The tragic and turbulent kizomba affair

My favorite Kizomba partner and I. We fell in love with each other in May.
I just returned from the Kizomba Festival in Luxembourg and it was an eye opener for me in kizomba. It was a great experience and I wanted to continue with my awareness and experience in kizomba. So I wanted to have a fixed dancepartner with whom I could practise, because I had plans to spread my experience with my environment, hoping to inspire them to feel the kizomba vibe and flow that I felt inside me. The first Tuesday in May she and I met. I remembered her because I danced with her before. She was breathtaking. How could I know everything else that followed would actually be described as just that? Breathtaking?

Everything happened so quickly. That Thursday I went to Westergasterras, as there was kizomba being played in the evening. I was surprised that I actually found another person in Amsterdam who danced Kizomba very well and our connection was really good. I was really surprised, because for some reason my expectations and demands in Kizomba had gone skyrocket ever since I experienced Luxembourg. But we danced for over an hour straight. My favorite kizomba partner (who wasn't my favorite yet), however, didn't like it at all. First I was saying Tuesday to her that she should be my dance partner and 2 days later I was dancing with someone else for over an hour straight. The iceberg of jealousy was showing its tip just above the surface of the figure speaking ocean.

The Friday of that same week we went to Salsa Madhouse in the Arena in Amsterdam. Me and my favorite dance partner, who I will call Elena from now on, didn't talk to each other yet. She was insulted still because of Thursday. However, across the evening I decided to ask her to dance still. So we danced: BREATHTAKING. I had never experienced something like that before. Thursday I was dancing with someone else with whom I connected very well and then the next day I was really in heaven. Elena became from that moment on my favorite dance partner. It never changed ever since. I loved her smell, I loved the way she moved, I loved how she put her arm around my neck. If anything, it was the most perfect connection.

We were both flabbergasted. The next day we talked about it on Whatsapp. We had the same experience, everything she described that she felt I felt too and visa versa. We talked about other things as well, we talked about her school, about her work, other things. We laughed, I made her laugh, she made me laugh, I made myself laugh. We decided that we didn't want to teach anyone, because what she and I had was not be shared. How could you explain to your students that when you connect, that your partner goes right through you when dancing? How could you explain that 2 souls become 1? No, we didn't want to share it with anyone else but each other.
[Actually, reading back on our Whatsapp conversations nowadays makes me smile.]

The Tuesday the week after we still were talking on Whatsap and we decided to meet to study. She had to write her thesis and I had to write it too. We wanted to get our degree this year. She was going for her Master degrees in Law and I was going for my Bachelor degree in Human Movement Science. I made her lunch first and we ate it at her faculty in the center of Amsterdam. I made a sandwich with homemade egg salad. She liked it. After our inefficient study time in which we also looked and flirted with each other several times, we went to sit in the inner courtyard of the University. On a bench. The sun was shining and it was a perfect afternoon, just sitting there with her, leaning on each other. We wanted to go dancing and I knew there would be Kizomba Lounge in Rotterdam. So with lots of logistics, we were able to go by a car I rented. Just the two of us in the car. It was romantic, being with her alone, talking, listening to some background radio, talking about people we didn't like. It was this moment that I had the impression we were alike. Both she and I didn't like people who just didn't come up with behavioral and thinking patterns that both of us found logical for ourselves. I felt we connected not only on just a kizomba level, but also on a social level. Of course I knew she had a boyfriend, who I will call Marc from now on, and I knew she was living together with him as well, but for some reason this knowledge slipped away into the background, as if I never knew.

When we arrived at Kizomba Lounge, we danced for a very long time straight. We were each other's that night, no one from our direct environment would know that it was just our night, there were no acquaintances, not in a direct sense. I felt some sexual tension that evening already. But not sexual as in sexual, but a higher form. Something spiritual. It was a great night and we got lost in the music, in ourselves, with ourselves and each other. I drove her back home.

I think the next day she decided to go to my place. When she arrived, I was trying to prepare lunch for us in the kitchen and we were both standing there, talking. Then there was a moment in which we just looked at each other and our heads came close to each other's. My lips crossed her cheeks without kissing her, as we just stroke each other with our nose, cheeks while we were holding each other. And then she started kissing and I kissed back. Not the hard stuff you see in fake American film scenes. This was gentle, like our kizomba connection. Gently but bursting with emotion. Her lips were so soft, perfect. Our kisses gentle with very subtle superficial tongue action. Perfect. It was perfect. I picked her up and gently laid her on my bed. We kissed again and I was making my way down to her belly, kissing her neck and collar bone first. The way she reacted to my tongue on her skin, on her belly, on her hips. I never experienced it before. I enjoyed every part of it. We didn't have sex that day, it was just me kissing her non-intimate skin. It was just us loving the moment I was exploring her body. It was a magical day.

