I'm back!!!

After a brief hiatus, I realize my mind races if I don't write my thoughts down. Its called my "Mind Dump". And you all know that if you don't empty out time to time, things can get really backed up. So I promise a weekly excerpt, even if it doesn't make sense. But does anything in life make sense when push comes to shove?



Sunday, January 30, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 27: The hidden agenda

My mother-in-law was relentless. She called many a night, wanting to know where we stood in the proposal. They had made it official (asking for my hand in marriage) the last time we went to dinner at their house in early December. My father was putting it off. Figured. On the surface, he presented himself as petty and self-serving when it came to his hesitation. But deep down, he was a complicated man with mixed emotions and indecisiveness. His response puzzled me and my husband's family.

"We are going to Pakistan to visit my wife's family. When we return, you will have our decision." Needless to say, they were not happy, having to wait yet another month to know whether or not we would accept their proposal. When his mother called prodding me to give her a hint, I could feel the eggshells crunching beneath my feet. I wanted to reassure her yet at the same time, I did not want to betray my father by revealing my true feelings. But I had already made up my mind. Out of all the suitors that had shown any interest, this felt right. He was right. I had received my sign after I prayed the Prayer of Guidance twice. Another story...

"We are going there to meet my mother's family. Not seek out someone for marriage," I told her. Her worry was loud enough to hear, even though she remained silent on the phone after my attempt at reasoning. It felt odd reassuring her--I should have been speaking to her son. He was absent from the equation altogether during these 'negotiations'. This is how it felt. Like a transaction. And my father was halting the proceedings to take time and review. True to his typical form. Never one to make a hasty decision.

"I am ready. I give my consent. We should tell them before we leave for our trip," I told my father.

"We need not rush into this. And I certainly do not want to push you. This is your sole decision. Our trip to Pakistan will give you room to think and reflect. Take the time there and make up your mind. When we come back, you can tell me how you feel," my father told me after we hung up the phone. He had been sitting next to me while I spoke to my mother-in-law. I understood the chaperoned visits to their house, but screening my phone calls was a bit too much! I sensed that he was guarding me, afraid that anything politically incorrect would fly out of my mouth. Worried that I may incriminate myself and he would need to jump in and exonerate me.

Squeeze me?

"Have you told them about my broken engagement?" I asked, quite innocently since I was not privy to the living room conversations at either house.

My father looked at me with disbelief. I shifted nervously in my seat. He folded his newspaper in silence. This was executed in a most exact manner. Alphabetically he would return the sections to their previous state and organize the pile in garage by date. This act of cataloging back then was a strange event and we always questioned why. As I reflect back today, I realized that his role in our house was complete, soverign control over all of us. When this dominion was out of his reach, he needed to be able to deflect his frustrations elsewhere. Today this would probably be recognized as OCD but growing up, it was a chore that made us roll our eyes and scratch our heads with incomprehension.

Every six months, he would gather his children and make us sit with him to go through the pile of newspapers, ensuring that the sections were returned in order and each paper, according to month and day of the week would create its own unique pile. When we would question why we had to go through this exercise, that very same vein in his forehead would pulsate and he would tell us calmly that he needed to go through the papers to clip out any articles he deemed current and educational. We would look at each other in dismay and continue the ritual. Questioning him about my called off engagement was seen as a huge rustling of the newspapers.

"Why would I tell them about an engagement that never was an engagement? There was no ceremony, no celebration, no exchange of rings. This does not need to be mentioned. Do you understand? Am I clear?" He was now looking at me sternly from the other side of the table. Was he stalling? Was he scared there would be reprecussions if we agreed too quickly. I was trying to figure out his strategy but for now, I knew better than to open up old wounds.

My last trip to Pakistan was in 1987. It was the best trip of my life. There was no political instability, no war, no Taliban and certainly no security threats in the streets. I had stayed two months in the summer with my mother and sister, taking turns living with my paternal and maternal families. My mother had gone back after eight years and cried immediately when the plane touched down in Lahore. I knew what it meant for her to be home with her family. She did not go frequently like my father who had returned by himself on many occasions. When it was time to return to Canada at the end of the summer, my mother would remain for another eight months. I insisted and argued with my father over the phone to let her stay and he finally accepted. It was a good thing because that would be the last time she would ever see her family again.

