This is a love story, one that started unexpectedly with a lot of fear.

“Did I ever mention your scent? Picture a stunning balcony overlooking a big lake, a gentle breeze caressing your face. In that moment, you feel truly alive, fully present. That’s exactly how you smell – it’s crazy, but that’s the best I can describe it.” Francisco told me.

The air was thick between us. I sensed all the things we left unsaid. He looked at me, his look went down to my lips, like a silent invitation flying in the air. But I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to lean towards him and meet his lips with mine. The truth was simple yet hard to admit—I was scared.

Fear as a Shield

If he had tried to kiss me, I knew I’d pull back. It wasn’t because I didn’t want to or because I didn’t love him. I loved him so much. I didn’t want to reject him. I didn’t want to hurt him with my hesitation. It was strange. My heart was torn between love and fear.

This fear acts as my protective shield, maybe subconsciously, guarding me from potential hurt or disappointment. It stops me from letting someone get too close. So far, my romantic connections have either involved feeling too emotionally close without physical attraction. Or I experience some attraction but with much less emotional closeness.

It’s strange and hasn’t worked out in any case. Yet, what remains consistent in both scenarios is that there’s always a distance. Deep down, I think I prefer to keep some distance. Maybe I believe love usually fails. It seems wiser to shield myself with this space. This is better than diving too deeply in love. On the other hand, I feel lonely and crave closeness. Not just socializing that remains on the surface.

I crave for profound connections, but whenever I get it, it’s scares me. It feels like I am torn between wanting connection and solitude at the same time; it’s paradoxical.

It was an amazing evening in December with Francisco. He and I have been close friends for a while in Berlin. He was the ex boyfriend of one of my friends. It’s been almost a year since we first met, a year full of ups and downs. This time, we met at his place for the first time.

It was a tiny studio apartment with a big bed, a small desk, a chair, and a tiny dining table. We sat across from each other, with some pizza and Italian wine on the table between us. It was cozy, and we shared something deep. 

I read my story to him. It was a piece of my soul. My wounds were on display for him to see. The story described a character who believed that she doesn’t deserve love. I felt vulnerable to read it for him, but it didn’t scare me.

He took my hand while listening to me. I knew he was genuinely listening. He wasn’t just hearing the words but understanding the raw emotions behind them. After dinner, we walked in the streets, lost in conversation that seemed to stretch on for hours.

“I can imagine being in your life forever. I can live next door to you when you have kids and are married. I can even look after your dog or your kids! It sounds crazy, but I know I can stay in your life for that long. I know how I feel about you won’t change over time.”

I said to him while my eyes were shinning without any fears.

He seemed surprised and happy. He smiled at me. Then he asked, “Have I ever told you about the person who made me feel the purest love?

What is Love?

That person was the one who suffered the most that I have ever known. It was my grandmother. I think I learned love from her. What is love for you?”

“Love is to change something new in yourself,” I began, feeling the weight of his look on me. “It starts within you. Love is not a feeling. It’s not a noun. It’s an action. It is something you do. You start by loving yourself, by getting to know who you truly are. It’s a journey that may involve various experiences.

You might travel or do art. Engaging in conversations and sharing your feelings are part of it. You could fall in love or get heartbroken. Going to therapy, writing, and reading can help. Going for runs and eating good food might be involved. Listening to music or spending a lot of time with yourself can also be part of the journey.” 

I took a deep breath before continuing. “You do everything to accept and love yourself for who you are. And if there are aspects of yourself that you’re not happy with, you work on changing them.

Love is not something between you and someone else. It’s not something that happens to you. It’s not something you wait for. It’s not something you find. It’s something that comes from you first. Something within you.”

As I was speaking, I could see that look in his eyes. He was understanding me so well and had a big smile on his face. I continued :

“Love is about embracing yourself fully. You live your life, feel your emotions, give yourself a hug tightly, and love yourself unconditionally. Only then, if you fall in love with somebody else, you can keep this path.

