
It never matters how much our closed ones try to tell us that beautiful people are everywhere, that what matters is the character of the individual, and that nationality, race, etc...are nothing else but details bent on making our choices harder rather than easier...we are either bent on embracing the difference with no reserve, or hate it with no held barrels.
Some will say that she was just another woman, but those are the people from where she comes, to me she was different, just because she was not from where I was. Suddenly everything she did was extra charming, a little more seductive, it was...simply exotic.
When we love difference, we love it seriously, we cannot explain what it is, except the fact that it is different, therefore must be better. She dressed differently, listened to different music, spoke a different language, and laughed at very different jokes...and I found it Sexy...:-)
It didn't matter to me that she came from a place that is cold as often as my homeland is warm; I didn't see any issue with the fact that her skin tone was much lighter than mine. I thought her musical choice was nothing else but a passion for noise, and she described my dancing moves as a combination of aerobics and gymnastics. All that mattered to me was how good she made me feel and how enjoyable both her company and our conversations were.
I never had a problem with the fact that she didn't eat a specific type of meat, that she was supposed to pray more than twice a day, or that I had to be a little more moderate in my drinking around her. She prayed in yet another foreign language, and I found it Sexy...:-)
But when I decided to contemplate spending even more time with her, in the matter of months, years or a full life, I sought the counsel of many, and made aware of the realities of the world we'd live in.
It suddenly did matter that I prayed in the name of Jesus-Christ, and she called God "Allah". It was an issue that I do drink even moderately; it became a subject of discussion to even suggest the name of a yet to be conceived child together. It became relevant that there are spiritual realities that will impact my walk with God if I was with her, and it appeared to be a seed of family rift that she'd be with me.
Much more issues and drama to be added just to say that it was a problem that she was a Muslim and I a Christian.
I looked into her eyes and admired the mutual devotion that neither of us would convert even for the other; however, others translated that devotion into the precursor of a challenging life we may face if we pursued that romance.
I had to let her go, although she was more willing to try and work on it. I reflected days and night about that dreadful day, and that so-called bold decision, and every time, I end up with teary eyes, head in my hands, facing the harsh reality:
I love her...err...I loved her, 'till God did us apart...