We ended up in Pakistan by mid-December and it was bittersweet. To see my mother's extended family after her death was hard. Especially after meeting my aunt, her elder sister, who looked almost like her. My mother was the baby in her family of three brothers and one sister. The year my mother died, we were tested another two times. My mother died July 1989. October of the same year, my paternal grandfather passed away. And then to top it off, at the end of the year, my mother's mother died. She was sick when she heard of my mother's death. And her will to live disappeared knowing that her youngest child was no longer alive. It broke her heart and in the end, it broke her too. For her family, who did not experience her death first hand, they had problems accepting the fact that she was gone. Hence, the mourning was bound to occur once again.

When a week passed, we began to enjoy ourselves. We ate, drank and laughed together, reminiscing about our trip in 1987 and fond memories of my mother. My father seemed to relax as well--a little too much.

And it was not until a little later, did I find out about his hidden agenda...

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 26: The Road Less Travelled

It was now December 1990. My father had made the unilateral decision to go to Pakistan to see my mother's family. Since her death in 1989, he had infrequent conversations with them by phone. I think the guilt was eating him up and he felt indebted to take his children and go back to see his inlaws. As the sole surviving parent, that was the least he could do. However, I did not see his true agenda. But that is another story yet to tell!

On our next visit to my husband's home, his mother was getting antsy. Her son had told her on our second visit that he was sure I was the one. She had to seal the deal, so to speak. It was always the same thing. We would arrive. We would sit in the living room with our parents. They would kick us out to the family room so they could 'talk'. Each time we left, I tried to keep one ear directed towards the living room. I asked my father at one point why we, myself and my husband to be, could not sit in the room with them to hear what they were saying.

"This talk is not for you. It is something we grown ups have to figure out. You can sit with him and learn more about each other. I am sure you have lots in common!"

This talk was not for me? I beg your pardon? It had EVERYTHING to do with me. Here they were, planning out my future and I could not even be privy to the conversation?

I sat with my siblings and his brother, embarressed to ask any question of a personal nature in front of everyone. I could sense he felt the same. Prior to going to their house, I gave a list of questions to my brother to ask him on my behalf. My brother laughed. "You are on your own, Sis. Plus, I like to see you squirm!"

Funny thing was I had no problem talking to the guys from school or work. But trying to get to know someone, under these unfamiliar circumstances, was wreaking havoc on my confidence.

At one point, my brother and sister went out of the room with his brother, leaving us alone. I did not know where to look. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see he was staring at me intently. When I turned to speak, he quickly turned his head in the opposite direction or pretended to be busy with the fireplace or opening and closing the blinds. I sighed with relief when everyone came back. I knew their departure had been planned amongst them all because my siblings exchanged looks with me to gage if I had spoken to him in their absence. I rolled my eyes. This was a disaster! If we could not even speak in a group setting or in isolation, I could only imagine our wedding night!

Our wedding night! That was another animated topic of conversation when I went to school and talked to my one of my closest girlfriends.

"So you mean to tell me, that you are chaperoned everytime you see him? What about if he wants to kiss you?" I almost fell off my seat in the lecture room. I shook my head and tried to collect my thoughts.

"Girlfriend. First of all, we don't date. We are not allowed to date. Second of all, I am not supposed to be alone with him. Thirdly, we cannot touch each other before we marry!" As I finished, two guys in front of us turned around in their seats, with horror in their eyes. I looked at the ceiling, pretending not to see them. The professor droned on while the rest of the class were busy entertaining themselves.

"I cannot believe what you just said!" she exclaimed. She covered her mouth with her hand and I could see her eyes widen. "You mean when you marry and you are alone with him on your wedding night..." I stopped her before she could continue, kicking her violently under the chair. One guy had turned around completely, smiling sheepishly at me. Great, I had the attention of not one, but three people sitting next to me.

"Can we talk about this outside?" I whispered heavily under my breath. It was hard enough convincing my non-Muslim friends about the courtship process--or lack thereof. But as we walked to the parking lot after class, her unabashed questions made me think twice. What the hell was I doing?!

"Have you consented to marry him yet?" she asked.

"No, but I am getting there," I replied.

"Based on what?"

"Based on ....intuition.."

"Are you kidding me? I have known you for 13 years and you are marrying some dude based on a gut feeling?!" She was now laughing. I hated to be laughed at.

"I know. I don't know much about him. I can barely speak two words to him. He is arrogant and pretentious. But I really believe he is going to be my husband," I said as-a-matter-of-factly. My friend grabbed me by the shoulders. My body was shaking because she was laughing so hard.

