Learning to lose

It's not that I intended to fall in love with a married man being married myself, and weighing the fact that he was two years younger than I and a co-worker. I definitely did not seek it, anyone who knew my husband would second that thought, and further impress that it would be a very stupid and suicidal thing to do. I definitely tried to resist it, but it was just too wonderful, the feelings it brought in me, I forgot they existed. I didn't know it was still possible to feel this way; can you be in love with two people at the same time? I didn't know, but I knew that I couldn't turn my back on the sun; I never could learn how to do that.

I was returning from a visit to my husband at the prison when I got the call to come for an interview as soon as available, I was tired, but excited at the idea of getting this job with an NGO, at having another focus in my life besides dealing with my husbands tantrums and playing the role of secretary, messenger, and phone sex operator twenty four hours a day. Excited to get out of the house, and lead a somewhat normal life… at least eight hours of them anyway.

It happened the moment he opened the door, my heart caught in my throat, and I couldn't speak, we stared at each other for what seemed like forever, but in reality was only a few seconds. Where the hell did he come from? I guess there has been some new blood flowing in Ramallah within the past two years that I've been under house arrest. I barely made it through the interview, but I did manage to learn that he is newly married and an Israeli Palestinian, ah that explains it, so far I counted two obstacles against us, besides my own marriage. Still, I didn't think much of it, I would have behaved the same if it was a beautiful woman, I have an appreciation of beauty, I respect it, I stand in awe for it, and I strive for it. But it is when I found myself thinking of him in bed that night that I became worried, and began hoping I don't get the job. Unfortunately I didn't hope hard enough, they called me the next day, telling me I start Monday.

It's fascinating to me how fast we became friends, and how fast our days began to revolve around each other. We'd spend every available free moment together, and every free moment apart we’d spend talking on the phone. He'd call me on his way to work, he'd call me anytime he steps out of the office, during his drive home to his family we’d talk for hours, even when I go to the prison to visit my husband he'd call and keep me company, and when I was suffocating under the pressure of dealing with my husband and his family's daily demands he would take care of me.

I was still refusing in my mind to think of it as anything more than a friendship, an infatuation at most. I would keep the conversation light, and make a point to mention his wife every now and then, maybe guilt was the reason, I never mentioned my husband though, I felt he had no place in this.

I don't remember how much actual work I did at that time, but everyone was happy with me, so couldn't have been too bad, most of the day we'd hang out in the conference room, or outside, sometimes he'd take me for a drive, I would cover up my face in fear of being recognized by someone, but then we decided that gets even more attention so gave up on that and gave in to chance. We never really declared anything to each other during that time, what would be the point? Once in a while he would tell me he missed me, and then that turned into, I wish I met you first. But mostly it was what wasn't said that made me happy. And I was happy. Ridiculously happy and content with this level of a relationship, more than I'd been in any other in my life. Why? Hard to say really, Its all about what you need at that point in your life I suppose, and maybe has a little to do with my theory about unrequited love which is that love that can never be, can never be destroyed, it remains pure forever, a perfect memory. And that is how I thought of him, perfect.

We had more than one chance for sex; but we never took it. Actually the opportunity came by so often it was almost funny, and its not that we didn't want to, it was just that neither one of us had the heart. During one of our organization workshops, he took a room in the hotel the workshop was taking place and we’d spend twenty four hours a day together, working and sleeping, watching TV, playing cards, talking, then sleeping some more wrapped around each other like a couple of puppies. And again we never thought twice about it, or discussed the irony or impropriety of what we were doing. I think if something would have happened, it would have all been ruined, I would have lost respect for him and for myself, but for some reason, at this level, it was okay.

