When I was a pre-teen, I overheard my father saying to my mother. "A lion approaches his prey with a smile." The phrase stuck in my mind, mostly because I could not picture a smiling lion. In time I asked him what this meant. Babacim explained that no enemy or predator reveals his intentions but often appears pleasant and sympathetic until he has captured his prey. Then he went into tales and fables from Aesop and Nasreddin Hodja. That's how Babacim taught life lessons. Over the years I've seen many testaments to  his words of wisdom, but little did I ever expect to become a prey myself. I grew up and lived with the credo that if one did good, one received good in this life.

Sometimes, however, good experiences can lead us down the proverbial garden path, where what we perceive is nothing but the opposite of what it really is. Thus with my wonderful WIER experience I moved on to presenting conferences, promoting the virtues of integrating the Internet into the curriculum, backed by my personal experiences. During this time I met many interesting colleagues in New Mexico, Ohio, Ontario, New York, England and other locations with whom I exchanged e-mails and continued corresponding.

Until the one e-mail that popped up unexpectedly on January 29, 1999. He was not my colleague, nor had I met him before. By then, however, my comfort and trust over Internet correspondence had taken me to a match site where I had placed a vague profile with a fictitious name. No pictures. I was there on a trial basis just wetting my toes to experience something new, to have some fun and test the waters – maybe even write a story about the fairly new fad of Internet dating. I met a few very nice people for coffee and movies. It was an entire new world for someone like me, who was never allowed to date in her teenage years because of her cultural upbringing. Now in my mid-forties, my children raised, my marriage broken, I was single and back to being free as a bird just released from a cage, where she spent all her life.

By the abracadabra of cyber magic, my on-line profile and his showed a 78 percent match in our personalities and life choices. Bemused, I replied and he wrote back, although he lived in Newfoundland – so far away – not even on the mainland! What possible future could be in such a far away “meeting"?

I had two days left to decide whether to sign on and pay three month's fee, or get kicked off the site. (Did I mention this was in January of 1999 ?) Part of me was feeling strange, opening mail from men I didn't even know. But this one . . . This one somehow intrigued me. He sounded erudite, not just articulate, as an English professor should be.

What did that matter? What was I looking for anyway? We exchanged our personal e-mails and left the site. Afterwords followed a feverish period of written exchange - a flurry of letters and notes daily and nightly for four months. I still did not want to hear his voice or see a photo of him. I knew it was strange, yet somehow, I wanted to get to know this person without the interference and prejudice of my other senses. Or was it my fear of attachment?

I learned that he was divorced - a second time as he lamented of an alcoholic wife who drove him into personal bankruptcy. My ex drank excessively too - the main cause of our estrangement. He wrote to me about his background – an immigrant family like mine, although there were differences. I was raised not to view poverty as a fault. He had worked his way through many jobs and won scholarships to be where he was today. Just like Babacim – only dealt with a mean hand in his personal life. Two failed marriages, a son from each. At age fifty-three, still alone and seeking love. Why did good people end up with such bad scripts?

Eventually we exchanged phone numbers and I was first to make that long distance call. Reluctantly. After that evening in late March, sun didn't rise or set without hearing each other's voice or reading our multiple daily e-letters. As soon as his lectures ended he flew to Montreal. The instant we met at the Trudeau International, I felt as if I had known him all my life. It was love at first sight for both of us.

December 31, 1999 he proposed without any pomp or splendor.

I decided to take a break from teaching during the last year of the century to put my personal life in order. I was at the pinnacle of my career with more room to move up higher; yet it was a turning point, a time to make a choice. I chose him, because I did not want to spend the rest of my life alone. I ignored the little voice in my head about his bankruptcy despite his career and his position. I remembered my mother's words that Babacim was poor too when they were newly married. But he had a golden bracelet – a good character, education and career prospects. He adored her. I built on that paradigm and said “Yes,” when he proposed to me on the eve of the new millennium.

Our marriage would be challenged since my career was established in Quebec, his in Newfoundland. We were both tenured. The only way of being together on a daily basis was either my resignation, my finding a position in St John's, NL, or waiting until his retirement at age 65. I extended my leave of absence and spent another year in Newfoundland, where I started my freelance writing career. There was nothing en par with what I had left behind for what I was trained to do.

I never met the second ex who lived in the same city and completed her doctorate at the university my husband taught. His 10 year-old son would spend alternate weekends with us, and to him I was as kind as I could be, hoping he didn't resent me for marrying his father. All I knew about his former wives was what he told me. And they were not happy stories.

His older son was working on his masters at that time. He was raised by his mother and her family. His father had very little to contribute in his upbringing, but I didn't ask too many questions, or if I asked something of too personal nature, he would look sad and initiate to change the conversation to more pleasant topics. Any of my concerns about our future were answered by, “We'll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

And he loved me - that's all that mattered.  I believed him heart and soul, as I loved him myself.

(To be continued...)

The ferry that took me to my new world on a leap of faith.

Approaching Porte aux Basques, Newfoundland, leaving mainland behind.

Füsun Atalay ~ Copyright © Will of my Own -2011