"I know you. You are very rational. I know there is a lot of culture in you but seriously, you are born and raised here. I know your Dad never let you date but I know how outgoing and social you are. You have a lot of male friends whom you have had good friendships with and you know they wanted more. Wouldn't you rather get to know someone before you marry him?" She winked at me and I knew what she was intimating.

Her line of questioning was warranted. She knew my restrictions and was completely aware of the NO DATING rule. She laughed when my father refrained me from attending mixed parties although many times, I had beat the 'system'. Based on previous indiscretions, she truly believed that at some point, I would break out of my cultural restrictions and religious boundaries. But the last year had also proven to her that I changed--as a result of my mother's death. I was initiated onto another path. My past rebellions took me away from what was truly in my soul. It did not feel like conformity to me. It was just a predestined force that I know would take time to adjust to.

"Can you marry someone you don't really know and not be physically intimate with?"

There. She had asked the million dollar question. Out in the open. In the parking lot. Without hesitation. She had every right, being my closest friend, who I had shared every experience with, including my debacle with my ex-fiancee. She stared at me for a long time. I kicked a stone on the ground while she waited.

I could not explain how I felt. I would leave his house after each visit. Hardly any conversation exchanged. No insight into his likes/dislikes, his favorite colour, musical tastes, information about his past...nothing. I would walk away and go home that night, lying awake, wondering about him and whether or not we were compatible. It drove me nuts! But this time, I stopped reasoning with my head. I only relied on my heart.

As I opened the door to my car, my friend scrambled in on the passenger side.

"You are not leaving until you answer me! If you cannot look me in the eye and tell me how you feel, then this is not meant for you. I only want what is best and for you to be happy," she implored. I put my key in the ignition.

"Get out of my car!" I laughed as I tried to push her out the door. She was always there for me, drying my eyes at the funeral when my mom was laid to rest. She was my rock, my sounding board. And her advice meant so much to me. But I was scared what she would say now.

"See?? You cannot answer me. So its done! Tell your father to go marry him if he likes him so much!" She pushed me back, laughing as well. I turned to her and became serious.

"Yes," I replied. I was looking at her, square in the eye.

"Yes what?" she asked.

"Yes, I can marry him without knowing anything about him."

She was quiet as first, looking out the windsheild, thinking to herself. But then she smiled slyly and reached over to hug me. I was surprised by her gesture. She did not speak another word and left me alone in the car. I sat awhile as the engine ran and thought about my declaration.

Then, breathing deeply, I put my foot on the gas--travelling on a route home that I had never taken before.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 25: My Initiation to Empathy

I did not hear from my ex-fiancee or his sister thereafter but he was in the back of my mind. It was only a month after breaking off the engagement that we met with my husband's family. I knew I needed to move on but I was paralyzed with empathy. I imagined daily what he was going through and how he was getting on with his life. I could not help it.

With every sound of the phone, I would jump a hundred feet in the air--waiting, expecting it to be 'them'. Who the hell was 'them'? The gang. The one that was coming for me. I did not know when they would appear but I envisioned their group. Squeeze me?

I was always one to have a vivid imagination. Concocting stories and images in my mind and being absolutely sure that they would come to fruition. I expected him to show up on my doorstep, with his entire extended family and friends, armed with bats and lit torches, demanding I come to the door and face the music. He knew where I lived so anything could have happened. I once confessed my fears over the phone to a girlfriend in a very animated fashion, which was unfortunately overheard by my father in the next room. When I put down the phone, he came over and guided me by the elbow to sit with him.

"Why are you so nervous? It is over. The deed is done. Now get over it and move on with your life," he exclaimed. I bit my lip and thought he would never understand my feelings. Even after breaking the engagement and explaining it to my ex-fiancee, I felt remorseful and guilty. My father's nonchalance towards the situation made me feel like throwing the whole incident in his face. You made me do this. You never wanted it to happen my way--just another thing in my life that you could control. And now you have your wish and it does not affect you one bit!

There were many nights I would start writing him a letter. A letter of apology. I was never good at confrontation but arm me with a paper and pen, and I could write an essay defending my position. But each time I tried, I crumpled the paper and threw it in the trashbin. It was no use. I knew what I did was wrong even though my heart was against it. I could not help my empathy. It was a trait I inherited after my mom died. You see, I had changed drastically. And her death was my initiation into the next stage of my life. I was selfish, all-knowing, stubborn, unsympathetic and gave no regard to others and their emotions. Your typical eighteen year old. Until this day, my father insists that I still carry that stubborn streak. But I refute this impression. Because before, I just didn't care.