Naturally, during this time, my relationship with my husband changed considerably. At first, I was meeker than ever if that was even possible; I went above and beyond trying to make up for feeling guilty. Eventually however the "emotional affair" was having an opposite effect on me, I began to see myself in a different light. The veil he spent three years laying over my eyes was lifting, and I was beginning to see what everyone else already knew, that he was in fact trying to break me down, emotionally more that physically. I took a long look in the mirror one night, and tried to see through his lies, tried to remember who I was, and who I wanted to be. And I realized something: I can be loved. I deserve to be loved. There is nothing wrong with me, of course I can find someone who will love me, maybe not the way he does, but how is that working out anyway? It became clear to me that I was not to blame for the way things played out, we both made mistakes, still I made a choice everyday he walked out that door to trust him. And, while he has done so many horrible things to me, I don't see him staying up sleepless nights beating himself up?

That was the moment I stopped caring.

I still continued to do everything that was in my job scope as a wife to do, but with no feeling. It was no longer a matter of life and death for me if he didn't get the color training suit he wanted. I no longer broke into a million pieces upon hearing the hints of sadness in his voice. I no longer cared to hear his feed back on how I am treating him and if he is feeling the secure, loving, fuzzy feelings he wanted from me. My patience had ended, and what do you know if all that was holding us together was my patience?

Our fights were going to the extreme, and I was no longer holding them back, I wanted them to self destruct, each time I pushed and pushed wanting to reach the limit, where I can say: "That's it. Its over". But, It wasn't as easy as I had imagined, even with all the anger and resentment in me, the fear was much greater, fear of the unknown, it's been so long since I've been alone, and is the world really better on the other side? Was being single really that great?? What if I regret this, what if I miss him? These thoughts would stay in my head as we fought and stopped me from saying what I intended to say, until finally, one day, without warning, I ended it. I just couldn't take it anymore, I couldn't cry anymore, couldn't beg anymore, couldn't bear the humiliation, I simply couldn't stand to look at myself from the outside and see this pathetic creature I've become. And so, I stopped crying, and very calmly told him, "I'm leaving you", I then very matter of factly, hung up the phone and quite casually unplugged it from the socket. That was it, the moment the decision was made, and I knew I couldn't go back, just like I knew how much he hated to have the phone slammed in his face… God, he's going to kill me.. but I don't really have to care about that anymore.

That night, I told my family what I decided. I saw them smile for the first time in months, my mother was more than happy to take his belongings and drop them off at his family's home. My father told me that he was proud of me, my sister hugged me, and although she still hasn't forgiven me for abandoning her and cutting her out of my life, she was still there for me. Plans were being made, and escape routes were being ironed out.

"We are dealing with a psycho" my mom liked to say, "We need to think like one". I on my part felt like things were moving too fast, beyond my control, as if my decision had all of a sudden developed a life of its own, and was moving me instead of the other way around, while in my mind, I was still stuck with my husband in the prison, feeling familiarly guilty, with thoughts of regret racing through my head: he must be so sad, he must be going crazy not being able to reach me, is it too late to apologize? Maybe I acted too quickly..

I couldn't help but have doubts, and I hate doubts. But very quickly these doubts faded when I had a visit from his family. Father, brother and sister, a family reunion, each I hated for different reasons, and each helped reaffirm my decision in their own special way. The leader: his mother, a.k.a the source of all that is evil, I didn't hate her as much as pitied her, in the way that pity sometimes can turn to hate.

They did not come in peace, or with an offering or even attempt at understanding. They came bearing threats: “SHE IS OUR DAUGHTER!”, “SHE CANNOT LEAVE THE COUNTRY!”, “WE ARE THE PALESTINIAN AUTHORITY!”, “WE WANT HER PASSPORT!” Are they kidding? It took all I had not to laugh. My father however, always the diplomat, calmed them down, told them I am entitled to 40 days of peace in my fathers home, and then we will talk about things and hopefully everything will be fine. I wondered what he was up to, but I knew better than to talk when my father was working a crowd, so I sat down and kept my mouth shut.

Immediately after they left, he was on the phone with the head of intelligence agency in Ramallah, thirty minutes later the head of the intelligence agency was in our home, drinking a cup of coffee, smoking a cigarette with me and my dad, and staring at me wondering why the hell I was there, and how dare I rudely sit in on the all male meeting, but I wasn't about to move when it is was my life under discussion, and my father didn't have a problem, so I stayed.

