Heartbreak

One of the main laws of holes, I was told, is if you found yourself in one, stop digging.My situation with Angela was not explicitly a ‘hole’ situation. From my assessment, Angela was a beautiful, mature and intelligent woman suffering from unrequited love. What to do?

Angela and I had met at our company’s retreat that weekend. She worked in one of our regional offices in Kampala, Uganda. In less than a day, I had known all about her. She poured her heart out for me by the poolside that evening as we sipped a glass of wine. That her boyfriend was the sort of a guy who cared less about her. That she was looking to marriage and which she thought he cared less about. Generally, their relationship was drifting.

I seemed to like her demeanour, her composure and her open-mindedness. The more I thought about it as I drove home a week later, the more I wondered where it could all end up. Angela and I had just had another coffee date. I may be reading the wrong signals, or I may just be right, I told myself.

I could not say my relationship with Hellen was the best. Hellen and I had not broached the subject of marriage, despite I being ready for it.

Not once before had we talked even about children like normal couples, I believe, do. We were just there. Living each day at a time.

Yet here was an opportunity that I couldn’t figure out how I got to. But like my pastor comforts us; nothing just happens. And if it happens, well, it is for the glory of the Lord.

My mind wrestled with all sorts of possibilities with Angela. One, I take the risk and manipulate things to my advantage. Two, walk away and tell her about my fears that this could end in tears for all of us given that Hellen and I were still going out.

Playing the fool

Or just play along and see how far this goes. That meant playing the fool, ignoring what any man worth his salt could see as obvious advances or clues from a heartbroken damsel.

I calculated the risk and saw none so worse than another year in limbo with Hellen. I was interrupted in this reverie by the beeping of my phone. Someone had sent me a text.

“Thank you for finding time to let me talk to you … I truly appreciate that you could come.”

It was Angela.

“I am glad that I could help.” I wrote back. I was careful to not give her any hint about my thoughts.

“Chiao,” she wrote back.

I chose to play a mind game and ignore her. Men have a rule of thumb that most women ignore or are unaware about: unless the initiative is yours, stay away. We love the hunt, the rush of blood, the pumping of the heart.

That evening at home I kept lapsing into thoughts about Angela and at times Hellen’s shouts about my being absent-minded got me back to earth.

“It was a tough day,” I kept telling her.

At the tenth time, she yelled back.

“Tough day, indeed Mr busy man.”

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