You see yourself from another perspective, and keep changing yourself. You do everything to accept and love yourself for who you are. And if there are new things that you don’t like, you try to change them. Love is to change something new in you.” 

As I finished my sentence, I realized that now we were both looking at each other and smiling.

When I was in Love

Falling in love without feeling sexual attraction wasn’t new to me. This happened with Valentin, my Russian lover, who stood out in every way. We met in a tiny city near to Venice. I knew him as a friend for some time.

Our first date lasted about 12 hours, filled with endless conversation that just clicked. Our connection was special, allowing us to talk freely about anything. He was so open, could speak several languages and has traveled all over the world.

Being with him was like having so many different doors open to you, each showing you a different part of the world. Our love was strong and unconditional. It survived long distances. It thrived in an open relationship and as a couple. It existed simply as friends. The form didn’t matter; the love was always there. 

I distinctly remember a moment on his rooftop as we watched the sunset. He questioned my fear of expressing myself.

“Why don’t you share your thoughts and feelings more? You’re so smart. If you’re worried about not being understood or judged by someone, wouldn’t you rather know now than waste years finding out?” he said while lighting a cigarette.

I looked at the setting sun and felt speechless. He was right. There was something transformative in his words. Someone urged me to be fearless. He encouraged me to be myself and to be open. Something new was happening in a way I had never experienced before.

My love for Valentin was so profound that I valued his happiness over whether we were together or not. It was a selfless kind of love, not possessive. I was at peace when we were having our relationship open.

It’s hard to explain what he and I experienced together. We sometimes made this joke that we were like Simone de Beauvoir and Sartre. Like them, we delved deeply into philosophical discussions, helping each other grow. Similarly, we were also each other’s primary partners while exploring connections with others.

Our relationship didn’t last because we lacked a sexual connection. He believed a good relationship doesn’t need discussing sexual chemistry; it naturally brings with it. Whereas, I believed that in a good relationship, you can discuss anything.

I still don’t understand why I was not feeling attracted. He was so charming. Maybe the intensity of our love overwhelmed me. My therapist suggested that because of my fear of getting close to people, my mind might be creating distance subconsciously. So, even though we had a strong emotional connection, I unconsciously created the physical distance between us. I’m not entirely sure how much I trust this theory and it’s still a puzzle for me.

I felt powerless to change the situation. I wanted to save a relationship that wasn’t working, and it hurt deeply. I was heartbroken and sad. Eventually, nothing worked out. We never explicitly said it’s over, but we both knew it was the end. We kept in touch after this.

He even told me that he loved me about a year after we separated our path. Only I knew those three words of “I love you” coming from him were not from a place of possessiveness. It was pure appreciation.

However, I can’t deny that the pain of the breakup didn’t fade quickly. Not feeling the physical spark with someone I loved made me question myself. It affected me so much that for some time, I thought I was asexual. Actually, maybe I am. At least I know sex isn’t a big part of my life. I don’t crave it. Nor do I find myself attracted to people in a sexual way.

It’s always the emotional connection that comes first for me. I view sex as result of a profound emotional connection between individuals rather than simply a physical urge.

I visited a sex toy shopping website last week. I guess the thought of buying a sex toy wasn’t about physical pleasure. It came from a deeper feeling of loneliness.

I also had doubts about my romantic future. I doubted whether I’d ever find true love or a relationship that truly fulfills me. It was a lonely feeling, and I was exhausted from trying. Some of my friends had suggested trying dating apps or meeting new people, but it just doesn’t work for me. I don’t think it’s about meeting new people at this point. 

Even meeting the right person doesn’t guarantee a lasting connection. I’ve lost faith in my ability to keep a good relationship, even if I find the right person. I know I have a tendency to self-sabotage.

The pain I have felt didn’t always come from another person. Now, I know I can hurt myself too. I can hold onto something that isn’t good for me, and I’m afraid of doing that again.