A few weeks before she passed, I had a monumental fight with my father about university. He refused to let me go away to study.

"There is a university which is a 20 minute drive away. Why don't you go there?" he demanded while my mother sat in silence, listening. "If you go away, it is unstructured supervision!"

"That is why I need to get out of here! I am going to work this summer and pay for my residence. All I need is the tuition." I sat back and folded my arms--my stance of resistance. My mother picked up her knitting and furrowed her brow.

"You want to leave because you cannot stand living here?" The vein in his head started to pulsate and his eyes were bulging at this point.

"That's right! No one can live with you! I am not going to grow in this environment where there is so much control and no freedom. You are like the Pakistani government. Well, guess what? This is Canada. And if you came here to give me a better life, then you better just let ME live it!" I was standing now throwing my arms in the air, red in the face. My mother put her knitting down and looked at both of us while shaking her head. "Just let her go," she quietly said to my father.

Without looking at her, my father stood up and walked over to me. I was startled and thought he was going to strike me. My mother nervously moved in her seat. With his finger raised and pointed directly in my face, he made his decision--loud and clear.

"You will go away to university over my dead body!" His finger was shaking out of anger and I was sneering back at him, shaking with anger. In my peripheral vision, I spotted my mother looking at me, with tears in her eyes.

"We will see about that!" and I stormed out of the room. His words, his ideas, his demands meant nothing to me. This was not about him.

Little did he know, a week later, it would not be over his dead body...but my mother's.

Without her in my life, I started to care...and that is when my initiation began.

Monday, January 24, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 24: Fate or Coincidence?

How do two people, who have never met, see each other only twice and know they will spend the next twenty years together as husband and wife? What are the odds? Is it called Love at First Sight? Problem was, I did not love my husband when I first met him.

Squeeze me?

Nope. Not one ounce of loving. But we had a magnetic attraction to each other that was undeniable. It was not lust but a silent affirmation of our bond. As you know, I allowed you to embark on my journey and experience the signs as I did. My husband concedes that the only two signs for him were the events he saw me at, although he vaguely remembers me at the Ontario Science Center. However, without any doubt, he knew when he officially met me on that fateful Sunday tea gathering, that I was the one. He still is unable to explain it today. He did not receive signs from dead mothers, birds or lightening strikes but he knew they happened to guide me to him. My spirituality evolved. His was already intact. We were drawn together by unseen forces. I was learning about it while he already accepted his lot in life. Fate or coincidence?

After meeting him, I was told by a religious friend to pray early in the morning and ask Him if this was the right person for me. What? Ask God? She smiled slowly and told me of a prayer that was performed in the depths of the night, a few hours before sunrise. It was to be prayed during a time when sleep was at its heaviest and getting up to perform ablution with the prayer, required a degree of difficulty.

"When everyone is asleep, only He is listening. He asks the angels, “Who, out of all My servants, has awoken to prostrate in front of Me and pray for answers?"

I was intrigued by this prayer but at the same time, embarrassingly skeptical. Despite all the signs He had showed me, I dared to question if this nighttime prayer would make any difference.

After meeting him the second time at his house, I was obviously unsure about him. My siblings offered no insight to me about his personality. We sat together, in his house, as a group, talking about various topics. I knew we were trying too hard to impress each other. He came off cocky and arrogant. I came off as guarded and skeptical. My father did not ask me anything. He would drive there and back without comment. I was confused and unsure. We met again at our home. I cooked dinner and bit my nails while they sat eating and talking. My father had to slap my knee under the table several times to remind me to remove my fingers from my mouth. I was so nervous about impressing them. When I told this to my brother, he grinned from ear to ear, like the geeky computer nerd he was. "You like him! I know you. If you didn't, you would not care. You only aim to please when you care!" I wanted to punch him right there and then but for my baby brother, he was years ahead in wisdom and maturity.

After meeting him the third time, his mother pulled me in the corner of their dining room as I set the table, ready to pounce. "Are you going to marry my son?" she asked with wide eyes. I was taken aback. I did not know the protocol but I did know that the decision had to be made between the parents. The father must obtain consent from his daughter before moving forward with the boy's parents. This is obligatory in Islam. If you have read anywhere that a woman is forced into marriage, this has been the result of a cultural imposition. A woman’s consent is paramount.

