By Isqil Najim
"There is a love to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First to let go of life; finally to a step without feet.” ― Rumi
How mysterious love is. How confusing it can be. Has it ever been logical? How blind it is.
I’ve heard and read much about love: love is blind, love is patient, and so on. But at the bitter end of the sweetest romantic adventures, the tune changes. Love is wicked! Love is crazy!
I’ve seen people elevated from the depths of shame to the heights of grace by love. From the lowest rungs of society to dizzying heights, accessible only in dreams. Young and old, male and female, white, Black, and mixed-race—love rules their worlds at some point. They perch comfortably on the tree of romanticism, yearning for eternity,
Than then— crasshhhhhhhhhhhhhh…. Then ouchhhhhhhhhhh Arrrrrrrrggggggggg!
It’s over.
Then begins a hellish period of introspection and unending lamentation.
Love is wicked, love is illogical, I’ll never love again.
But before long, a charming woman thaws the ice around his heart, and he falls in love again, transported to another world. His music shifts from lamentation to boastful glorification.
She’s the best woman he’s ever known, better than his mother. Almost divine. He showers her with praise, telling her she’s the missing sugar in his coffee; the blood in his veins.
Once again, the spirit of love lifts him higher than before. He’s certain that this time, it will last. But just as things become serious—bang!
Crash!
Another emotional crash landing, this time leaving scars. He vows never to love or respect women again.
He begins to hate women, becoming selfish and ruthlessly insensitive. He loses all respect for them, changing partners like socks. He uses them, carelessly navigating every pothole on the road, discarding those who come too easily without him showing any remorse.
He believes all women deserve it; after all, the woman he loved most did the same to him, and it’s a free world. He’s determined to extract his revenge. He has the money and charisma to attract any woman. He’s irresistible, and women flock to him like flies to honey. But his mission is revenge, not emotional gratification. He’s seething inside, desperate to inflict as much pain as he’d suffered, to punish the one whose whereabouts he doesn’t even know.
He’s heartless to his victims, yet restlessly yearns for a love that will end his emotional misery. He stubbornly vows never to love again.
He keeps a diary filled with his pain, anguish, and the history of his social maladjustment. He craves peace, but outwardly plots revenge. His history of failed love haunts him, plunging his life into a dark pit of despair. But pride prevents him from admitting his shortcomings.
He has a successful career in the oil and gas sector, earning a substantial income. But his money disappears into a bottomless pit. He saves nothing, has no future plans beyond indulging in material possessions: expensive cars, designer clothes, and nights in clubs and motels.
His last relationship was devastating. She was everything he ever wanted, but she left after he’d invested heavily in her and her future, running off with a white man for a green card.
His world crumbled. He never recovered from the heartbreak, never learned to move on. He transformed from a good man into a dangerous man seething with revenge with his eyes closed.
One morning, he left home after work and headed to his usual haunt. His “harem” awaited him. He enjoyed himself, but he noticed a beautiful young woman sitting apart from his table, staring at him strangely. Despite his being surrounded by women, he was still drawn to this lone figure.
The more he looked at her, the more he wanted to speak to her. But she seemed oblivious. For once, his extravagant display of wealth failed to attract a woman.
Why was she different? He wondered silently but eventually dismissed it.
He continued with his drinks and drugs and passed out. At least, that was the last he remembered.
He woke the following evening in a hospital bed, his body aching, heavily bandaged. He saw a figure sitting in the distance. Unable to grasp the reality, he lost consciousness again and slept off.
Hours later, he regained consciousness, his mind finally clear.
The figure was still sitting there. She was a young woman—the same one he’d noticed at the bar. The same woman who showed no interest in him. The same woman who did not scramble to be at his table like other women he keeps.
Where were the women who surrounded him? Where were his friends? How did he get here? Who brought him? He asked these questions, but the only answers were the throbbing pain in his arm, leg, and head. He had multiple fractures and was in a pathetic state.
He learned from the young woman that he’d been heavily intoxicated. He drove himself home and had been involved in a car accident. The women with him, assuming he was dead, had fled. This young woman had bravely called for help. He was taken to the hospital.
to be continued. ...
0 Comments