Finally after listening to the story, he shook his head, and in the most authentic Arab manner proceeded to wave his arms, jump up and down, push out his shoulders and do basically everything but bang on his chest and scratch his head: "No problem, just pick a day, I will make sure the guards on the exit are my people, she can leave anytime you want don't worry about anything Mamoun, we Berwaee’s stick together, in the meantime, this is my pager number, and this is a weapon only to be used if something serious comes up and I can't be reached". My father takes the gun and hands it over to me, the man begins to object. My father shuts him up, "I'm not worried about myself I am worried about my daughter, she knows how to fire a gun, and I've raised them all to know how to protect themselves". I took the gun, thinking this is a bit paranoid, even for my family, I didn't think it was necessary, nobody is going to risk their life for that idiot, nobody but me, but that's over now. But, as usual my mother had already came up with a list of all the horrible ways he can reach me, kill me, disfigure me, kidnap me (she watches a lot of murder mysteries) she was successful enough however, that I decided to sleep with the gun that night.

Besides the drama, my parents' enthusiasm was exciting, they made jokes, huddled together in every corner, whispering, making phone calls, planning what they have been waiting three years to do. In a disturbing kind of way, it was nice to see. The possibility of causing harm to someone who has harmed us always seemed to cheer my family up and bring us together in a very special way. And, I loved to watch them together, a team, “Us” against the world, even against their own children at times, why can't I find that??

Later that night, I sat alone on our balcony, looking out at the night. I've left Palestine many times in my life, but never by force, never like this, not knowing when or if I can come back, it wasn't a good feeling, this is my home, and my heart was breaking more than it ever broke for any man. I looked around me, and let my sentimentality get the best of me.. It was so beautiful; I loved night in Ramallah, I didn't want to leave. I loved living here; I loved knowing every corner, and every secret hiding place. I loved having my memories replay in front of me at every turn, the certainty of running into someone you know wherever you go. I loved having my aunts walk into our house unannounced every Friday with delicious foods. I loved walking in to the garage every now and then and catching our dog entertaining her latest lover, I loved informing my dad who would freak out, call her a slut and put her on the roof of the house for a week until he is sure she is sorry enough. I loved waking up every morning to the heavy paw steps of my cat, wanting to play, I loved calling my mom at work with nothing to say only to bother her and have her hang up on me, I loved going to our only mall, sit outside, knowing that sooner or later someone I know will walk by and sit with me, I loved shopping in Ramallah, fighting all the old ladies for everything and winning, no mercy. I love the Summer time when my family comes home from wherever they are dispersed in the world, and it is one huge dramatic barbeque for three months, I love the weather, always perfect, even when it is not, I love my family, my father's continuous daydreaming and crazy schemes, my mothers never ending nagging, I love my work. I even love our annoying Palestinian boys and men who spend all their time in the 'Manara', hoping for a fight or a chance at love, whichever comes first, with nothing better to do than tell you how your ass is looking today. I need them, whose going to be so honest with me otherwise?? I don't want to go, everything I love is here, why do I have to leave??

My father walked in at that moment. He sat down across from me, and we both faced the open space. "Your leaving tomorrow night to Jordan, you can stay there two days, buy a ticket to wherever you want in the world, take a vacation, then Amin will be expecting you in New York" he said all this quietly and without looking at me. I jumped up, I couldn't be quiet anymore: "Dad no!! Its too soon, I am not ready, I'll leave next week".

He continued with the same tone of voice: "You'll leave tomorrow. You'll never be ready, the longer you stay, the more you’ll think, and the more likely you'll get hurt, your mother and I are too old for this".

I went quiet, thinking how can I pick up my life and leave in a day? What am I going to tell Ahmad? My sister? even my cat?? Tears started to form in my eyes.

"I know what your thinking" my dad continued carefully.

