I started to write an open letter to Karrueche Tran. I generally hate those things—every blogger under the sun is always addressing them to someone they feel needs a good telling-off or an injection of personal wisdom—so I post them pretty sparingly. But every time I see her, I feel bad that she’s tangled up in the situation she’s in as the seemingly permanent third leg in the trifecta of Chris Brown and Rihanna craziness. And they are plenty crazy, even as far as celebrity soap operas go.
I know full well that Karrueche doesn’t want my or anybody else’s sympathy. She said as much in a recent interview with Vibe. And truth be told, no one’s holding her hostage to hang in there, so she really doesn’t deserve it anyway. She’s caught up in that mess of her own volition. From way over here on the sidelines, I think both she and Rihanna are hooked on Chris, both playing themselves out hoping they’ll end up with him, both bound to get hurt in this disaster, just like folks do in all of these situations, unless one of them walks away.
That means both of them are also programmed for self-destruction since, for one reason or another, they both know he’s no good. All it takes is a few clicks through MediaTakeout or a scroll down his Twitter feed to confirm that, but Rihanna darn sure should know it already firsthand. Still, even with all that knowing, the heart wants what it wants and apparently both of theirs want Chris.
Young women have been doing dumb things in the name of dead-end relationships way before our time. I’m pretty sure there’s a hieroglyphic depicting it somewhere in the annals of ancient history. But I can’t help relating to the sentimentality of being so in love with a guy—especially, especially if the sex is good—that you stay stuck on stupid even when your mom, your best friends, your siblings, your neighbors, your granny, the crossing guard down the street, the lady who sells Krispy Kremes on the corner, e’rybody is telling you to let it go.
I relate all too well to what it’s like to bide your time in a sour romance because you’re too dumb in love to be smart about your exit. So I also know that she, like me and every other hardheaded girl who’s ever swooned over a bad-news dude, is going to have to wise up on her own and learn the hard way. I bet when she looks back on the story of her life and recalls this chapter of foolishness, she’ll be mad at the time wasted and hopefully, at least a little bit, at herself, especially since this drama is playing out all over Instagram and the blogosphere.
I have done my fair share of dummy acrobatics for a dude. I don’t necessarily regret them because I learned a lot about not only myself but relationships from them. But I sure prolonged those periods and stretched them out for everything they weren’t worth. Now, I’m at the point in my life where the only dude I’m running after has hair like wool, feet like burnished bronze and lived 2,000 years ago. If you ain’t He, I’m not nipping at your heels. I’ll date ya. I just won’t chase ya. Being in constant pursuit of a man, as Karrueche may or may not figure out, zaps your self-esteem and leaves you emotionally drained. And long after your girlfriends get tired of delivering sermons and sneaking I-told-you-so eye rolls, it’s just you, your broken heart and your non-ringing phone.
I won’t write an open letter, but I’ll write an open paragraph. Karrueche, girl, walk away. Cut the ties, get your own gig, stop letting him use you as the Plan B chick and, to add insult to injury, playing you out for all the world wide web to see. You’re better than that. I don’t even know you and I know that. Every woman has to find her own way and make her own mistakes, but don’t make yours more painful and public than they need to be. And really, you’re probably being spared from some pretty bad stuff anyway.