Farewell my love

by RAF KATIGBAK

That’s it, it’s over. My love affair of 15 years has finally come to an end. In the end, she was a cold mistress, never forgiving. But she was always ready to pick me up when I was down, and that’s why I fell for her. Just as soon as she did, however, she’d drop me. It seemed confusing at the time, but in retrospect, I’m sure it was calculated. In pick-up artists’ terms, it’s called String Theory. I was like a cat and every time she would dangle herself in front of me, I would leap and have her for a moment, then she’d pull away and I’d come back for more.

But it wasn’t always so painful. I remember the first time we met. My mother of all people introduced us. She was from Colombia. Or was it Panama? I don’t remember exactly. I was just a kid, and while I clearly remember not being that impressed by her heritage, I knew she was special. Our love started innocently enough, a little flirtation here, a little visit there when my mother wasn’t around. But that small spark grew into a glowing ember one rainy spring when I was 16. April’s overcast skies gave way to May showers that seemed never to end. She was always nearby, so we would spend rainy days together reading by the window or watching droplets form until gravity eventually pulled them down, connecting the dots as they ran to the sill. That month curled up in my living room is when I really got to know her. Sometimes I would secretly get close just to breathe her in; her smell

was musky, almost spicy. Her colour, a beautiful creamy brown, seemed so inviting to touch, but I didn’t dare for fear of getting burned.

I had to be careful when I visited her. If I saw her too late, I would become agitated. I’d end up in bed staring at the ceiling, my heart beating. Sometimes I would stay up wondering what her country was like. How she got all the way to Canada and how funny it was we met. She’d travelled so far to get to me, I was convinced it was destiny. I dreamed about visiting her country, I wondered what kind of mysteries were hidden in the jungles, the plantations and what kind of place could have produced something so beautiful, so perfect.

But as a Maritimer once told me, “Love don’t last a carton of milk.” In the winter she would comfort me, but then quickly turn cold. I became obsessed. It seemed like no matter how much I had her, I only wanted more. I wanted to possess her. I wanted to see her, smell her, enjoy her taste all the time. If she wasn’t around, I’d run to the corner store or supermarket just to find her. It got to the point where I couldn’t function without her. I needed to have her first thing in the morning, in the afternoon to get through the day and at night before bed.

Soon it would come back at me. It became self-destructive. No sooner would I enjoy her than she would let me down. But I was addicted. It turned into a cliché from one those reality cop shows where they’d visit an abusive couple in a trailer park. The man, drunk in a stained wife-beater, the girl with a black eye she got from “falling down the stairs.” You wonder why, how could that woman keep going back when she knows he’ll just kick the crap out of her and treat her like shit. But if you’ve never been in a relationship like that, it’s impossible to understand. I understood. When you’re in it, you just don’t know better, or maybe you do know better but you’re holding on to the good moments and scared that you’ll never find someone to bring you back there. Or maybe you’re just a glutton for punishment. For whatever reason, you just keep coming back. Sometimes, it was like a rollercoaster—the highs were insane and the lows seemed bottomless. When it all came crashing down, as it always did, I would be left hating myself and wondering why.

But that’s it. After a decade and a half, it’s time to break the cycle. I’ve had enough distance to realize that our relationship has been self-destructive and based on a sick dependency. So I’m ending it cold turkey. Right now, in public. I’m sorry coffee, you were delicious for a while but now you’ve gotta go. I’m switching to decaf.

Riff-Raff@sympatico.ca