Can this paramour become a housewife? I could have been—twice. I often wondered what my life would have been like if I would have married “The One Who Was Legally Blind” or “The One Who Proposed in Bed”.
Maybe I could have been a mother by now. Maybe we would have been happy. Maybe it would have saved me from the train wreck known as my love life. Maybe I wouldn’t be sleeping in bed alone at night. Maybe things would have been different. Maybe. Maybe not. Half of marriages end up in divorce anyway.
“The One Who Was Legally Blind”
I met him through a high school friend. He was a few years older than me. We talked on the phone for a while and eventually met in person. He was decent man and a good influence. He even convinced me to read the Bible for a little while.
(It was around the time I wanted to denounce religion but was too afraid of what others would have thought.)He wanted to become a preacher and I read it to oblige him.
He proposed to me a few weeks later. A lot of people thought it was too soon. My parents did not want me to marry him because I was young (I was 18) and my mother was concerned that his handicap could worsen someday. She did not want me to feel burdened and I understood why. My brother is mentally challenged and although she loves him very much, she had to sacrifice a lot to take care of him. It’s a 24 hour job. And the beautiful thing about this is that she wouldn’t have traded him for the world. I wouldn’t either. She’s such a strong woman. *tear* Gosh, I’m such a crybaby. Anywho…
A few weeks later, I fell in love. I never felt such a feeling before in my life. “The One Who Was My First Love” and I were so drawn to each other. He became my sun, moon, stars, morning dew, yin to my yang, etc. You know how it is when you’re a teenager. Everything feels so intense and meant to be and you can’t see anything or anyone else beyond it. I knew what I had to do. I had to break up with “Blind”.
I broke up with “Blind”a few weeks later. It was the hardest thing that I’ve ever done. He was crying. I was crying. I gave his ring back and he threatened to throw it out the window. I begged him not to. I don’t know why I pleaded. It wasn’t my place to do so. He pulled into a pawn shop, sold the ring, and drove me home. I’m glad that he was such a stable person. My crazy ass would have crashed the car into a cliff if my fiance decided to break off our engagement.
“First Love” and I broke up 6 months later. He returned to his home state. I was devastated. I finally knew how “Blind” felt; I lost someone I loved so desperately. Karma was a bitch and she bent me all the way over to teach me a lesson! “First Love” married his first love shortly thereafter. We’re all friends and they have three beautiful children together. He’s actually turned out to be a better friend than boyfriend. No offense dude.
“The One Who Proposed in Bed”
I met “Bed” in my early college years. I always had a thing for indigenous men and finally met one. He was soft-spoken and kind. *whispers* But he didn’t wear deodorant. My friends found this hilarious. My nose didn’t but he was a great guy and I overlooked it. He was from Nigeria and a Muslim. I did not care about the fact that he was a Muslim but I felt awkward when he prayed towards Mecca as I just sat there or left the room. I always wondered if that offended him.
He sorta proposed to me. There was no ring was involved. We just finished having sex and out of nowhere he asked me to marry him. I don’t know if he proposed because the pussy felt extra nice that day or if he needed a green card. I was taken aback by it. I declined. I learned my lesson from hurting “Blind.” I said that we didn’t know each other well enough to take that kind of plunge. He never brought up the subject again.
We somehow drifted apart. I believe it was around the time when I began showing interest in “Lied”. (My wandering eye came around to fuck shit up—again.) But we reconnected and messed around a few times. He got married somewhere in between but neglected to tell me. I found a wedding souvenir in his car. Being young and crazy, I wrote in the memo pad and dished all the details of our bumping and grinding. Childish? Yes. I think he found it. He called and told me that it wasn’t him. He claimed it was a friend who shared the same name. Come on! I would have believed that if his name was John Smith but you’re Nigerian and your name is unique as they come. Naija please!
Sometimes, I just have to laugh at life. I tell my best friend all the time that I’m going to be single, childless, and a crazy cat lady. She tells me not to say that but I can’t imagine myself married. I can’t even be a good girlfriend. I dilated my wandering eye, became pessimistic and jealous, waited for the other shoe to drop and/or found myself attracted to emotionally unavailable men.
Can anyone can honestly say with a straight face that there is someone out there for someone like me? Am I too exhausting, damaged, and complex to love or be loved? Do I even deserve love? Maybe these 2 dodged a hollow tipped bullet. I probably would have blown their lives into smithereens.