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Imperfectly Perfect

by Aidhan (10/7/2006)

Imperfectly Perfect

I never really appreciated all that a mutual feeling of romantic passion between a man and a woman entailed—until recently. I had no idea of its beginning; how it came to be and what brought about such a relationship; no idea of the responsibilities it would give me. Neither did I have the slightest idea that at the time of our first meeting, this particular Turk would be the one who would receive all that my entire being could give.


I was a novice of romantic love; I faced all its hardships with an innocent heart and a struggling will. Everything was new to me. Every ounce of passion and love overwhelmed me; singeing a lifetime of precious memories in my mind, thawing arrogance and ignorance along the way. Eventually, I came to understand the rules by which I must play this ever-changing process of nurture and growth. These rules were thoughtfully and lovingly—though unknowingly—set by a man who was not originally a part of my plans in life.


A young Turkish man touched my life in more ways than one. He proved to be the most valuable to me through his humility and honesty; his patience and understanding; his smiles and laughter; his tears and sadness; his sincerity, his gentleness, and his love. His humility struck me like a whiplash to my pride. His honesty—he shared wholeheartedly to provoke the truth in me. His patience was like an ascent of stepping stones carefully positioned to guide my way. His understanding came hand-in-hand with open-mindedness; to kill the condescension in me. His smiles were celebrations of the genuine happiness he felt—and he gave them ever so generously. His laughter, which was highly contagious, was that distinct voice of his content soul. His tears served a higher purpose of awakening sympathy in me. His sadness was even worse—a blow to my occasional aloof mood. Sincerity in him overflowed like water from a fountain, quenching the insensibility in me that came unchecked for so long. His gentleness simply hushed my rebellious thoughts; whereas, this particular man’s love for me was beyond my grasp—more so, beyond that of any human definition and perception of love.


Touching a person’s life in more ways than one included imperfections and differences. Religion, beliefs, and culture were some of things that we normally did not always agree on; He was a Muslim and I, a Roman Catholic; at times, he exercised the infamous Turkish jealousy, I was always bitter about this; he was ridiculously patient with me in situations that normally required anger, I was ill-tempered; he was the optimist, I was the pessimist; I thought him as too reserved, he saw me as too bold. However, not always agreeing with each other taught us to respect and appreciate our differences. Gradually, we became more open to one another and we both learned to cope with our differences. Disagreements between us gave me the chance to reflect; to check my understanding and interpretation of things. What used to be a source of debate between us soon became a means for a deeper understanding.


I used to view these differences as a big wall to keep us from growing together. I took for granted the things that were real ways for us to keep from falling out of love. Fortunately, I came to realize how he can be imperfectly perfect. And this humbled me.


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