Upon having had a disgusting egg white omelette for breakfast

In the undoubtedly shamelessly sentimental film, 'The Runaway Bride' (I've seen it twice, like most awful films it has all the thrill of watching a disaster unfold itself), the character Julia Roberts plays is a girl who is so hell bent on pleasing her boyfriends that she does not know what her own preferences are as she just follows her then boyfriend's preferences as to music, hobbies and how they like their eggs.

I know that feeling. One day when I got up, I realised I was out of a five year long relationship and I had no idea who I was. I didn't know if I was the one who liked Bjork or if it had been him (answer: yes, I do, but not enough to buy the records of my own accord). I didn't even know whether I was an introvert or an extrovert. It has taken me a lot of time to work out my own tastes, to the extent where I am comfortable with myself that I have my own standards when it comes to liking something or not. I can tell you for sure what I do and don't like for most things, and I think I know how I like my eggs (scrambled. Omelettes are fine, too. But not egg white omelettes).

A girl I know has broken up with her boyfriend and is now trying to find her missing pieces, just like I had to, except she has a bigger gap to fill in - she was with him for over a decade. She is looking down what seems a bottomless pit that needs to be somehow filled in with all her own work. I told her that it was difficult, but the end result is rewarding - the next time you say you like something, you know you really mean it. And the next time you fall in love, you know you can love that person without having to change yourself so much as to lose yourself.