The weekend that followed, she was going to Madrid for the kizomba festival. I decided I wanted to go with her to the airport so we met there and had a cup of coffee before she was going airbourne. She was wearing white jeans. Wearing white made her so beautiful, she was beautiful. We kept contact and she sent me some pictures as well. When she got back, we met again. This time we picked up where we left. We discovered each other and after a few moments we were in the most intimate way we could ever imagine. The way she moved, the way I moved, the way she breathed and panted, the way she looked at me while she was on top of me. The way she looked while I was on top of her. I think the word sex would be an insult for what we had done that day and what we were going to do for several months after that. I've had sex in my life many times. I decided I didn't want that anymore. I wanted what Elena and I had, it surpassed every border and definition of sexuality and would make fun of that word too. Just like our kizomba connection, literally making love was something that was ours. And the combination of Kizomba playing and making love made it even more intimate. Hips sliding against each other on the flow of kizomba.

That week I told my best friend about me and Elena. She was shocked. Especially since she knew Elena was living together with Marc for quite some months. But she saw pictures of us that I made, holding each other and she saw how much in love we were. She just didn't understand it. She was still shocked. But I didn't pay much attention to it. I was in love, I was getting really fond of her. During kizomba parties we had to keep composure, not letting anyone know there was something between us. We were getting pretty good at it and she definitely was more able to make it seem non existent in the presence of our dance environment. She was very good at switching from the intimate spiritual connection to the emotionless acquaintance like mode. It scared me a bit. At that moment I was already thinking: she can be such a mechanoid. With whom am I dealing? But this knowledge slipped to the background as well. I didn't want to think about it.

Unfortunately, things became bad because of the contradicting behavior we both showed in social kizomba settings and personal 1-on-1 settings. Because of the nature of our relation, she was cold during parties and I was very social present and active, giving attention to other girls as well. It was frustrating, because we didn't know how to behave. We were getting so good at hiding our affaire, that we were good at hurting each other too. She was tremendously jealous of me dancing with other women, who enjoyed dancing with me and I was getting hurt because when I wanted to make contact on parties, she was too afraid to let people notice something. It's when the fights began.

The more time spent, the more frustration became apparant. Whatsapp conversation didn't go the way they were before and the more we got to know about each other, the more we actually noticed we were not synchronised. Her jealousy on parties became the prominent atmosphere and it escalated one time on a Tuesday kizomba social and I carried her from the bar to outside because I wanted to talk about it and solve it. It was from that point on that both our very aggressive and dominant behavior became apparent. I even pulled her hair because she wasn't listening to what I was saying and she was trying dominantly to prove her point (which made no sense in my eyes anyway). That evening went even more badly and I attacked a bus stop in her presence when we left, because she was actually telling me that we should take a step back. 'You have got to be fucking KIDDING ME?!", as I kept punching and hitting it with my elbow multiple times. The more I hit, the more strength I felt inside me growing. I was out of control, it was a deep intense primitive power I didn't experience in almost a decade.

When I got home, I wanted to apologize the next day, Wednesday, so I bought her some chocolate and went to the bridge close to her place. She didn't like my surprise at all and I was hurt. (Actually, during these months it became apparent that she never liked my surprises. She liked it if surprises were no surprises. In that way, she could control everything. But she couldn't control my behavior, I was always unexpected with (well intended) surprises.)

When I came back home from her neighborhood, we already had some whatsapp conversations and I was actually very afraid to lose her. I fell into desperation and became emotional unstable. I felt like I didn't want to live anymore, so I became drunk and attempted suicide with razorblades on my wrist. I told her that if anything should happen, that she shouldn't let others know that she would know something about it. She recognized it immediately and started calling, but I didn't respond. I just read her Whatsapp messages, saying that she would come to me ASAP. I was already drunk, saying that I pleaded her to come to me and she didn't come and now it was too late. There was blood everywhere, in my room, in the kitchen, on the walls. I was so drunk, emotional, going haywire. When she rang the bell, I was able to open the door. She rushed to me, and I was crying, kept saying that she should have come earlier. I even pushed her several times away, forcefully. But she didn't leave. She held me in her arms and said to me I am here for you.. I am here.

When I think about it now, it was so ironic. She was the reason why I didn't want to live anymore but she was also my savior. It really left a huge emotional mark on both of us. It's very regretful that it had to come to that point. For some reason our passion for each other worked in a way that went two ways: extremely positive and extremely negative. I will never forget that moment.. I had minimal awareness, but I felt I was in her arms as she spoke those words to me. It was the most intimate and beautiful gesture a woman ever made. I will never forget it.