I turned to his mother and revealed that I had yet to give consent to my father. She frowned and shrugged her shoulders. The clock was ticking and I knew I could not wait.

So I decided to perform the prayer, Ishtakhara--the prayer of Guidance. I prayed that night after experiencing his mother’s brief interrogation. Everyone was in a heavy slumber. I woke to my alarm at 4am. The prayer required no bias. I could not go into this act with a predisposition in my head. I had to empty my mind and let it take me where God willed. I found out, later in my marriage, my husband, incredulously performed the same prayer as well.

As I sat before Him, I felt peace. Months of anguish beforehand seemed to dissipate and I felt my mind become clear. Even though I was meeting him and his family, I carried a sense of dread with me since I called off the engagement. But that night, I felt relaxed, free and unperturbed. I was not sure of the process but I tried to make asking as casual and comfortable as possible. Is he the one? Am I meant to be with him for the rest of my life? Will it work? Give me one sign. There was a strangeness associated with asking these questions – I had neglected prayer after my mother died because I was offered no explanation why she was taken away. It took many months to come to the point of having one on one conversations with God but as a result of the signs leading me to meeting my future husband, I finally was comfortable that I would get my answer.

I guess it was Faith. If I did not believe, then I would not see the signs. For that one night, my sign was contentment. Something I had not felt for one full year before then. And that was enough to push me through.

Truly with hardship comes ease. (Surat al-Inshirah: 5-6)

Sunday, January 23, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 23, Get me off of this (H)elliptical!

To make the short story long, I needed to pedal the elliptical over many days as a method of enlightening my audience. It was about enduring the worst to get to the best. Many would agree, it was a journey performed on the (H)elliptical. Who I am today was a result of that pilgrimage--I would never trade my elliptical for any other piece of equipment.

The blood, sweat and tears brings me back to the beginning. But do YOU remember? When life gave me lemons, I did not make lemonade. Instead, I sat on them and ruined my dress. So I stopped trying. And when I did, my life turned around...and for the better. The funny thing was, instinctively, with my sixth sense knawing at me like a squirrel devouring a nut, I knew it all along.

I think it was the craziest thing I had done to date. I did not believe in telepathy nor did I understand the sixth sense that was guiding me to keep watching. I didn't know why I was calling out to a stranger. But by now, he was no stranger. The guy with the tweed jacket. Now, he was wearing a suit. Why did he catch my attention? Why did he stand out in the crowd? Many people were filing out of the main hall into the lobby. There must have been 50 people between us. I looked down and shook my head. What am I doing? I need to get out of here.

As my confused friend bid me goodbye, I looked up. Out of a crowd of 50 people, he was looking directly at me.

There was no fighting it. So I did not look away. This time I knew.


So what exactly did I know? Not much at the time, but the wheels of Fate were already in motion.

THE OTHER SIDE OF THE STORY

In August 1990, at the Ontario Science Center, he was standing in a group with his brother and close University friends. His parents insisted he go, despite his pleas to take off with his friends somewhere else. He reluctantly agreed and ditched his parents at the front door, after meeting up with his buddies. As they stood in a circle, joking and laughing about how the event looked more like a 'meat market', he spotted a young girl standing with a group of friends. She wore an emerald green shalwar kameez and a velvet black blazer on top. She was looking around and laughing with her girlfriends. He watched for awhile, intrigued by what he saw. He tried to do this discreetly, afraid his friends would tease him for checking out a girl. They heard the announcement that the proceedings were about to begin so they began to file in line to the main auditorium. As people were shuffling in, from the opposite direction, he saw her heading towards the washroom. As she walked past, they locked eyes for only a second. He smiled quickly but she bowed her head and walked past. He did not give her another thought.

In September 1990, there was a cultural show in Scarborough. His friends had convinced him to attend. Of course, his parents wanted to come but only his father attended. They were looking for a wife for him. They had met a few girls but he was not interested. These girls did not match the type he was looking for. As they sat in the main hall, his father pointed out a girl to him. He told his son that she was the daughter of a prominent social figure in the community who was a widow. She was his eldest daughter and of marriageable age. His son stretched his neck for a better view but there were a million girls at the event. He had no idea who his father was referring to. When the event was over, he walked out with his buddies to decide where to go for a coffee. As he looked around the lobby, he saw someone out of the corner of his eye. She looked familiar. She was standing alone, as if waiting for someone. He watched for a minute and while he waited, she turned her head and looked directly at him. There was recognition in her eyes but he could not place her. All he knew was that he needed to meet her. And with one blink of his eye and a swarm of people passing by, she was gone.

