Scent of a Seattle Woman

I never envisioned blogging about the scent of a woman. The title is misleading. This is really about catharsis (or is it about a love lost?), about immersing myself into a past that I have struggled to forget. Yet my strongest memories in life are from that time.

It has been slightly more than a decade since I saw her. The Seattle woman of Pakistani origin... a woman with innate charms and fatal flaws. A woman seductive - capable of stealing hearts and reveling in the attention of all those that would shower her with attention. She would liken herself to Manisha the Nepali actress. They did share eyes.

Now she lives a life that I know nothing about. The same coquettish smile, slightly heavier frame, same fair skin and penchant for style. Her sister a theologian, her brother an engineer - they lived up to their father's dreams of a better future - a future in middle class America, and not one in a burger shack concocting smoothies. Strangely, I am happy to know of their worldly success.

'Twas a torrid affair albeit with warning signs. Signs I could not decipher until it was too late. Yet when a young man is in love, deep unrequited love, he knows nothing and sees nothing but her charms. I was serious, she was flippant. We were in different stages of our lives although only 4 years separated us. She was experimenting, and I was dreaming about the fantasies she would ingrain in me. A fantasy of true love and family. Her letters with mesmerizing words of promise and pictures have not been touched by me in ages. Why would I dare take that risk and unleash the torrent of emotions?

Her touch was soothing, her kisses sublime, her gaze amazingly sincere, her wit razor sharp. I remember her folding my clothes for me with care, her waving at me from her bedroom window with a smile sweeter than honey, the fragrance of her lustrous hair, her commenting on liking my black and silver shoes while not as much liking my blue turtleneck, our carefree jaunts in gray misty Seattle, our exuberant youth, and her vivacious spirit. Then it all fell apart - a frail falling house of cards, a foam washed away into the ocean, a life extinguished in one fell swoop. The memories were overwhelming, the sense of loss like a bottomless abyss. She would haunt me in my dreams and I would cry my pillows wet even 2 years after the loss. Even now she appears in dreams once in a while as if everything is as it was during the flights of our fantasies, offering me outstretched arms of reconciliation and words of enchantment and in my dreams, where I am a gullible fool, I fall in love again.

Reality of course is stark, dark, and cold with occasional peeks of sunshine. To all those young lovers in the world - let my story be a warning: do not let a woman become the object of your worship. How does a woman become an object of worship when you're not really worshipping her? If she dominates your every thought and waking moment, if your love of her causes you to sin, and the thought of losing her makes you insane, then you've let her become your downfall and your object of worship.

The Seattle woman of Pakistani origin...the possessor of charm and wit.