The ambulance arrived and took me away. Elena was coming along too and we saw each other at the hospital. I was received by 2 feminine psychologists who were in their 20-30's. They didn't understand me at all. They thought they were dealing with a regular suicidal person, asking those low intelligent out-of-the-book questions. It annoyed me, but it was entertaining too. For them, I was speaking very vaguely, but the truth for me about life and death couldn't be more clearly than that day. Eventually they called another person and he entered the room. He was Caucasian, in his 40-50's and had a very calm aura around him. The way he spoke, the way he asked things and rephrased my story. He gave me the impression that he understood me. When I talked about it weeks later, Elena told me they were probably trying to evaluate whether I had to stay in the hospital or that I could go home.

They decided to let me leave. I was going back home again and Elena left me when I was lying in my bed. I tried it again and the bleeding was even more intense than before. I was lost. It felt like she left me again and I was still drunk.
I was still talking with Elena through Whatsapp and I still wanted to do what I wanted to do before she arrived the first time. For some reason she persuaded me to stop the bleeding and to stay alive.

That evening I told my best friend everything through the phone. She was very upset, telling me that a girl isn't worth giving up my life. I felt she didn't understood me, but I understood her and knew she was just caring for me. When we were on the phone, she told me that Elena just arrived at the party in Hotel Arena with Marc. I was shocked. How could she go to a party after everything had happened? There was no question. I was going to that party. I was weak, lost a lot of blood. I was drunk, dehydrated and hungry. Nevertheless, I HAD to go and see her. So I rented a car and drove to the hotel. I arrived there with a band aid on my wrist, telling people I sprained my wrist at work. Eventually, I saw Elena dancing with her Marc. I was getting a drink but I felt I wasn't doing well. I was nauseous. I saw her and I approached her, we danced. I asked her if she minded that I was with her. She didn't and asked me how I was doing. In the meantime, I was getting more and more nauseous and dizzy. it was tremendously warm at that party. I had to stop and went to the toilet, throwing up. I figured I had to drink some water to dilute my blood or so. But the more water I drank, the worse it got. I saw Marc looking at me a few times at that party. Maybe he saw something was going on. I introduced myself to him and we talked about something and nothing at the same time. Who cared? I was not feeling well. Eventually I left the party when I really felt terrible. I grabbed my stuff and drove back. Fortunately, nothing happened on the road and I got back home safely.

When we met a few days later again, she came to my place. I decided to give the psychotherapist a try, because I saw what effect my behavior that previous Wednesday had on Elena. I didn't want to give that much pain to her anymore. I wanted for us to get better. I promised I wouldn't put her in such a situation anymore. [I never did ever since].

But things didn't change as significantly in such a short time. Our intensity remained, alternating making perfect love and making perfect fights. There were days that were going really well, but then a big fight spoiled it again. At that time it began about my frustration of the fact that she couldn't be with me and had to go home all the time. I was of course hoping that one day we would be together someday. Before my best friend's B-day party, we saw each other that afternoon and were intimate again. She ironed her shirt and wrote the B-day card on my bed. I still have the recordings. She was so lovely. Na Nha Sonho was playing on the background while she ironed her clothes. At the party things seemed normal and we were both talking to different people. A few times we just looked at each other. That special look you give each other without the accompanied facial expression. I thought I knew what she thought at that moment.

Another rendezvous with Marc's presence was during a soccer game that was organized at my best friend's place. I was just being myself. After that game, Elena told me that he actually liked me and thought I was a funny guy. She was laughing about it and me too. I was thinking.. Don't you even THINK we are going to be best friends so you can have both Marc for security and stability and me for your feelings.

Eventually the frequency of fights increased. It was beginning to take its toll. At the same time, my awareness shifted and I developed more self reflection. The frustrating point was now that I saw and acknowledged i was changing but she didn't change at all and denied that she too needed help. It was not only me that caused the fights as she liked herself to believe and made me believe. It was all my fault. But even then, I began to love her and she became to love me. We were talking about kids and for the first time in her life she was thinking of having them with a man. With me. Thoughts arose whether I was the man of her life or not in the early but not beginning phases of our affair, because she felt things that she didn't feel before with any other man. And I too started to think we might be made for each other. If in some way we could overcome our fights, there was actually a possibility. At a certain point I even thought maybe it would have to be like this, me sharing my perfect love with Marc. I tried to accept such a possible scenario and not to be frustrated about it. Maybe a monogamous relationship was just not the type for us. Sometimes I felt at peace with that thought, sometimes it hurt.