Two months later, his father announced that they were going to meet the widowed man from the event. They lived an hour out of the city. A mutual family friend had called their family and set up a time to meet for tea one Sunday afternoon in mid-November. He was reluctant to go because his parents had set up 'meetings' with potential girls in the past that did not pan out. But he felt different about this visit and did not know why...

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.

Is it coming back to you?

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.

He tried to sneak a peek at this girl. Very simple, no makeup, demure and quiet. Ironically, he did not make the connection that she was the girl he saw at the cultural event. Throughout the afternoon, she did not look at him once and sat next to his mother talking quietly to her. He sat with her brother and tried to pry details out of him. Her name, age, where she was studying, her ambitions and details about the family. The brother seemed nice enough but her father was staring him down. Kind of scary looking. He was aware that ever time he tried to look over at the girl, her father was keeping watch.

He was not nervous. Nor afraid. In fact, he felt comfortable--more comfortable than at any other house they had been to. He had voiced his opposition about marrying within the family (yes, this does happen still where cousins marry cousins) but he agreed to having his parents 'set up' his marriage. Something seemed right to him about her and the family.

When they got into the car, even before buckling his seatbelt, his mother could not contain herself and asked him what he thought of her. "She is nice," he responded outwardly. It was the first time he had given a positive response after meeting numerous girl. She sighed heavily and excitedly planned to invite them for dinner the following week.

Internally, he was making his own plans. He already knew, without speaking one word to her, that she was the one.

Saturday, January 22, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 22: What's Love Got to Do with it?

My conscience became an overpowering force that followed me for many weeks. It ate at me and wore me down. But worst, there was an ache that I could not explain. It was a combination of butteflies in my stomach along with an hollowness in my chest. Was this what others coined as 'heartbreak'? I know that for a few days after I made the call, I was numb. When others spoke to me, their words fell on deaf ears. I could not focus on menial tasks (I threw out my university marks and kept the junk mail).I walked past people I knew, and when I went out anywhere, I would lose my car in parking lots. I was a mess. The only person who supported my decision was my father. My siblings and friends dare not speak their minds to me as they knew I was in a fragile state but I knew deep down that they were not impressed with my 'rash' decision.

One day the phone rang and my father entered my room as I was studying for midterms.

"It's his sister. She wants to speak to you." My heart skipped a beat. Damn, I could only think about what she was going to do to me.

"Tell her I am not home." My father shook his head and covered the mouthpiece. "You need to end this and if she wants to speak to you, just listen to what she has to say and apologize." I looked incredulously at him. Why did I need to apologize to her? We weren't the ones who were engaged! But I knew I could not avoid this call. A part of me wanted to know if he was ok. And the only way was through his sister.

The barrage of insults, accusations and emotional fury was unleashed the moment I said "Hello." I was not surprised. This is what I had mentally prepared for but I thought it would come from him. For half an hour, she told me what she thought of me. And it was not pretty. I knew better so I kept my mouth shut.

Despite the expletive language, I could distinctly hear the hurt in her voice and that translated to me his hurt. The disbelief, the utter incomprehension that my decision created was unmistakable in her ramblings. I let her take it out on me. If I were to interrupt or hang up the phone, it would mean unfinished business for her. The least I could do was let her explode and empty herself of the contempt she had for me.

She said some pretty hateful things, and at times, I thought too extreme in the grand scheme of things. I was not divorcing her brother; I did not develop a close relationship with her or the rest of the family. And during the one-sided conversation, I felt violated because my relationship with him was between us--not for her to comment on. Nevertheless, I remained silent. When she was winding down, she asked me one simple, loaded question. "If you loved my brother, why would you do this to him?"

Love. Again, that ambiguous word. The one word I could not reciprocate. And I knew then, finally, that I was never in love with him. I did love him as a friend. I did have feelings but they were neither romantic, carnal or emotionally charged. I had told myself that I would never enter an arranged marriage. That I needed to know and love my partner BEFORE I married him. But I was so young and naive about what I wanted and how I felt. The relationship my friends were in and what the media projected about love and falling love was a ruse because it was not applicable to me. I was different and my culture and religion made me different.

I was told not to date and not to fall in love. I tried to circumvent our system but while I was trying too hard for a relationship to happen, along the way, I did not fall in love. I did it all to prove a point to myself and others around me. Instead, it backfired. I could not make it happen. It had to happen naturally. And it was fated to eventually happen naturally, although I didn't know it at the time.