"No you don't", I said, crying now.

"Yes I do, I always do, your turning everything into a melodrama in your head, everything is moving in slow motion and your thinking about that guy, the one you work with", I looked up at him, how does he always know???

"Yeah I know, I notice these things, its okay, but it’s a good thing you're getting away from him too, you need a fresh start, you don't need to be caught up in something like that, and do you have idea the damage that will take place when your husband comes out?? You know him better than any of us, is there a chance he will not put up a fight? Is there a chance he will not destroy everything with him?"

"No", I said with a sigh, that much I knew for sure.

"Then you know what to do.. I just don't understand summer, your so beautiful, your so smart, you write, your creative, you can do anything you want in the world, why are you so stupid with these things?????"

I didn't have the words or time to explain my rationalization system, so I just said:" I wish I can find someone, and be like you and mom, you guys are so great together, you love each other, its.. its amazing".

My dad started to laugh at this point:" really, you think so?? You should have seen us 27 years ago when we first got married, fighting all the time, your mom.. she's great, but she's stubborn, like you actually …too much, used to make me crazy… let me tell you something, when me and your mother first got married and were living in America, we got into a really bad fight, and I hit her …

Somehow that didn't surprise me.

"… She locked herself up in the bathroom, I got sick of waiting for her to get out, fell asleep, the next day, she was gone. A few hours later, police were on my door, not even the regular police .. immigration". He started to laugh "She told them that I was a child molester, they took me in, took away my papers and threw me in jail. I was in jail for three months waiting to be deported back to Palestine. Everyday I tried to call her and send her letters, I wanted to kill her, but finally she came to see me, and forgave me, withdrew her accusation and we had to pay a hell of a lot for a false claim like that.. But since then, I never even got close to thinking about hitting her again."

We were laughing at this point "Oh my God, why don't I know this?"

"I don't know, we don't talk about it much. But that is what I am trying to explain to you, things don't have to be perfect or great or even fine to be "good", they just have to be right, and you can never let go of your principles, some things are just wrong, and it doesn't matter how much you think you love someone, you stick to your beliefs and if they don't like it, they are not for you".

I knew it was pointless, I knew these things can't ever be explained, but I asked anyway, just in case: "Yeah, I know dad, but how did you know that it was different, that it was going to get better??”

"Well, I thought about it, no matter what there is going to be fighting and things are going to be bad and hard, they will also be good times, and I imagined who I'd like to have beside me during the good times, and it was your mom, and as for the bad times, it was her too, because if it was going to get this bad anyway, it is better to fight with someone you love. Someone who will take you back, forgive you and hold you anyway when all is said and done."

"Yeah, I guess”, I responded automatically.

"Another thing, you don't have to change yourself for the one you love. You might have to compromise a few things, sacrifice some things, but never have to change who you actually are, you give your love the way you know how to give it, and the person who accepts it and treasures is for what it is, that's a person worth loving."

I didn't have much to say to that. It was common sense. Any idiot knows this, why was it so hard to actually implement??? So I just let out a heavy sigh, blowing my hair away from eyes.

Finally my father finished off, his voice lower now: "Listen… I don't want you to go, but the drama that is going to happen now, will be even worse with you around, not to mention that your aunts and everyone we know will be trying to remarry you before the ink is dry on your divorce papers, you need to get away, its best for everyone.."

Tears were streaming down my fathers face at this point, and it broke my heart that the few times I've seen him cry in my life, were because of me.

"I understand dad, its okay.. " my voice shook, "Dad, I'm sorry.. for everything I put you guys through.." but I couldn't finish my sentence without breaking into a sob.

"Don't be sorry, this is life, you have to learn. I love you and I wish from all my heart you didn't have to go, but there is nothing to do. But I want you to promise me; don't ever bring someone like this to us again. I have always been free with you, go out, date.. date twenty men, I don’t care, because I know your smart and I can trust you. But, when it comes to what you bring home to your family you better think a hundred times, we can't go through this again, next time we will just have to shoot the next guy down before he can lean in for a handshake".

