Am I the only woman in the world who has dropped a man by another man in the middle of a supposedly romantic date?
Wait. Rephrasing it:
Am I the only woman in the world who has dropped a man by a dead writer – Ernest Hemingway, in this particular case – in the middle of a supposedly romantic date?
Please tell me I´m not ´cause I´m starting to feel alone. Not the “nobody loves me” kind of alone but the “I´d rather be by myself, with a book of Ernest Hemingway as company, than going through another boring, frustrating date” kind of alone.
-You know what´s wrong with you? You scare men. You´re too much of everything. Too beautiful, too intelligent, too accomplished, too straight forward, too strong, too passionate, too alive…too much! – That´s what my closest male, and female, well intentioned friends used to tell me in Egypt when I complained there were no interesting, sane, honest, intelligent and strong men available.
-Well…should I be less alive? Perhaps dead? Do you think they wouldn´t feel more comfortable in my presence then? – I´d ask, half jokingly.
The fact that I was – am – a very public Oriental Dancer didn´t help my case. But, truth be told, Western men, who enjoy the fame of being open minded, modern creatures (at least in comparison with their Middle Eastern peers), can´t handle it (me) either. They too get scared with a woman who´s not scared. Of them, of anything.
The problem(s) is (are):
- I am no common woman searching for a common man to keep her company. There´s plenty of company available, no need for more. I am an extraordinary woman searching for an extraordinary man who can match me; someone who feels inspired by me and inspires me; someone who respects my strength instead of trying to destroy it. If my life is amazing as it is, his presence has to make it even more so. Otherwise, I rather stay exactly as I am.
- My tolerance for empty talk, clichés, less than fireworks´ interaction with a potential partner/lover is bellow zero. I will – literally – leave him hanging on his own to go home and throw myself into a good book. Between an average man and a great book, I´ll always go for the second.
- I love my own company. In order to share my time with a man he has to add something valuable to my world. If he´s not an upgrade to the quality of the time I spend with myself – working, travelling, enjoying life -, he´s out of the picture.
- I´ve met a LOT of men in my life, from the worst to the best kind. I´ve worked with many; dated others; loved a handful; felt passionate or simply lustful about a few more. The curiosity for the male world and the thirst for testosterone are quenched. My interest can only be awakened by a truly EXTRAordinary Man.
- I´ve chosen my dance career over men several times; I´ve also chosen my dignity, freedom and peace of mind over men on other occasions. No regrets on this department and no willingness to act differently in the future.
- I´m not able to pretend I´m stupid when I´m not just to appease a man´s ego; not willing to make myself smaller in order not to scare him off; not willing to pretend I´m dependent, small and common to make him feel like “a man”; not willing to accept less than what – who – I know I deserve. Not willing to play The Game.
For these, and other, depressing reasons I publicly declare: I´m
screwed limited in the prospect of finding the love of my life. And I don´t mean the kind of guy whom I call my boyfriend, partner or husband because, you know, people are supposed underlive in a couple. I mean FIREWORKS-CAN´T LIVE WITHOUT EACH OTHER-LOVE OF MY LIFE kind of guy.
I, Joana Saahirah, confess:
I did it and not for the first time: I left my date hanging on his own so I could rush home and throw myself in bed with Ernest Hemingway. No apology or defense presented. Things, people and women who happen to be aLIVE, are like this.