"That is between your brother and I." And that is how I left it. This infuriated her further and she commenced another battery of slanderous remarks against me but I could not take it any longer.

"We are finished here. I am hanging up," I calmly replied.

"You have devastated my brother and....." she exclaimed but I ended her rampage with one final click.

Her last sentence ripped me to the core. And it would stay with me for many years to come.

Friday, January 14, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 21: I am "JAWS"

Every time I passed the burnt mark on the ground by the side of my house, it was a constant reminder of my arrogance. Who was I to think that I could change the course of my future? I used to think it all fell on me--decisions, strategies and commitments but when I wasn't looking for the signs, they came to me. And worse, when I asked for a sign, it came without pause or hesitation.

For the skeptic reading this, its ok. I allow you to be unbelieving. Because this did not happen to you. All I can say is that my faith, from that day on is unwavering. I do not question. I open up and allow things to 'fall' as they may. However, it did not mean that I had no opinion or emotions about the events that occured. The next couple of postings will be the hardest ones I write.

The lightning bolt that missed my window by a few feet not only ignited the grass below but the emotional rollercoaster I was on. My car was at the top, just teetering over a very long drop. And all it took was a phone call to jolt the car over the precipice.

I rehearsed day after day what I would say. I practiced in the mirror, driving to school in the car and in my bed before I fell into a fitful sleep. No matter how much I tried to sound empathetic and sincere, I was fooling myself. The plan was to tell him it was over on the phone. My reasoning? Our relationship began on the phone and through letter correspondance. You would think that I would meet him face to face to break the news. But to be completely honest, even when we met chaperoned at his home or mine (only twice), even then, I could not look him in the eye. He mentioned this in one phone conversation after I met his family at their home. He laughed and said I was never shy on the phone and this quality was one of the reasons he fell in love with me. Love. He had written this in his letters and said it to me on the phone. Funny thing...I had never said it to him. He never asked me why or demanded that I reciprocate his declaration. It was one of the tell tale signs illustrating my commitment to a relationship that was apparently one-sided.

Somedays, I wanted him to yell at me and interrogate me on this point. He never did. He was complacent when it came to my opinions, thoughts and desires. And it dawned on me. He had jumped in this relationship with both feet while I was still dipping one foot, testing the waters, with the other placed firmly by the poolside. I was not willing to jump in with him from the beginning although he was holding out his hand and coaxing me to join. As much as I feared the water, it was him that I was scared of more. Would he really catch me if I jumped in? And then, there was my father, standing at the other side of the pool with a life preserver--the lifeguard. Warning me to stay away from the edge. Telling me to avoid the sharks in the water. Hardly! My fiancee was not the shark.

In the end, I was. And it took only one bite to do him in.

"I hate you! How could you do this? What kind of a human being are you? Selfish, undeserving, immoral and unethical! You really do not realize what you got yourself into, do you? How many people you are going to hurt because of this! I don't even know how you can look at yourself in this God-forsaken mirror!" I looked at my reflection in disgust and felt despondant. I was in the bathroom, preparing myself for the barrage of insults, accusations and disappointment that was about to happen. I had prolonged it for too long. It was now three weeks later from the lightning incident, near the end of October 1990. It was now or never. And if I chose never, I knew it would lead to both of our unhappiness.

I picked up the phone with trepidation. My mind blanked out. Weeks of preparation flew out the window and I was shaking as I dialed his number. It was 9:30pm on a Friday night and I figured he would be home by now after closing up the store. I caught him driving home. I had to clear my throat several times during the conversation to mask my nervousness, but he noticed the coolness in my voice.

"Something has changed," he questioned.

"Yes. Everything has changed." I asked him to pull his car over to the side. I did not want him driving while I told him the news that would rock his world.

I began to speak but it was not me. It was an outer body experience and as I spoke the words to him, they were foreign and surreal. He was quiet and did not interrupt so I had to ask twice if he was there. Silence, but I heard him breathing so I continued. She watched me talk to him on the phone. She was high up top near the ceiling, watching our conversation, feeling agitated and angry. She cried out to me, Don't do this! This is not right! Tell him its a joke. Hang up. Do anything, BUT DO NOT DO THIS!!

