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I Will Love A Man In 2016 – Part II

I am so fucking scared.

Love, the idea of, changed for me quite spontaneously two years ago in Barbados. There were no dramatic events that preceded this metamorphosis of heart. Just a peaceful ‘knowing’ in my soul that I did not (and would never) need the institution of marriage in my life.

How many Sunday evenings and late Friday nights, leading up to this awakening, did I spend doodling on paper, ideas  for the perfect wedding dress and cake; scavenging through Pinterest for that one-of-a-kind, classic tea length (high neck though) wedding dress that would bring back the essence of an era when you started out with nothing but love and succeeded in building a dynasty on its foundation anyway?

I could have mastered the craft of self and vulnerability in words much sooner, if not for that time wasted.

Nonetheless, by the time that I had boarded a plane to begin again in the Middle East, I had already possessed a privileged sense of self-sufficiency. A wanderlust for love in any of its variations was not.


I do not love him. I feel no guilt or shame in admitting that to you…or him.

Just as definitive as my declaration is, was the heralding of his presence into my life as told by a fortune teller one month prior to us meeting.

“On February 18th you will meet a man. You will end and start a new beginning not only in your life, but in your family’s legacy. This is the start of a new dynasty; the door is forever closed on your generational past,” is what she poetically foretold.

Resolute in my conviction of the un-necessity of love, my soul refrained from revealing any joy on cheeks that had become so many times hot beds of oceans of tears. Yet, I was still grateful for and certain of God’s message. A strong belief in the delivery of Its medium ensured It.

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Mario and I met, February 18th, one year ago in Istanbul.

And despite divine ordinance, I could not be loved.

For the next 12 months, my skin received his touch with the painful reminisce of the first time I grazed it on sandpaper. His whispers of sweet nothings, a deluge of deafening lies from lovers past and his stares, nothing more than visual capitalism.

Perception was far greater than reality.

Still, I was not operating in a state of delusion.

There had been (many) indiscretions on his part. I was not participating in a solely masochistic exercise. Pain, is always inevitable in love when there is an other. An understanding learned not only from my own personal experiences, but from every relationship that I had been privy to see demise.

Leaving was an almost impossible, but weekly effort. And it is here, I can tell you why I do not love him. In him I could sense the same dreaded neediness that I had conquered in Barbados, which ensured his return even after the most heated, animated arguments, texts and interactions.

The craft of concealing a meta-narrative of “please don’t go” with a ‘Bitch, shut the fuck up” moniker was his, resulting in a frustrating experience of ambivalence for me. I retaliated in the form of dehumanizing lectures and admonishments; thereby relegating me to a role that I found obscene in intimate relationships- mother.

I never told you why I was so fucking scared.

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Like a prisoner on death row preparing to have their arm receive the needle that will take their life, or the fallen motorcyclist fighting the force of velocity and gravity with no choice but to succumb knowing that with every hit of asphalt, bones are  breaking, I too, was scared of the inevitability of pain and death in love. Pain, death and transformation.

His inability to leave the relationship despite my many attempts, is not even a legitimate excuse for me ‘staying’ in the relationship. After all, I had acquired the knack of using autonomy to achieve success where and in what ever I wanted.

The legitimate reason was also not in the promise or hope of a better tomorrow in love either.

Rather, it was (and still is) this intuitive sense that by us being together there was/is an unprecedented opportunity in both of our lives for growth and evolution that could not be achieved without our dynamic.

Scared of the inevitability of love? Yes. But, I know that this relationship was not supposed to be about the drunken ‘feeling’ of love, that feeling of sublime ecstasy we all dream and crave for in love.

Coming to an even greater understanding of self in a way that only another person can facilitate was this relationship’s purpose.

February 4th 2016, 14 days before our one year anniversary, I ended this chapter in my life with integrity and gratitude for its meaning.

This post was originally written for Petra In The Middle East. All photo rights belong to the owner.

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