By Isaac Christopher Lubogo (SuiGeneris)
Every woman dreams of marrying Goloola, the six-pack superman, and every man dreams of marrying Juliana Kanyomozi, the goddess of voice and poise—until they find otherwise.
Every fantasy collapses the moment the stage lights go off and reality walks in, barefoot and demanding conversation.
1. The Seduction of the Stage
We fall in love with performances, not persons.
We mistake charisma for character and applause for affection. When Juliana sings, the soul melts—but we forget that even a nightingale must sometimes fall silent to breathe. When Goloola flexes his muscles, we see power—but we forget that strength can be lonely when not met with understanding.
What we call “love” is often fascination. We don’t desire them—we desire the energy they awaken in us.
2. The Celebrity Illusion
Just as the masses idolize Mariah Carey and Denzel Washington, the heart in its immaturity believes that glamour is the same as goodness.
Yet the philosopher Plato warned that beauty is deceptive when divorced from virtue. The modern tragedy of love is that we have exchanged depth for display, intimacy for image, and compatibility for chemistry.
The “superman” becomes ordinary when the lights fade; the “songbird” becomes human when the audience leaves.
3. Marriage as the Great Unmasking
Marriage is the cruel equalizer—it undresses the adored and disrobes the dream.
In its quiet corridors, there are no microphones, no cameras, no fans. Only two fragile beings trying to make sense of each other’s silences.
That is when the illusion dies—and true love begins. Not the love that adores the performer, but the one that listens to the unedited song of the soul.
4. The Burden of Expectation
To marry a “king” or “queen,” a “celebrity” or “superman,” is to invite comparison with the image the world sees.
How can a man compete with the myth his wife has become in her fans’ eyes? How can a woman rest when the world demands her to sparkle every dawn?
The result is emotional exhaustion—two people imprisoned by their own public shadows.
5. The Wisdom of the Ordinary
The antidote to this fallacy is humility: the courage to love the person behind the performance.
The truest beauty is not in the flawless voice or sculpted body, but in the flawed heart that still chooses kindness.
When we begin to love without an audience, we begin to live without pretence.
Conclusion: Love Without Lights
Every woman wants to marry Goloola until she meets the bruises beneath his abs. Every man wants Juliana until he learns that even angels cry.
The “superman” and “songbird” are not false—they are fragments of what we admire.
But marriage is not about fragments; it is about wholeness. And wholeness is found not on the stage, but in the stillness of two imperfect hearts learning how to stay.
