Love and Betrayal

I am furious.  Underneath these realities I am hurt.  I can’t believe how started I am by the whole conversation.  Distancing myself, I am taking a real look at my frame of mind and where these feelings are coming from, but it wasn't until I was chatting over a glass of virgin mojito with my sister Ado at News Café Sarit that I had a real breakthrough.  She’s asking why it bothers me so much, asking me what word I would use to describe that darling affair, and flying out of my mouth is a word that has been hiding in the dark corners of my subconscious mind.  The word is betrayal.

“Betrayal,” I repeat in a murmur – like in a thought yet very tangible, palpable and sentimental – in a shout I say, "I feel Otile is totally betrayed!"  Fact is, Otile had been betrayed before and a second round is going to push him right over the cliff.  

The feelings of betrayal.  In an instant I start recounting all the moments in my life where I felt betrayed in a relationship, or where I had betrayed someone.  My heart begins to beat as my mind is saturated by an explicit memory.  A memory in which an ultimate betrayal had taken place in my life, a solid link between love and betrayal. 

There I was, seven years ago in campus sitting on the edge of my study table, eyes wet with self-pity.  Sheila had decided to recklessly transfer her 'unresolved feelings of lack of self-love' and that day my privacy was up for prying.  Scrolling through and taking screenshots of every chat that wasn't tidy enough as she judged. She found her way to my diary, my innermost thoughts and feelings, my artistic expression and my outlet for individualism and self-discovery.  I panicked.  Fully aware of what was about to transpire, I got lost in the moment. Word-perfect, she began to read the contents of my hidden feelings, cravings and dis-pleasures, disapproving me at every stop.  I bawled.  I begged.  I supplicated.  She read on.  In the moment I made a solemn decision, promising myself to never be that honest about my feelings and that love couldn't be trusted. 

Years have gone and my past still lingers, but today it is the story of Otile.

The later part of my response to Ado is overheard so clearly, the two couples seated by the window turn their head towards our direction. It is true these feelings have been suppressed deep into my intuitive mind, only resurfacing to be healed.  This is not an infatuation or a wildly rush decision at the thick of things since a few of my friends and family have brought to surface these emotions, from their casual unmeasured utterances.  Ado is sharing with me this story as a way to shine insight onto what it is that I need to provoke in Otile. Self-scrutiny, decision, and action after betrayal.  

Ado talks of love shared and genes unwanted. A thin, dark, short and ugly faced Otile. These words take me seven years back when Sheila held the same of me. Of effort unappreciated and marriage kept secret like bad omen. Of surplus options and undiscussed lifelong decisions. She talks of unwanted cultural practices and sterility.  And all these and many more is what takes me back to a web of bitterness and regrets, reminding me of the niceties of the moment like the sweetener in my mojito and makes vivid uncertainties that tag along a good innocent love decision. And so, I make a decision to speak.