She Never Heard a Word I Said

I’m Arnel, from the Philippines.

I was never the guy who sent money or begged for attention. My currency was different. I gave advice. Careful advice. Late-night advice. The kind you only give when you actually listen to someone’s life.

She used to tell me everything.

Her problems at home. Her confusion about love. Her fear of being alone. I became the person she ran to when things fell apart. I stayed up past midnight explaining things calmly, thoughtfully—about self-worth, about choosing better men, about not settling for people who only wanted her body.

I spoke like I knew what I was doing.

And maybe that’s why she never took a single word seriously.

She would thank me. Always polite. Always appreciative.
“Thank you, that makes sense.”
“You’re so wise.”
“I’m glad I can talk to you.”

Then the next day, she’d do the exact opposite.

She’d go back to the same guy who disrespected her.
Post the same thirst traps she said made her feel empty.
Cry again over the same patterns she swore she was done with.

At first, I thought change just takes time.

So I explained things better. More clearly. More patiently. I sent long messages breaking down what love should look like. I gave examples. I even blamed myself when nothing changed—maybe I didn’t say it right, maybe I wasn’t convincing enough.

What I didn’t realize was this:
She didn’t need guidance. She needed validation.

My advice wasn’t ignored because it was wrong.
It was ignored because it asked her to grow.

And growth is uncomfortable.

I remember one night clearly. She asked me, “Why do I keep choosing the wrong guys?”

I answered honestly. Gently. I told her she was chasing attention instead of connection. That she confused desire with care. That she was afraid of quiet love because chaos felt familiar.

She replied hours later with just:
“Hmm.”

The next morning, she posted a photo with a caption about loving bad boys.

That’s when something cracked inside me.

I realized I wasn’t a voice she listened to—I was background noise. Emotional support on standby. A free therapist who never got credited when things went right, but was always there when things fell apart.

I had been pouring clarity into someone who preferred confusion.

The hardest part wasn’t that she ignored my advice.
It was that I let myself believe my role mattered.

I thought being useful meant being valued. I thought insight could replace attraction. I thought if I helped her enough, she’d eventually see me differently.

She never did.

And maybe that’s not her fault.

Some people don’t want solutions. They want an audience.

I stopped giving advice after that. Not out of anger—out of self-respect. When she complained again, I listened quietly and said nothing. She noticed immediately.

“You’re different,” she said.

I almost laughed.

No—I was finally the same person I was before I started trying to save someone who never wanted saving.

Here’s the truth I learned too late:

If someone constantly ignores your wisdom but keeps your presence,
they don’t see you as a guide.
They see you as a cushion.

I’m not angry anymore. Just clearer.

My advice is no longer exclusive.
It’s reserved—for myself.