When she invited me for her B-day party, she was afraid that things might go out of control. I promised I wouldn't do anything to ruin her party by giving any indication that was indeed something going on. It was a regular kizomba party and I played my non-important part. It seemed the whole kizomba group was like that. it would raise attention if I would be the only one actively interacting with her and her non-kizomba friends. However, I decided to get two drinks for Marc and Elena, as a gesture for her B-day. She didn't respond the way I hoped she did.

I made her a very nice scroll that looked like it was from the Middle Ages and I wrote kind words and sealed it with a molten candle seal. Furthermore I bought her a purple orchid. However, I could not give it to her at the party, as it would raise attention. I wanted to give it to her on another opportunity. We decided to celebrate her birthday that Thursday. I was aware of the fact that she was worried of her weight nowadays and that she didn't want to eat carbs in the evening. So I looked up a dish that was with vegetables and no carbs. Furthermore, I made a menu for our dinner and printed the 3 stage menu on high quality paper for her to read when she would arrive at my place. I also decorated my room and blew some balloons for the final touch. The main dish was spinach leaves, radish, salmon and a dressing made of soya sauce and other ingredients. I also planned to go to see the sunset at the beach, so I already rented the car beforehand. We got into the car and as we were driving, we noticed that the sunset was almost in progress. I knew what time to arrive at the beach, because I looked up what time the sun would set. it would be 21:50.
We arrived just in time and laid on some outdoors sofas. The sun was bright orange. We didn't say anything at all, as we just experienced how the sun disappeared under the horizon. When we got back, I lit some candles in my room and put on some background music. We got undressed and were intimate again. Eventually we slept next to each other.

When I woke up, I looked at her. I don't remember anymore whether it was that moment or other moments when she slept in my bed, but at a certain point a new sensation came upon me. For the first time in my life I was actually thinking that she had become the only person in my life ever with whom I would like to wake up every morning. I never had it with my previous relationships or interactions. It's a strange, divine feeling. I just thought I would like to spend my days going to sleep with her by my side and waking up next to her. I was thinking that this is what would make me happy and that I would be grateful every day and feel blessed to have her next to me. There was just something about her. She may not have my preferred physical traits, but she was perfect for me in all ways. I wouldn't care if she would not wear make up, wear baggy clothes, had nail polish. I thought she was beautiful if she smiled, laughed, cried, was angry, upset or sad. I loved every expression, it made her irresistible. She had her own elegance and her own beauty. She was also very feisty. She was very aggressive towards other people who made her feel insecure, insulted or just angry. She was motivated and passionate. She reminded me many times of myself in my previous relationship, in which I was the very dominant person. Since she and I got involved, I started to realize what my previous relationship was like from the other side. Elena made me insecure and attracted to her at the same time. It also evoked my primitive feelings of dominance and aggression even more. We didn't complement each other, we were actually supplementing each other.

Things, our intensity and our mutual coping capabilities changed too slowly for our patience. Frustration kept rising and misunderstanding raised the question whether we actually understood each other. We didn't.

However, very slowly and after fights, Elena realized she too could be at error. She apologized for her behavior a few times. I was so surprised. In a good way. We tried to regain trust into each other and things were about to go better. Yet the fights did continue and after Budapest Kizomba Connection, the possibility of ending it all was critically high. Again, we talked it over. Giving it another try. We lost sight about what was and wasn't morally justified. She invited me to her place when he was on a vacation and we made love in their bed the next day. Her cats seemed to like me too. I saw the nice purple Orchid I gave for her birthday [Wondering if it's still in her house. She never was good with plants she told me]. For some reason, I started to think that she stayed with Marc because of his house. He really had a nice house.

After that we went to DKF. She had such a nice dress, she was the most beautiful woman at the whole festival. She was also letting herself giving in to her feelings in a social setting. I felt that Saturday night like she was my woman, my wife. The next day we also had a very nice peaceful walk in nature. However, Marc called and urged her to come home. He didn't tolerate her behavior anymore, going out everywhere, not spending time with him. At this time, we were already having an affaire for 4 months. I drove her home and the talked. She told me that she would break up with him because she couldn't live like this any longer, hurting him, he didn't deserve it. But that night it turned out that they would not break up. I was disappointed.. Especially because when we were lying in their bed a few days ago, she said that if she wasn't in a relationship, she would immediately choose me.

