The Love That Did Not Touch Me

Yesterday I ended a somewhat relationship with a man I met two months ago. It was a really short time, one might think, to decide that he isn’t the one, since it takes quite a while to get to know somebody deeply. But is it, though?

Some couples get married after a short amount of time together and actually last for a lifetime. Some others had been together almost half their life and split up in the end. So, there is no exact formula for this kind of thing, it seems. Yet, I worry still, but I do not know why or what about is it I worry.

For a person who has never been in love before, or at least who has never been sure if it was love at all, I do not know what it is like and how it should make us feel. All I know is that, once, I had been hung up on a guy, head over heels smitten, yet I knew if I were to grow up without him by my side, I’d be okay. I expected, wished it, even. On the other hand, I had also interacted with some friend of mine whose company I enjoyed so much I thought I’d keep him until the end of time, yet I never held any physical attraction towards him. At times I wonder if the latter had been love, but when he left, or when I knew he didn’t quite hold the same impression of me, I had been alright, and it was very easy to erase that picture of him on my older days beside me and replace it with Eddie Redmayne, some other friends I like the company of, or with nothing at all. I did not regret.

On my younger days, I had a terrible crush with whom I thought was my first love ever. Physical attraction, check. The wish to grow old with him, check. Only that he did not know I existed. And so, what I deemed was love was mostly days of despair and loneliness, instead of an infatuation room decorated with flowers and balloons and ballroom dancing. If it were so full of suffering, had it been love?

(Of course, when I look back, he was not an eligible candidate for being somebody anyone would grow up and old with. But I did not know that.)

Yet, this man who I just ended things with, claimed to have fallen in love with me from the first day we met. He told me he felt a certain kind of peace and serenity when he saw me, which I thought was a sign of me being his one, his lost rib. But queerly, I did not feel anything at all. Not for one second was I attracted to him, even though he was kind, patient, hardworking, and he had a vision of where he wanted to be in life (albeit unexciting), and he was sort of good looking as well. But I did not feel anything at all. Instead of the serenity he felt, when he came to me, I had always been uneasy; restless; unsure of life. So, I thought, if I was his one, his soulmate, the girl he had been looking for all his life, why wasn’t he my one, my soulmate, the person I had been looking for all my life? Is the concept of The One a one-way street? Shouldn’t it be two people finding each other, instead of one finding the other, yet the other feels so lost and insecure?

When he met me, he became more sure of life. When I met him, my life became more of a mystery, and not in a great sense either. I was terribly unhappy for the two months I knew him, because I was so afraid for my future; thinking from that moment on, I had to wake up with somebody I did not enjoy the company of, somebody I did not find interesting, somebody I was not attracted to at all, but somebody who loved me deeply and instantly, for the first time in my life, without conditions. And yet, even if he tried to fulfill the conditions I held for him to be my love, I could not love him for a bit. Did he truly love me, then? Did I love him also, but the twisted kind of love, the love which makes one so shaken and unsure of everything? If that was the case, can love really be so horrible?

My idea of love in a soul mate is so specific that I thought he didn’t qualify any of it, in which I did qualify for him. That in the presence of love, one feels serenity, compassion, selflessness. That it makes one’s anxiety and worries regarding the future vanish, while acknowledging that it will be a rocky road ahead. That with the blossom of love, life becomes pink-colored, yellow, blue, green, turquoise; iridescent. That with love, the relationship, despite being a hard one, will feel easy and lighter to walk on. And fundamentally, love grows us; it launches us into things we were always afraid to be; it does not hold us back. In the presence of love, we become the best version of ourselves.

And with that concept, which I did not find in him but he perhaps found in me, makes me wonder if there was an error in destiny, a glitch in the universe. Did our faulty roads cross because there has been some mistaken shift in the cosmos? To which he found me, when I felt I’ve lost a lot of possibility in my life. To which when I let go of him I felt life brighter, when maybe he felt he had lost his other half: is there some kind of error in the course of fate?

But is it possible?

I had been uninspired for the last year, but when he came into my life, I expected things to change. And they did change, only that it was in the way that I had become terribly stone-like in the heart and the mind. Which was atypical of me. I had become something that is of course me, but the worst sort of me that I had ever since fought tooth and nail not to become again.

But it wasn’t his fault. It was only because he was not right for me. And now I suspect that I was not right for him either, he just thought so, because he was in love with an illusion that chased him out of his nightmare. He was not in love with me.
I can say that for sure.

All while I still don’t know what love is like.

I guess, most of the time in life, we can know for sure what one thing definitely isn’t, while still searching for the ultimate answer of what one thing is, essentially. And for me, love matters is one that is rock solid in this category.

Maybe what I worry about is that I’ve expected too high from love, that in the future I will never encounter it again, in the form that I want it to be. I worry that after this decision, not even the love that I think I don’t deserve will present itself to me. I worry that maybe, this was the love I deserve, and nothing more.

I know, this sounds like a weak faith, if my friend would say, as if I have no roots whatsoever in my own belief. But, even so, I have realised that adulthood means doubting yourself and your views of the world, of the decisions you have made, from time to time, and feeling like we want to go back to the moment where we could choose otherwise. Doubts if you have made the right choice, only because you can not tell where that very decision takes you. And that is very normal. Everyone goes through it. The question is, how often and how chronically does one experience it?

Well, maybe, I do have a weak faith.

“He found you lost and guided you.” (Ad-Dhuhaa:7)

But there will be Him who will make me strong and find me, even deep in the jungle no man has ever been before.


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