Fear of love

It was a cold night in January when Fran visited me in my apartment. I shared some of my writing with him, and it moved him to tears. It was about being far away from home. I quickly fell asleep that night. Then, I had a bad dream—I was running away from myself, feeling lost and lonely.

In the dream, the more I ran, the more the scenery blurred into an endless loop of unfamiliar streets and shadowed faces. I felt disconnected and exhausted. Waking up, the realization hit me hard—I was terrified of love.

The thought of opening up, allowing someone into my world, and the risk of being hurt again terrified me. So I decided to tell him about it.

“We’ve talked a lot about our relationship, what we want, and what we’re afraid of. We both love each other deeply. You’re ready to move forward with this feeling, but I have paradoxical feelings.

Despite loving you deeply, I don’t feel attracted to you. So, I think it’s better if we drop this discussion and don’t talk about it anymore (at least for a while). It doesn’t seem to get us anywhere, and I just keep feeling pressured and drained out. I’m sure you understand what I’m saying, right?” I texted him.

He replied, “Like you said, I was ready to move forward with this feeling. I’ve never felt anything like it before. I’ve never met anyone even close to who you are in my entire life. Your ability to be yourself, your openness, and the experiences you’ve had deeply resonate with my values.

I was ready, and it was scary and amazing. It was a new feeling, but not moving forward was new to me as well. I think it’s best for me to take a step back. I am sure everything will be okay because I trust you with my heart, and because of the foundation of our friendship, we will always be in a safe place.”

His words were like another wave of conflicting emotions that washed over me. I never told him to stop trying, but it seemed like he had reached that decision on his own.

Part of me wanted to believe that his decision brought relief, a way to stop worrying about where our friendship was going. But deep down, it felt like a breakup. I wasn’t just sad because I felt like I was losing him. I was also saddened by the loss of the potential future that could have been.

I was aware that Fran understood me deeply. Perhaps that’s what frightened me the most. He knew about my fear of love, yet he asked me to be with him. I didn’t say yes, but somewhere deep inside, I hoped he would never stop loving me. It’s not that what I told him wasn’t true—it absolutely was.

I like to believe that if I ever change my mind, he’ll still be there. Yet, there’s this fear that one day he might grow too tired and just let everything go.

Am I toxic? It’s crazy that I’m like this. I often complain about dating in Berlin and how love stories here are so complicated—full of excitement and confusion. Maybe it’s influenced by the city’s vibrant clubbing culture; after all, Berlin is known for its lively nightlife. People here are usually open-minded and free-spirited.

Relationships can be casual or serious, but many prefer to keep things relaxed. I went on four dates in one month, only to find out that each person was already in a relationship. I’m sick of the hookup culture, open relationships, and people not being authentic or playing games here.

But now I was behaving the same as the people I criticize. I was pushing away something that I may deeply want because I’m so afraid. And then hoping that it will stay there until I’m ready.

The girl I used to be

I didn’t used to be like this all the time. A few days ago, I talked to an old friend. It was after so much time. It made me realize how much I’ve changed. He remembers me as this energetic, social person – always surrounded by friends, constantly traveling, and forever keen on meeting new people. Looking back, that version of me seems like a distant memory, almost like she’s lost to the past. 

I’ve changed so much. These days, I prefer being alone rather than forcing myself to enjoy social gatherings that no longer bring me joy. Despite my efforts, I haven’t been able to have a fulfilling social life here. Fran might be the only true friend I have left. With others, the connection usually remains on the surface; our conversations never dive deep.

I usually don’t share the real stuff. For example, I don’t talk about the nights I cry myself to sleep feeling so lonely. Last summer, I discovered that I was suspicious of cancer after a doctor’s visit. I had to do more tests and wait anxiously for the results. Those were days that stretched like years for me when I was alone and had to go through this by myself. 

To be continued in part two….

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