they walk into my home." My heart melted. Not out of attraction, but remorse.
I remembered The Straight Guy for everything we weren't. He remembered me for everything we were: a pair of Southern boys who got each other, inspired each other, and could still crack up together after a six-year silence.
We had something. It just wasn't what I thought it was, and that's OK. We were never lovers, only ever friends — apparently we still are.
And finally, that seemed like enough.
I realized that the significance he had in my life could be totally independent from the significance I had in his. We had an incredible fling. It felt like a Hong Kong fairy tale. He was the first man that I (regularly) hooked up with. He gave me a taste of what intimacy can look like between two queer people. I took that back with me to Los Angeles.
I was grateful The Stud Abroad didn't remember me by how I faded out of his life, and instead just enjoyed what we had while it happened. I wasn't at his level of queer maturity yet, but he sent me home in the right direction.
And I'm happy to say that he did find his own top.
Before anything, we were friends. But the way I treated him was not very friend-like. And it's especially not the way I ever want to treat someone exploring their sexuality that they're still at odds with. Once again, I had been too wrapped up in my own side of the story to even try to understand his. He needed a friend. Instead, I slapped him with an ultimatum.
My stomach churned. I had dropped the ball on being a true friend, and I fell short of being the gay man I want to be. As I read about my past self from his point of view, I saw myself as one of those faux "nice guys" that women warn us about — the kind of men who are sweet, until they find out you don't want to fuck them.
So, I was very grateful for the chance to truly apologize, even if it was over Zoom. I thought it'd be a 10-minute call, mostly my apology. Instead, we talked for almost an hour. We mostly stayed out of each other's way during our last year of college — we were both mad at each other. But time, perspective, and I guess this article, healed the broken bridge between us.
“I wish I was strong enough to reach out to everybody that's ever hurt me or I hurt," he said before we hung up. "I think you'll gain a lot of perspective in these conversations, and it's going to give you patience and understanding for your next relationship." I nodded. "And whoever that person is," he continued, "they might not be on the same level with these things as you. So you should ask yourself: Is this person someone that you're willing to wait for and bring to your level? Or is he someone that would take too much of you?"
I looked at the screen and into the face of a man that I once loved. I didn't know how to respond to him. And for a brief second, I wondered what it'd be like if we had met later in our lives. Maybe then I would have had an answer.
We hung up.
There wasn't a single lull in our video chat. Years later, we still easily talked with each other — it was one of my favorite things about him. We talked about his job, music, boyfriend, and he even gave me a tour of his one-bedroom apartment on the other side of the country. He was thriving, and it felt really good to feel so happy for him.
He had a similar sentiment toward me. Today, we're in two different cities that are very far from each other. But back then, The Sophomore and I faded out because we were in two different places of our lives.
"At first, I was into you more than it seemed like you were into me," he said. "I was like head over heels. But I didn't really hear from you while I was home for the summer, and when I came back for junior year, I felt like things had fizzled."
"And then I was into you way more than you were into me," I said.
"It all felt like one giant missed high-five," he replied with a nod.
Toward the end of our relationship was when I learned I had depression. I wanted The Sophomore to be there for me, but I didn't know how to communicate that. So we grew apart. And in that space, we also grew up. Coming back to each other years later to catch up reminded me how sacred friendships between gay men can be when we don't let them go.
The best part about being queer is that we get to define how our relationships with each other look like. Just because we're not having sex with each other doesn't mean we have to stop being friends to each other.
And that's a lesson I needed to know before my final interview.
"My opinion is that you didn't have the emotional intelligence to fully understand what I was going through back then," Dream Guy said through my computer screen. "We didn't even know each other other too well, back then and now. I was wrapped up in my own head. And honestly, I feel like you probably put me on a pedestal. It kind of felt like a schoolgirl crush, and I didn't take it seriously." I sighed. He wasn't wrong. It took two years in a relationship to realize that real love requires showing up. I just wasn't ready for that back then.
"Los Angeles feels like a lifetime ago," he continued. "I looked through my old texts to refresh my memory. You were in the thickest part of the most turbulent time in my life. I was literally just trying to survive at that time."
"I wish I knew how to be there for you four years ago," I said. And that was honest.
"I think it's brave that you're doing this," said the man that rated me a six. "I built my whole life in the States around my ex-husband because he was the person that checked all my boxes, and he turned out to be somebody else. I was hurt for a long time, but now we're best friends."
My gay heart fluttered. "I'm happy for you," I smiled. "Seriously."
"It all led me to being in the relationship I am in now," he continued, "and I'm actually really fucking happy. But there are relationships that happened between my ex-husband and my current one that I still wish I had some closure on. What you're doing right now takes a lot of courage. So kudos."
Kudos, brave, and courage, I thought to myself. Words reserved for people you're not at all attracted to. Fantastic.
"Thank you," I said out loud. "For reviving the romantic in me."
"Wait!" I called out. "Before we hang up, I have to ask you: What were you thinking about in that U-Haul all those years ago when you were driving solo to your new home?" He paused for a moment, looked down, and then back up at me.
"Because it's not always about the next adventure," he answered. "Eventually you learn to listen to what you need in the moment and what you want to prioritize. In that U-Haul, there was excitement and nervous energy. But now my priority is stability, not chasing the next new thing."
I don't think he was trying to teach me something in that moment, but his words landed. I guess the real him was more profound than the fictional version of him I'd built in my head — it's a shame I missed out on that.
I thanked Dream Guy for his time, and said goodbye. I stared out my bedroom window. The sun was long gone, and the skyscrapers of West Hollywood were sparkling. Since it was night, I could see my reflection. I liked what I saw.
Reaching out to these men was scary, yet healing. I learned that most of them were actually going through their own things in life, just like I always am, and that's enough for any relationship to naturally dissolve. That doesn't mean that our bond was meaningless or that it's over. It's just changed.
I felt most validated when people remembered me for my personality over my looks. I confronted the hard lesson that over-concerning myself with romance cost me missing out on genuine intimacy that I'd built with guys who weren't my lovers, but still so important to me. I also saw that putting men on pedestals and falling in love with the idea of them rather than the reality of them isn't just unattractive, but also an unfair over-simplification of them.
Seeing how I used to "love" men showed me how much I've matured and grown. I used to treat romance as a source of worship. Now I interpret it as a byproduct of two (or more) people truly selecting, seeing, and supporting each other.
In the process of writing this article, my long-term boyfriend and I broke up. It was mutual; the aftershock was not. Three weeks later, I was still holed up in my apartment replaying his Instagram stories — he'd discovered crop tops and was living his best life. It stung that I was so easy to move on from.
It took me over a month after putting a pin in this post to come back and finish it. And as I re-read the stories of my past heartbreaks with my most recent one in mind, I suddenly saw a similarity in all of my relationships: I tend to remember things by their ending. But the end is never the whole story — it's not even the best part.
There's so much good that happened between me and my ex. The way I love(d) him is the culmination of how I've loved all the guys that came before him. To me, that's beautiful, and something worth mourning.
I'm so thankful to these men who dug through their memories and showed me my past self through their eyes. They helped me recognize the parts of myself I want to resurrect and retire, as I continue coming out of my shell that I've been hiding in during this ongoing pandemic. For that, I'm grateful.
What have you learned about yourself and life from past crushes, relationships, and heartbreaks? Share your story in the comments, and let's learn from each other.
If you're inspired to interview your own past crushes, click here to make a copy of the #exSurvey Google form here. Let me know if you do!