She went to Lisabon for another kizomba congres and that changed everything. When she got back, she re-evaluated our situation and decided that we should find another way that works. For her. Superficial contact. I was hurt, because it insulted everything we ever felt and the nice memories we had. Lying on the beach together, our deep conversations, our dreams about our children, the love we made, the things we would like to be and do for each other. I refused it with every cell in my body. I preferred having no contact with her at all than a superficial relation as if nothing ever happened. It was that point when I fell into a very intense depression. I didn't have suicidal actions, like I promised to her, but I was just so low. I gave up hope in us getting back together, but at the same time I regained strength in our happy memories and figured that maybe now was not the time, but maybe later after 0.5-5 years: when we would be more understanding towards each other. It motivated me to do things without her and having faith in being together someday. However, this strength gave the side effect that I was still in a lot of pain. I was thinking about her every fucking single moment of the day.

Everything came to a real end when she approached me on whatsapp the last time, asking me how I was doing, talking a bit. I was being honest (as always), and for some reason it felt like there was a certain arrogant tone coming from her messages. She was actually not interested at all about how I was doing and told me very tactically that life goes on and that she doesn't care about whether I think her actions were fair or not. She was happy with her life and was enjoying the good things around her. She also insisted on having superficial contact while I told her multiple times that I don't want that.

It made me think. She was so happy and I was not. She showed no sympathy for how I felt (while she used to say that she loves me). She forced me to have superficial contact while I didn't want that. She was enjoying her life the way it was: with Marc, not knowing that she actually cheated for 5 months, also in their own house and own bed. She was being ruthless, if only to protect herself. But I was thinking that if she really enjoyed life, that it was my honest opinion that she shouldn't do this at the cost of others. Marc was always there for her. He indeed didn't deserve to be treated like she treated him. He didn't deserve to be used by her to build her own happiness. And even if he did, then it wouldn't be without the knowledge of her cheating on him.

I hated that she gave up on us because I saw progress in our behavior, in my behavior. I saw more positivity in my way of thinking, my doubts, our jealousy. So I felt she betrayed me and I felt injustice. I confessed everything to him, telling about what has been playing all along and why she behaved the she behaved. I also told him that he should know and should have a choice too, just like she had a choice these couple of months. I just felt that I was being tricked and I wanted to compensate for it by not letting her trick Marc any longer. However, I did say to him that I hope they can work it out and that this would be the best for both of them. At the same time I emailed a friend of hers, explaining that I told Marc and that I hope she could take care of Elena in times of need. I thought I was being nice. Because even though I told both of them what happened, I NEVER insulted her, called her a whore or whatsoever. Of course not, because then I would be saying things that wasn't true in my experience. I did want her to be happy, if only it was honest and sincere.

To my surprise I got a phone call from the police, saying that I was harassing Elena, Marc and a friend of hers.
Fact 1: she approached me the last time
Fact 2: she didn't say ONCE that I should leave her alone
Fact 3: I explained the situation to Marc and friend without angry words, I did it with kind words
Fact 4: Neither her friend or Marc told me I was harassing.

I was starting to wonder what police is using as evidence to make a report on harassment. She didn't actually file a report, but told her story that if there would be happening something in the future concerning harassment, that they know the background story. Well, I had no interest in harassing her, that's for sure. I was just glad that I told almost all my kizomba friends during these couple of months what happened before the situation got out of hand so it would not sound like I would indeed harass her but that it was just a way of hers to cope with the situation and to make me sound like a fool or creepy person.
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I think this is a nice story, because its content reflects the mirage that people may or may not have created for others to see. Alternatively, it reflects how the interaction between two individuals could result in extreme and divine states of awareness and experience of which many only see in movies or so and might ridicule for it just for this given fact. Furthermore, it could make people aware that there is always more than meets the eye and that you can trust people more who are open to who they are and what they have experienced, because being open and honest is what makes you reliable and human. We would all like to think that the people we meet in a certain scene and the interaction we might experience actually reflects the personality and or history of a person. Truth is, we would like to think so because we either don't care about other people because we see them as objects. Alternatively, our own spoiled life might suck in our experience and we would like to be surrounded by people who give the impression they are the embodiment of peace and or fun. But realize there is more than meets the eye and the people that are most open and dare to express their feelings are the most trustworthy ones. We've all had our fair share of experiencing difficulties, with different levels of coping strategies or lack of it. I think that for the writer of this story, the most tragic part is that it started so intensely passionate in a divine way and ended in a passionate destructive way because two people didn't understand each other nor accepted each other, couldn't control each other, were both very intense and dominant, but couldn't let each other go.
If the writer of this autobiographic story does indeed exist, I am confident that he is doing fine right now and is letting things go. I can imagine that there are still many kizomba songs that remind him of Elena, like Moça Louca, Na Nha Sonha, Mulher Perfeita, all songs that they made love on. Still, I have faith in that he will be doing well and already is enjoying life to its fullest.