During my exams, my father, who knew I was tired of the living room parade of potential suitors, told me to serve tea to his friends who were coming over one evening. I was in typical studying mode - sans makeup, track pants and goggles. My suspicions were alerted when he asked me to change and brush my hair - although social mores dictates hygiene and presentation when entertaining guests. For some strange reason, my sixth sense was tingling again.
When they arrived, it was an older couple. As I came into the room to serve the tea, my father innocently asked where their son was. Turns out there was a party on my street and he was sent two blocks down to park the car. I then realized I was part of a ruse. Another 35 year old? An immigrant? What was I being sucked into?
I hid in the kitchen and peeked through the door partition. When their son arrived and enter my house, I blinked twice. I could not believe my eyes. It was him. The guy from the events. In my living room, with his parents, talking with my brother. I gasped. I paced the kitchen and could not make a run for my room without him seeing me, in my most natural state, without makeup and the frumpiest outfit known to man. Ok, here goes nothing, I thought as I entered the room with a serving tray. I kept my eyes focused on the floor as my father introduced him to me. And the whole time, I could not look up. I heard him ask my brother about me, my studies but I could not muster the courage to speak to him, with my father only a few feet away and his mother's perpetual gaze on me. Chastity and demureness are key -- the minute you eye anyone's son or vice versa, tis' a big NO NO. And I had to play by the rules or else I would be subjected to a two hour lecture about my insolence and disobedience. Yes, this happened regularily.
Fast forward. We met three times at each other's homes. Chaperoned. My brother and sister with his brother in the room. At least we got away from the elders. But I was still tongue-tied. Nothing I said came out right. We both were trying too hard to make a first impression and it was hell! I would drive home and consult my brother who could not offer anymore insight into his impression of my suitor. I was perplexed when my father would ask what I thought. What was there to say? I really knew nothing about him and was too scared to ask anything personal with my family sitting in earshot of everything word we spoke.
While I attended my classes at University, my Canadian girlfriends were flabbergasted. You haven't been alone with him? You are not allowed to date? You are chaperoned? As I meekly smiled back at their astonished faces, my mind raced for justifying the situation I was in. On one hand, I was completely and utterly unsure about marrying him. But then there was a settling in my heart that reassured me that I was about to make the best decision in my life. It was a strange duel ensuing within me. But it was a different battle I was undergoing when it came to the former suitors. I KNEW they were not the ones. But this one was different and the signs had come to me before I had even met him. Seeing him twice before he landed in my living room perplexed me but also left me with a sense of destiny. I can't explain it but I, who was always taught sense and sensibility was being ruled by my heart and not my brain. It was not love, it was not even a crush. The feeling was devoid of emotion yet I was unexplicably drawn to him without any reason. And it was a force I could not reckon with -- out of my hands, out of my control and yet I allowed it to lead me.
But as always, there is a twist to the story. One small detail I left out...
Squeeze me?
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