I keep on falling

I was 5 years old when I first fell in love.

Walking around the classroom looking for a pink crayon (not a lot has changed) I tripped on a chair leg and fell face-first onto the shiny floors, in front of my whole kindergarten class.

I can’t actually remember if I got hurt, but I immediately started crying out of extreme embarrassment, deep down accepting that I had just ruined the only chance of looking cool in front of the boys for at least another 13 years.

Then came my prince charming: this handsome five year old with gorgeous curly hair and green eyes who helped me up, gave me a hug and offered me a piece of his banana-flavored gum. I literally fell in love.

I wiped away my tears with my sleeve, split my gum in half with him and shoved the other half in my mouth. It tasted what I imagine love would taste like: sweet with a hint of scandalous misdemeanor. After all, chewing gum in class was the highest form of offense you could commit as a 5 year old – thinking back, that’s probably where my infatuation with the whole ‘bad-boy’ thing comes from. Wow… look at us discovering my unhealthy habits together!

Since then, I’ve fallen in and outta love numerous times. It didn’t take very long for my mom to realize I was a love junkie.

“You’ve known this boy for like 5 minutes, you can’t already be in love!”

“Different?” she interrupts mockingly…

This conversation has reincarnated itself through many heartbreaks over the last 2 decades. I don’t dare use the word “different” anymore. I learned early on that it’s a trigger word and that it is void of any meaning. It’s also an easy way to avoid the whole “I told you so” thing that moms do that is soooo annoying.

It still stings a little when my mom tells me that I’ve fallen too fast for a man. As a teenager, I’d slam my door, dramatically fall onto my bed (face-first) crying my eyes out, listening to sad Persian songs on my walk-man. As I listened to love songs from the 80’s, I wondered why love had to be so painful and how come no one could understand how I felt or what I was going through?

Thankfully, I’ve found a healthier way to cope these days: and no, I still can’t really afford therapy, but I’ve found a balance: I talk to my girlfriends over vodka sodas as we analyze how fucked-up we are (hot tip: when you have so many issues to plow through it’s best to go for an option with the least amount of calories, otherwise the standard gin and tonic will do); and then I come home and write about my findings. Very Freudian.

Turns out, I’ve been obsessed with the idea of love ever since I tasted that sweet, banana-flavored, sticky, chewy gum. I read about it, write about it and my mind is constantly preoccupied by the whole notion. I have been fascinated and perplexed by how it works and the way it makes me feel and act. One single act of kindness while I’m in a vulnerable situation, and I will promise to move mountains for you. One magical evening spent, and I will freely tell you my heart beats to the rhythm of your smile. One little peek into your soul and your insecurities and the flame in my heart will burn down all the red flags that you’re hiding, and next thing you know I’ve sponsored your ass to come live with me in a different country and we’re in a miserable marriage – all in the name of love.

Part of turning 30, going through a divorce and living on your own for the first time, is truly accepting who you are as a person. Clearing out the guilt built up through years of a Middle Eastern/Muslim upbringing and being patient, kind, and happy with yourself and the choices you’ve made is a great first step (but I’m not a registered therapist… so what do I know?). I’ve come to accept that I fall fast and deep in love, the same way I’ve come to accept that I’m an unorganized, messy person. I’d like to think it’s part of my charm – no matter how many times my mom blames my laziness. But this newly found confidence in describing myself as a hopeless romantic has given me the power to control the otherwise unruly and groundless beast that is love.

If I can’t control falling in and out of love, maybe I can control how I go about it! Maybe I can convince myself that he is indeed not that different than the guys that came before him. Maybe desperately wanting to save him from his tragic past is me falling into the same old patterns and toxic behavior that has left me with so many unsuccessful relationships. There must be a better way to go about loving someone, and I’m on a mission to find out! I’m going to stop over-analyzing, and trying to ‘figure you out’.

I am going to try a new approach – prolonging this achingly exquisite feeling for as long as I can. I will be patient with him as we slowly uncover one mystery at a time, dipping our toes in and enjoying the refreshing feeling of it all. I will not dive into it this time. I will be patient with him and with myself – because this one is a specially-flavored, adventurous kinda love that I’d like to celebrate – sans tears.