Is it possible to have a love/hate relationship with a hunk of stone? Well, over the course of several years visiting the baby country of Bahrain, I seem to have accomplished just that.

He was the first thing I noticed (yes, foolish as it sounds, I have assigned my hunk of stone a gender) upon driving from the Bahrain International Airport on that fateful day in November 2008, to my tourist hotel for a vacation, other than the palm trees, minarets and road signs in Arabic that I had already come to love about this part of the world.

He was an announcement that I had arrived, welcoming me to a place I never thought I would be lucky enough years later, to call home.

During my vacation stay for the next two weeks, he was the first sight of my mornings, over-seeing the daily hustle and bustle of the central market when I opened my drapes to the new day. And he had moods as well; at times displaying a jubilation of fountains from within his spokes, in the evening he would light up in neon colours. Returning from my daily tours, the moment I saw him looming in the roundabout I knew I was approaching my hotel, he was my romantic landmark in an as yet unknown country.

He was also the last sight I remembered on the sad departure back to the airport for my dreaded return flight to New York.

Considering myself well-travelled by now, I could not explain my attraction for this simple form of a pearl reaching for the sky; surely less magnificent than the temples at Luxor, Michaelangelo’s David or the Taj Mahal, but for me it held a special significance of the romance of Arabia, my land of dreams.

During the several months that followed, I came to hate this monument, for its mere existence, for the fact that I knew it was sitting here twelve thousand miles away where it would no longer greet my mornings and wish me a neon goodnight, living in a place I so longed for, but could not have.

Until I could arrange the next vacation from my tedious office job and tedious life in New York, anticipating the sight of him again like an old friend who has been waiting for your return. And he did not disappoint, bringing tears to my eyes at the first sight of him still standing in his assigned spot as I again arrived from the airport. So much did I begin to love this piece of stone that I insisted of the hotel management I must have a room from where I could see him.

Of course the affection worsened with time, making it almost unbearable to leave again when the days of my brief vacations ticked to an end. By now I had photographed this icon from every angle at every time of day, from the sunrise peeking through his spokes to gleaming bright white in the midday light, to standing at a perfect angle through which to see the sunset sinking leisurely into the Arabian Gulf behind him. Every photo brought tears to my eyes as I captured it since I was already dreading the next departure and the long months of cold greyness which would return to my sight in New York and replace this magnificence.

Of course I purchased all the standard tourist baubles in his image: key-chains, fridge magnets, miniature replicas, reams of postcards. Which I found only worsened my longing to return every time I looked at them when I was back in New York, for what had now become just another stint in hell before I could get back to Bahrain again and my pearl.

And so it went, for the next two years, as often as I could return. Both the tears of joy upon arrival and the tears of despair upon leaving grew at increasing speed, like some horrible roller-coaster ride you subject yourself to for the exhilarating thrills until you feel the downward sickness overtaking them.

My existence in New York got progressively worse, first being diagnosed with gastrointestinal bleeding ulcers caused by stress and requiring hospitalization for surgery, although not given a good prognosis from my doctor as to how long this stop-gap procedure would last, if at all, since it was at that point only experimental and not enough follow-up statistics had been gathered from surviving patients.

This wonderful news was immediately followed by the loss of my job due to the downward spiralling US economy, and so the ensuing days were largely spent hiding under the blankets of despair, worsened every time I looked through my Bahrain photo albums and saw this monument that haunted me. I reached a point in my depression where I wished I had never seen it or Bahrain, since it was now surely out of my grasp forever, given that I had been told by the doctors that it was not medically advisable to undertake such a long flight in my post-surgery condition.

Life in New York became a depressing monotony; I didn’t even bother looking for another job largely because there were none to be had at my age, and so I subsisted on the meagre unemployment insurance payments from the government, which soon resulted in foreclosure notices being received from the bank, since this amount was not enough to pay the mortgage on my condo. The mailbox also began to contain salutations from other bill collectors.

At this point I no longer cared however, since my health was continuing to deteriorate, I was just waiting to die. And actually wanting to die if I could not return to my pearl and the country I felt I belonged in. I wanted him to be the last thing I saw in this life but knew I could not make the flight even to fulfil this wish.

Then one day I came across a quote, which I felt was a sign from Allah; it read: 

‘Happy Are Those Who Dream Dreams

And Are Willing To Pay The Price To Make Them Come True’

That decided it. I cashed in whatever savings I had, placed the condo for rental with a broker, packed the few things I wanted to take and had them loaded on an ocean freighter bound for the Middle East, and I purchased a one-way ticket to Bahrain, doctors be dammed. If I died during the flight, at least I would die trying to get back to my pearl for one last time.

Of course all my friends in New York said I was crazy, but I already knew this. I felt I had no choice. There was no way they could have understood.

And I made it, the bump of the aeroplane wheels on the runway at Bahrain International Airport being the most reassuring feeling I had ever experienced, knowing that in a very short time I would again see my pearl.

And there he was, as the taxi approached Manama, like a sentinel of security in my damaged world.

This time I decided to stay in the souq however, to make my little money last as long as possible, but I knew he was still out there down the road to insure a peaceful night’s sleep, something I was never able to attain in New York.

Amazingly, upon a visit to my doctor here a few weeks after my arrival, my blood test results all showed a vast improvement, as did my low blood pressure which was now within the normal range, and I have had no further episodes of gastrointestinal bleeding since living in Bahrain. My doctor, who had hitherto placed me on a check-up schedule for every three months, told me that if my health continues to improve, he would then instead place me on a schedule of only every six months.

I am of course not claiming a miracle cure could be brought about by a sculpture, but I definitely feel it was instrumental in removing my stress, which was causing the ulcers, which in turn were causing the bleeding... like a vicious cycle.

Thanks to my improving health, I subsequently began searching for a flat and found one in Naim, coincidentally right down the road from my pearl, the first thing I see when exiting my apartment building each morning. And when giving directions to any visitor needing to find my building of residence, I happily announce: ”I live right down the road from the pearl roundabout.”

And every night when I go to sleep, I know he will be out there, my sentinel of security possessing the magic power to keep all the bad things of the world from reaching me. And I’ve never been happier in my entire life. Now I am secure in the knowledge that I will never have to leave him again.

I’m so glad I took the risk and listened to my heart instead of reason...

NOTE: Lillian's beloved Pearl monument was demolished on 18th March, 2011.