I’ve
heard it said that the oppressed make the worst oppressors.
I
never ever thought the day would come when I thought of myself as an
oppressor, and yet, here we are.
Ten years. That’s how long it took to season what may have been my
greatest love.
I
didn’t fall in love with him… I grew in love with him, which I
think is a dangerous kind of way to love, because it’s a love that
is near-impossible to uproot.
He
liked me. And, while I enjoyed the attention of him liking me, I was
too busy growing in love with him to truly like him back. I loved
him; he didn’t love me back. He liked me in that way that boys
sometimes like girls: for their pretty faces and the way they smile.
He didn’t have the time to grow in love with my soul like I was
trying to grow in love with his.
I
loved him, I eventually learned to be happy just loving him, and I badly wanted him to love me, too. I
convinced myself that if only I just kept on loving him, he would
eventually see how no one could possibly love him like that and he
would then come to love me, too.
Except,
love doesn’t quite work that way. For starters, no matter the intensity of your feelings for someone, it’s quite laughable to
think that only you could feel that intensely. Second, while your
actions could possibly have an influence, your feelings for someone have absolutely no bearing on how that person feels about you if it
doesn’t come from them. Sometimes, if you’re lucky, the least you’ll get
is gratitude.
I
loved him, intensely.
On
the best of days, he barely tolerated me. I then came to realise that
no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make him love me, so I gave up
trying. He didn’t love me, I had made my peace with it, I wish that
meant that I would stop loving him, but I didn’t, I kept on loving
him.
Actually,
no, I do not wish I had stopped loving him as soon as I realised he
would never love me back, because that would make my love rather
fickle, and I can’t bear to think of myself as someone whose affection is fickle.
He
taught me to love. Without reservation, without expectation...to
just love. I loved him despite myself, I loved him in spite of himself,
and I loved him beyond reason. I was grateful how this
experience had taught me how to love. I didn’t for one second think
it had or would ever have an influence on whether or not I knew how
to be loved.
All that love for the man who didn’t
love me back meant I never got to prepare for the man who loved me
just as much as I had loved. What this meant was, I now found, when
love was given to me as freely and abundantly as I had given it to my
unrequited love, I didn’t quite know how to receive it. That I knew
what it felt like to have loved so desperately, one would have
thought I’d know how to reciprocate when I was in the position of the
one loved. But no,I have hurt some wonderful people
because I felt they loved me too much. Me, who had believed there
could never be such a thing as too much love, felt I couldn’t
breathe, because someone thought the world of me. Me, who knew how
easy it was to think the world of someone...but also how difficult
it was.
I had learned how to give love, even when it wasn’t
wanted, but not how to receive it. I had instead learned how to tell
love it wasn’t wanted, I had instead learned how to tell it, that it, love, was
too much. I had come to believe I was difficult to love, therefore
something must be wrong with someone who loves me too much, too
effortlessly. Because my love had been rejected, I rejected love when it was given me.
My
greatest lesson in love has been nothing but a
‘hopefully’; hopefully, someday he’ll see I’m the one, the
one who has always loved him, and hopefully, someday I can be the one
he always loves. My greatest lesson in love has been that I am capable of giving of
myself, even when I had absolutely nothing left to give. My
greatest lesson in love, has been one I was unable to show to myself,
because I see now, that to truly know love, is to allow oneself to be loved.
I
understand now, that while it is quite possible to love everyone who
loves you (because love begets love), it is not possible to match the
intensity of everyone’s love, in the same way everyone you love
cannot match the intensity of your love. I wish I could say my
reflection has brought me answers. I wish I could say, with
certainty, what you are supposed to do when someone loves you just a
little too much, but I cannot.
All I can say is that I have gone from
someone who was hurt because she loved someone who wished she didn’t,
wouldn’t love him, to someone who wished someone else didn’t, wouldn’t love her.
The oppressed make the worst oppressors? I don’t think we ever
truly know better. The best we can hope for, is learn and strive to
do better. We hope to be better than the people who hurt us and not
hurt others, but we realise it’s easier to keep from hurting
people, when there is no one putting his or her heart out, taking the
risk of you hurting them, enduring pain, in the same way you did,
because like you, they have loved.
Because like you, they have chosen
to hold on, for a lifetime, to a love that was meant to be for a
season.
About the writer
Mimi Mwiya, 27, works as an administrative officer at a non-governmental organisation in Windhoek, Namibia. She writes about her life experiences in her spare time. Mimi is a new and budding Namibian writer. If you want to give her encouragement to continue writing after reading the story above, please comment in the section below or e-mail bookbuddynamibia@gmail.com .
Beautiful, authentic. As always
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