Loving the Mermaid

I have recently recalled a short-story I once read: "The Song of the Mermaid". A group of people have sailed out on a lake on a quiet summer evening. Every one is enchanted by the feeling, the sounds and the colours of this beautiful evening and lost in dreams. The calmness is interrupted by a strange tune to which they can see no source. Slowly the fear creeps up on them one by one and they hurry back to shore. It turns out that the sound was produced by a man sitting in the boat who now laughs at their folly. Even though he convinces them of the natural explanation to the music, they all feel strange and have a vague image of a singing mermaid lingering in their minds.


A while ago a person entered my life. I didn't mean for him to enter, and especially not for him to have the impact he had. Maybe he meant to enter. I am not sure. I do know he was looking for something, but I doubt if his morals would have let him look for what he found.

It started out as casual chat about food, the weather, pets; but something led us fast to more profound subjects; marriage, the meaning of life and love, religion, existentialism. To great surprise for both of us we found that not only did we seem to have a whole world of ideas in common - we also quickly trusted and liked each other. Chat let to messenger, let to Facebook and before I ever got the chance to stop and think, we were writing each other hundreds of words every day; confiding like never before.


I excused myself with finding it tricky to meet a new male friend. The way my stomach turned, the way I thought about not much else than him; it couldn't be love, it couldn't mean that I was cheating on my fiance.

I was astounded by his almost brutal level of honesty. He would tell me his deepest, darkest secrets. Slowly I began to give some secrets back. Letting down masks that I had kept up for ages. For the first time, I uttered the words that maybe I wasn't really happy in my relationship. He listened to it all, gave me feedback. I listened and tried to comprehend his horrible life story revealed mail by mail.

I fell in love. He seemed perfect to me; even his flaws were perfect.

He was accepted. He needed that. He fell in love because I accepted him and his story and did not judge.

I may have accepted. But I did not listen. I did not hear or understand the truth behind having been diagnosed with borderline. I couldn't really fit this condition in with the perfect man I spent hours talking to. I could not comprehend how he could be in love yet know that he had no desire to ever meet the object of this love.
I would be upset by the thought that I was only an illusion; that this kind of love was nothing but an illusion; that I would never be as perfect in real life as I was with him.
I was seduced by the chance to be perfect. Even though I wrote him of the deepest darkest corners of my soul, I felt next to perfect. Even though my depression was slowly breaking through, I felt more complete and alive than ever before.

Though his mails were real, I read what I wanted to read. That is all any of us can do. We can never read what the other person wants us to read. I created a beautiful tune on a string stretched too far, combined with magical evening breezes.
This imaginary song told me of his growing self confidence; that he would no longer accept to be abused by the people closest to him: he would break free and stand strong on his own. I must admit that this last sentence goes on: and one day, we would meet and every thing would be perfect.

But mermaids are illusions. Strength can fail, relationships are rarely black and white: maybe his wife treats him badly, but there are reasons for this behavior. People may create strong visions of their future life, but they can also turn their backs on these visions and choose that the less perfect life is actually suitable for them.
I openly admit I fell in love with a mermaid. The one with the most beautiful song I have ever heard. For a while I experienced the dangers of a mermaid's song very vividly. I lost all sense of my life, my obligations and other hopes and dreams. All that mattered was reaching the mermaid.

Fortunately the mermaid had too high moral standards to lead me all the way out to sea, so that there would be no turning back.
Now I just have to learn to live with the memory of this: that lingering strange feeling that also touched the characters of the short story, knowing that I will never be the same, and still having to own up to my actions and choices and know that I reacted so strongly to a mere figment of my imagination - because every grown up knows that mermaids aren't real.