He started laughing, another one of his dumb jokes that I chose not to get. We stayed there for a while hugging and crying. It will be the last time we will get to talk alone for some time.

The next day I was somber. I had come to terms with my leaving. I was going to make the best of it, I was going to forget and I was going to be happy or die trying. I smiled as I walked into the office; that is until I saw his face. I tried to avoid him in the morning, but by afternoon he was hovering around my office, and I knew it was a matter of time before he confronted me. So I went and sat in the conference room and waited for him.

He walked in a few minutes later, he handed me a cup of coffee, sat down on the table in front of me, and smiled, "What? Are you mad at me or something??" I didn't smile, I looked up at him and said: "Can I tell you something?”, immediately his expression turned serious, he straightened his position and tilted his head forward. This is why I adored this kid, and I couldn't help but smile, he’s so childishly optimistic, have I really been through so much or is two years a really big age difference between men and women these days? Was that part of the charm? It would explain why I think of him in terms of a puppy. "I'm leaving, the country, I can't be here when my husband comes out, and my parents believe the sooner I leave the better, so I am leaving tonight, I will be picking up my paycheck and that's it for me." I laughed at the end of that statement, I knew I shouldn't, but it was so overwhelming to say, I had no choice, it was either laugh or cry, and I did not want to cry. I looked up for his reaction. First shock, then sadness, he moved from the table to the chair, and had the look of an abandoned puppy printed all over his face. "You can't leave, you’re the only reason I come to work in the morning". What can I say to that?? Nothing really, so I don't. We sat their in silence for fifteen minutes, finally I decided someone needs to tell a joke, but that wasn't a good idea, he looked at me with blaming eyes and I shut up. Another fifteen minutes go by, I couldn't take it anymore "Ahmad, I am sorry, I am going to miss you, but what else can I do?", I stood behind him, bent over and wrapped my arms around his shoulder, then ran my fingers up and down his stomach, a habit I've picked up when I met my husband, then I played with his hair, I liked the fact that he would always allow me to mess it up, even though it was covered with gel, my husband used to freak out if I ruined his perfect hair. I then turned to leave, this funeral has to end sometime, he grabbed my hand still sitting in his chair, he looked up at me and said: "I love you". My heart sank, this wasn't the time, should I respond? Do I love him? I didn't know what I was feeling anymore. So I played it safe, "I know you do, thank you". I walk out, I say good bye to everyone, take my check, and hope that he doesn't follow me. He does, but only to the door, his eyes are red at this point, I pretend not to notice, and I give him a long hug. He looks at me and smiles: "Will you call?" I shook my head "Email?" I shook my head again: No. "Why add fuel to the flame?”

That night, I left.

My heart was collapsing in my chest over and over and over again every step of the way, for a million different reasons, I didn't know who to think of and when; do I think of my family, my father, my home, my husband, my best friend, my pets, my bed, my past, my future, how can a heart bear to say goodbye to everything they've ever loved all at once? How is it that all of a sudden my life with my husband didn't seem like such hell in comparison to the empty road extended before me?? How do you move on when you are so close to breaking apart?? Where exactly does a human being go from here, besides the darkest deepest part of their mind, carrying the memory of everything that has ever meant shit to them, digging a hole and burying it, then walking away and not looking back? That is the only way, to keep going and stop the pain of loss from tearing you apart. And, that is what I did, only remembering to add a white mark on that grave, for the future, for the day when I hope to be able to think of everything I’ve loved without being paralyzed with the pain, without crying and without having my heart crushed automatically with the weight of these twenty four years. That was my mission riding the bus through Jericho, crossing the Israeli Jordanian Bridge, and taking a cab to my hotel. Lying in my hotel room in Jordan, twelve hours later, staring at the ceiling, smoking a cigarette, my mission was completed. Finally safe, finally free, last of my memories repressed and pain tucked away, I decided it was time to get dressed and go looking for some trouble.