deadlock

I packed and left.







I walk hastily, angrily into the Mercure hotel room I booked for the night, throw my jacket on the bed as the bell boy slowly and neatly places my suitcase near the closet area of my room. My window is big, with an astonishing view looking over most of the new Seef district and some of Manama.



I loosen my tie, unbutton my collar, as I take deep breath. My sweaty palm rests on the window glass. I want to burst with tears; my anger harnesses me.



I never thought our 4-year love affair, that blossomed in the arms of Leeds' cool spring would die in the heat of Deserted Zallaq .



I thought love would conquer all: would conquer her cold British behaviour, my hot-blooded Arab attitude, her penchant for unlimited freedom, my natural urge to tame my stubborn Thoroughbred.



The city is so big before my eyes, yet too small to take in my frustration.



Should've listened to Mama Thajba, who told me upon confiding her with my wish to Marry Liz: "7lat elthoub rig3itah minna o feeh!", she said as her henna-capped finger tips handed me a cup of cardamommed arabic coffee.



...Only a Bahraini woman can complete a Bahraini man.



I was blinded by the bright rays of love, so blinded my brain couldn't alert me, for so many bumps were on the way.



I guess my degree in Risk management did me no good with this case.



My blackberry beeps, breaking the silence of my dim-let room.



It's her, my Lizzy...



I don't want to answer this time.







I'll never answer.