“You don’t have to know everything about your partner’s past.” I remind myself again, right before asking my boyfriend for details about a history that I was never part of. He answers, and I can already feel a tantrum bubbling up uncontrollably. It is, admittedly, not the best feeling in the world.
I know I’m not alone in this. Enough of my friends have the exact same tendency. It’s almost like an emotional coin toss: some days you’re able to laugh it off, other days it ends in a fight because of the cold shoulder you hand to the person who answered honestly. We’ve all been there, curiosity never fails to get the best of us. But truly, maybe the better question, before asking anything at all, is this: how much of your partner’s past are you actually willing to accept?
The Drama takes this question and drags it into a far more extreme direction: how much are you actually willing to accept your partner’s past once you discover the worst thing they have ever done?
Our stunning protagonists, Charlie and Emma are a soon-to-be wedded couple, with an apartment that is to die for. Everything seems just about picture perfect, right down to a first kiss that literally takes place in an art museum as the alarm goes off. The “drama” essentially erupts when the couple spots their wedding DJ snorting heroine by the side of the road, which somehow spirals into a wine-tasting-slash-moral-debate with their married friends, Mike and Rachel, on whether they should they fire the DJ? Then the conversation turns into a confession session in which the arrow eventually points to a drunken Emma. As she finishes her sentences, the room detonates into an immediate: what the fuck? ”
To keep this somewhat spoiler free, I will not disclose Emma’s darkest secret, but it is definitely something you won’t be able to guess. Not by a long shot. More importantly, it is important to note that Emma, now in her thirties, is completely different from the young teenager she was when that secret took place. Yet in one instant, Charlie takes out the word “empathetic” from his wedding vows.
We are living in an era where perfectionism is expected to be present, or if not, arrive easily. Romance is repackaged over and over again and presented to you like a checklist. There are to be no flaws and no fuckups. Our partners are supposed to be open-minded, understanding at all times, and get you flowers just because they want to. The stakes are high and must be met.
So much so that when something unexpected from the past enters the frame, we begin to wonder if that perfect reality ever truly existed. (What do you mean you used to be on Bumble premium???) But here’s the rub: humans are meant to grow, even as we are inevitably shaped by what came before. We’d like to believe we can outgrow our past. The Drama does a very good job at picking apart these contradictions and offering different versions of an answer. Evidently, growth here does not erase; it merely rearranges. If you look closely enough, all the characters who are supposedly occupying the moral high ground are still mimicking the faults they once married: Rachel remains mean-spirited, Mike remains a wuss, and Charlie still possesses the power to drive someone insane.
Most of all, The Drama recognizes something deeply fundamental about humans. There’s a line from Celine Song’s Materialists (though not my favourite) that has stayed with me: People are people are people are people. It sounds simple, almost nonsensical, but it is true. There is no mould for who someone should be, or what they are allowed to become. Most of the time, you do not get to pick only the parts that make you comfortable. No one will ever arrive in love as a perfect package or a clean slate. The best you can do is to choose if you want to accept this version of them. Flaws and all.
Because for all the time Charlie spends trying to reevaluate his fiancée, trying to mentally rearrange who Emma is after what she tells him, he still ends up finding comfort in smallest thing he knows of her: he plays and dances to Inside Out by Jesse Rae, the same song Emma would put on whenever he was frustrated. Somehow, even after everything, he still reaches for a habit she gave him. Emma, the woman he has practically worshipped for years, still exists in the gestures that made her lovable to him in the first place, which makes it feel almost absurd to believe that one confession should immediately cancel out every good thing she has been to his life. Because truly, how do you decide that someone becomes lesser because of something they did – or in this case, didn’t do – a decade ago? (Disclaimer: this is extremely context dependent, please do not take this statement as gospel.)
That said, not every truth deserves a graceful acceptance speech. You are not under any obligation to try to accept any version of anyone in your life. If something crosses your line, sever it. If you want to stay, despite everything, then stay knowingly. What matters is not forcing yourself into acceptance just because love sounds noble that way. There is little use driving yourself insane trying to manufacture peace when, deep down, you already know you cannot live with what you learned. Don’t be like Charlie, is essentially what I’m saying.
What I have learned about love, especially since getting into a relationship, is that it is partly about accepting that people are always tethered to what they once were. Sometimes they relapse. Sometimes remnants remain. Sometimes they are genuinely transformed. Sometimes all three are true at once.
If you want a perfectly flawless partner, maybe try wishing upon a shooting star instead.
