But seriously, so what if my boyfriend got married last week? Am I supposed to die? Roll on the ground and cover my body in dust and sand? Write it on my forehead and rant on Twitter?
Well yes he did. And everybody seems to think I'm terribly "strong". Everyone says "Wow Nwando are you sure you're ok? Are you sure you're fine?". Mummy called and waited for the tears and when I changed the topic and started talking about food she wasn't sure how to proceed, her mind had already been prepared to deliver the 'Your own will come' speech. She struggled hard to find the reset button and it seemed to elude her so I ambled along, carried on the conversation for the both of us till she could find her tongue.
Why is it strange that I refuse to talk about it? Talk ill about him? Not appear interested at the mention of his name? Is it because you knew that I'd admitted to myself that I had fallen in love with him and just the day before I found out that he was wedding someone else in a couple of weeks, I'd planned to tell him this, tell him boo I love you, me being one to not know how to keep emotions to myself..?
Is it because you knew that although he never actually said it I'd had dreams of happy ever after?
Is it because you're aware that every time we had "the talk" he swore that he wanted me, for the long haul, the whole nine yards, and guaranteed 100% commitment, honesty and devotion?
Is it because you all said he treated me better than any other girl he had dated and you were there when his niece told me "my uncle is crazy about you, I've never seen him like this, please don't break his heart, I think he wants to marry you..."?
Is it because everyone knew he was frugal but strangely with me his hands were always open to give give and give, even when I didn't ask, and I rarely did ask?
Is it because he mentioned babies and "our" children?
Is it because that night he told me "Nwando you're a wonderful person and I want to be with you forever and ever and ever"? Ahn ahn, but I told you that he'd had quite a bit to drink, and I also told you he didn't remember any of it the next day.
Remember I also always said I had my doubts and each time he would come back to beg and beg and call you to beg and beg me, and you would call me to beg and beg and I would finally give in, only until the next ish.. And the begging and giving in cycle continued.
Yeah, I had my doubts and time and time again I tried to cut out, to let go but he never would let me be. Even less than a month before he wedded he did it again and I said I'm not doing again and he made those gestures and my heartstrings were pulled but this time I swore it was the last time and I said I wouldn't go back but like a moth to a flame his seeming sincerity, genuineness and brokenness over my decision confused me and convinced me that he must indeed want me and I was sucked back in, yet again. Damn, could that boy beg! But why beg so desperately when your wedding plans are already underway?
Yeah, barely days later I learnt that dude was practically married. LMFAO! I laugh in whatever dialect of igbo those Nsukka people speak.
So why aren't I bent and broken? Tarnished and twisted in pain and agony? Haunted by the images of our futures' aborted foetuses lying scattered around on the bloodied floor? Hurt by the lies and deceit? Burnt by the knowledge that while I held us sacred like the Holy Grail, he held me carelessly, like an outdated Nintendo game?
No, don't get me wrong it hurt real bad. The day I heard it I tried to drown the pain in a bottle of vodka but my pain wore a tightly secured life vest and it only floated over the surface, refusing to be sunk. The tears wouldn't stop flowing either, but they flowed only for a moment and a day. And that was it, that was all.
Because you see, there's something I realized while we were together; I'm the prize. No, don't think this is one of those motivational moments, one of those inspirational affirmations. No, this is fact, I was the prize. I discerned early on that I was worthy of more, that in spite of his financial comfort, I brought a lot to the table, that I brought and added value, that God would bless this man far beyond the way he was blessed BECAUSE of me. I knew that I was the prize and that when I said I wanted to leave he was right to beg, because even he knew that I am the prize.
And I don't hate him. He was a silly boy playing silly games that have him caught in an eternal web of regret, and I wish him well. I wish him well as he twists and turns and tries to claw his way out, but you know webs; sticky little buggers, they keep you trapped, try as you might but they're stuck on you like, well, webs!
It's I that I actually resent. Because I saw, I saw and saw and I knew and my instincts cried out. But silly me, rather than listen to them I chose to listen to the whiny voice of a grown man begging. Rather than stand firm and walk left I was seduced by the image on the right. Because, although I knew that left was a blank canvas, it was MY blank canvass, to paint in whatever colours I chose, the colours I wanted. Yet I allowed the image on the right seduce me; it wasn't a pretty picture, the painting was blurred, the work; like that of a drowsy amateur. But the frame was "interesting" and so I went to it. Who buys a picture because of the frame anyways? Well I did. Silly ol' me.
Why should I cry when I got on both knees asking God for a sign when day by day he himself showed me all the signs I needed to see? Is it his fault that he held up a great red flag, waving it frenetically before my eyes, yet I kept my eyes tightly shut, time and time again? It most certainly is not.
So while I understand why you must think that I'm strong, I wonder...
I was at a party when I got sent the wedding pictures by someone saying "Why is your man getting married to someone else?". My partner at the party never would have thought that barely days ago this was the man I thought I loved. Yes, if she knew, she would have indeed called me "strong". Actually she might have shed a tear or two because had she not gone on her knees and prayed that this year he would do the needful?
Still, don't call me strong like its some mighty thing I'm doing, in my shoes you wouldn't have any other option but to be STRONG.
The account can only be shared in vague fragments of bits and pieces because... Well, to tell it all would be to put in serious work, and ain't nobody got time for that! LOL, look out for the chapter in my biography.
*Last week isn't literal & boyfriend should read Ex, obviously...