WHEN LOVE TRAVELS

CHAPTER 5: How long!

My mother has a saying. She always says it in Igbo first, then in English. "Ada, kedu ogologo oge ị ga-anọ na-awụsa mmiri na nkata?" — "Ada, how long will you keep pouring water into a basket?"

For months, I did not understand it. I thought she was just being a mother. Now I understand it with my full chest.

A basket will never hold water. No matter how much water you pour, no matter how fast you pour, no matter how much you pray over the water, it will leak. It will always leak. That was my relationship with Charles, was this ever going to stop yes if only he took account for his own mistakes and stop them.

I was the only one pouring.

I was the only one apologizing. Even when he was wrong, even when he was the one who shouted at me, who ignored my calls for hours, who watched my w******p status but refused to reply — I would still be the one to say "Sorry, let's not fight again." Just to have peace.

I was the only one patient. He would offend me on Monday, I would forgive on Tuesday, he would offend again on Wednesday with the same exact behavior, and the cycle would continue. No change. No accountability. No understanding.

I was the only one communicating. I would type long paragraphs about how I feel. "Charles, when you do this, I feel like this. I need you to do this." He would reply with "k." or "lol." or "noted." or the one that pained me most — "Okay, what else do you want? I already blocked her."

One night, I asked him a simple question from my heart. I said, "Charles, why do you love me? Why do you want to marry me? Just tell me one reason from your heart, not from your head."

I expected him to say something sweet. "Because you are kind." Or "Because you prayed for me when I was sick." Or "Because you are beautiful inside and outside." Or at least "Because you are my peace."

He went silent. Long silence on the phone. I could hear his breathing. Then he said, "Why are you asking me such questions? I don't know. You are stressing me again, how many time would you ask me this,all of a sudden. I’ll tell you later,I’ll think about it.

I was shocked, like are you for real?

Love should not be hard to explain. If you love someone, you should know why. Even if you cannot speak good English, you should know why.

That was the day something broke inside me. Not loud, like a bomb. Just quiet. Like a small thread cutting. Chik.

I stopped sending t****k messages. I used to send him messages on t****k every day, funny videos, love videos, even when he ignored me. He never replied to any. That day, I stopped. I was tired.

He was the first to unfollow me on t****k. When I unfollowed back, I became the bad person in his story. He told his friends "Ada unfollowed me," but he didn't tell them he unfollowed first.

I sat down that night in my room in Nigeria, with my phone in my hand, with a long message typed and deleted many times, and I asked myself that question again: "How long, Ada? How long?"

Love needs patience, yes. My pastor says tribulations will come in relationships, yes. But patience must be two-sided. Love must have peace. Love must have accountability.

I was tired of being called "the problem" for having feelings. I was tired of being told "I was angry at you that's why I didn't call" — as if his anger was my fault. As if I made him angry so he punished me with days of silence.

Let me tell you what happened in those days after our last big fight. This is the part that finally opened my eyes.

After he blocked his ex and used it to shut me down, we had another small issue. I told him, "You didn't call me yesterday." He got angry. He said, "You are always nagging."

Then he disappeared. No call. No text.

— Nothing. He was online on w******p. He posted on Snapchat. He watched my status. No call.

— Nothing. I checked i********:, he liked 3 girls' pictures. But no message to me.

— Nothing. By 11:47pm, I broke. I called him. I, Ada, that was hurting, called him that hurt me.

He picked and said, "Hello?" Cold. Like I was a stranger.

I said, "Charles , you didn't call for days."

He said, "I was angry at you. That's why I didn't call."

That was it. No "sorry I made you worry." No "are you okay?" Just "I was angry at you."

I said, "So because you were angry, you left me to worry for days?"

He said, "You should have called if you were worried."

I ended the call and sat on the floor and cried like a baby. Not because he didn't love me, but because I finally realized he had stopped loving me a long time ago and I was the only one still holding the relationship with two hands. Like pouring water into a basket.

ADDITIONAL THOUGHTS — For Every Girl Reading This

If you are reading this and your man does this — hurts you, disappears, waits for you to call, then says "I was angry at you that's why" — my sister, listen to me.

That is not anger. That is control. That is punishment.

A mature man will say, "I was angry, I needed a few hours to cool down, but I should have told you. I'm sorry I left you hanging."

A boy will say, "I was angry at YOU, that's why I didn't call." He makes his silence your fault.

You are not a basket. You are a cup. You are meant to be filled and to hold. If a man keeps pouring out and never filling you, you will stay empty.

I asked myself that night: How long will I pour water into a basket? And I finally had an answer.

Not anymore. Not for long.

To be continued... Should Ada stop calling first? Should she finally stop pouring? Comment STOP or CONTINUE and vote with #Vote# !