When my husband and I separated after 20 years of marriage and four children, I thought I was free from relationships. He was a womanizer, a drunk, a gambler. He’d go out of town with one of his girlfriends on weekends and come back like nothing happened. If I tried to call, his cell phone would always be off. When his mother died during one of his trips, he almost missed the burial.
After a while, I developed a friendship with a woman who was sympathetic, loving and nice. She didn’t ask for anything except my company. I was never attracted to women in a sexual way, but soon, we were lovers.
For the next three years she was perfect. We were happy and I thought this was forever. Then, she started lying —little excuses to go out for a forgotten errand, a sudden trip out of town, cell phone calls that were answered in whispers, bills for stuff I never saw. She and I became my husband and I all over again.
We’re now separated, but not without ending it horribly. I was stupid to think that having a female lover would be any different! I thought we’d read each other’s thoughts and feelings and be perfect. I didn’t change, I was still me. But she acted like any other horrible man in the end.
You cannot blame your lot and accuse her of acting “like any other horrible man!” You haven’t met the few who may be really nice. You’ve just been given lemons, twice.
When meeting a man, or woman, for the first time, there’s no manufacturer’s guarantee that they’ll turn out to be who they say they are. What’s inherent in them just has to be revealed, as you would peel an onion as you flow along, and not be surprised by the worm or rot embedded in it.
So you’ve had both genders and both brought you grief. Shouldn’t the moral of the story be not to rely on anybody to make you feel good?
As this passage from a poem goes:
“So you plant your own garden and decorate your own soul,
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers.
And you learn that you really can endure…
That you really are strong,
And you really do have worth.
And you learn and learn…
With every goodbye you learn.”
E-mail the author at emarcelo @inquirer.com.ph or firstname.lastname@example.org