But the robot in me continued. I do not remember the entire conversation but I do know that I was reasoning the point about how my education came first and that I needed to concentrate on my studies. That getting married would disrupt this plan and that this was my priority. I spoke nothing about our relationship. I couldn't. It was a business case. And that is how I laid it out. As pros and cons of the situation, with the cons outweighing the pros. Silence. He did not speak a word. The girl above me was crying, yelling, screaming and pulling out her hair but I ignored her. Our conversation lasted for ten minutes. I ended it with an apology. The only word that I could genuinely speak with emotion, with a heartfelt voice, with love was Sorry.

He hung up and I stared at the receiver for what seemed like hours. When I hung up the phone, I lay back in my bed and bore my eyes into the ceiling. She was watching me with her cruel eyes and shaking her head. You bitch. I turned my head to the side. I felt nothing. No relief, no hurt, nothing.

She stayed above and watched as I tried to sleep. She clanged pots, turned the music up loud and laughed wickedly as I put the pillow over my head. Leave me alone, I begged but she remained there all night.

In the morning, I removed the pillow from my face and looked up. She was still there looking at me, with sad eyes.

She, the girl who watched as everythiing unfolded,... was my conscience...

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical: Part 20, Sign of the Times

I didn't sleep that night. It was like a ton of bricks had hit me in my conversation with my father. He avoided me when I came home after speaking with my brother. I remember going to my room and staring out the window for most of the night, pondering and then asking, what next?

I had many conversations with God although many of these were few and far between around the time my mother passed. As I was searching within myself, I found I needed an outlet to unloaded my burden so I began talking to Him again. Ironically, the night of my conversation, it began to rain and then thunderstorm. I kept my window open to feel the damp breeze on my face. It felt good to see and hear the rain and it made me feel that it was ok to cry along with the sky. Although I cannot remember word for word what I said, the results were dramatic and unnerving--there was no sign more intense than what I saw that night. And it made me believe that my destiny was laid out for me, no matter how hard I tried to avert it.

The conversation kind of went like this:

You know I have been miserable for months and yet you let me believe I was making the right decision. When he called me after my mother died, I thought this was the sign; I thought he was the right one who would be there for me, through thick and thin. But you never let me feel right about it. The whole time, you thwarted my plans and my father was your pawn. If you feel this is the path I must take, I need a sign. I know there have been so many thus far but the cynical, skeptical me keeps rejecting what is in front of me. I don't know the next step. And to be honest, I am too scared to move forward. I cannot make the decision I am about to make -- it will hurt him very much and I do care deeply for him. I don't know what love is. Maybe you are showing me that I am not meant to know at this point. But I gave him my word and I think my word is bigger than me. I need to honour my commitment and stay true to him.

I was going back and forth in my argument but the rational me would take over and ignore what was in my heart. What was I to follow? Fairness, justice, rational and logical thinking, that pushed me to stick to my original commitment or follow the sixth sense that haunted me day after day, with my physical body turning against me, fighting with my heart and shaking my soul with warnings so powerful that it took every ounce in me to turn a blind eye. And as I struggled with my thoughts, He answered me in the most violent way.

With my window slightly open, and thunder crackling in the distance along with lightning that blanketed the sky, suddenly a loud clap of thunder, so loud that it reverberated through the window into my body, hurling me back onto my bed, coupled with a flash so bright made me think twice about what had just happened. I thought I saw a bolt of lightning hit in front of my window, down to the ground. I was so shaken that I was frozen on the bed, too scared to move and go near the window. I heard running outside my door. My sister knocked on the door and asked me if I had heard the last sound of thunder. She looked at me oddly as I lay quivering in my bed. When I didn't answer, she laughed and walked out. I got up and went back to the window. Again I heard thunder and saw lightning but both were mysteriously off in the distance. I saw my neighbour's head appear in her window. I motioned her to call me.

"Did you see the lightning?" I expected her to clarify what I meant.

"It hit right in front of your window, on your side of the hedges!!" she exclaimed.

The next day was bright and sunny. And since I did not sleep the entire night, I got up at 5:30am and walked out of the house to the side.

And sure enough, He had left his mark. I gasped and covered my mouth with my hand.

There was no question about it. No hesitation, no doubts. It was the ultimate sign.

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 19: My Cute Guardian Angel of the Law

My father got up and grabbed the tissue box. I was blubbering incoherently and he was trying very hard to understand what I was saying. What happened thereafter was a blur of events. But true to my style, it illustrated my impulsive behaviour.

Again, my mind did not connect with my mouth. There were so many racing thoughts that I attempted to control and categorize them before saying them out loud. But no matter how hard I tried, my father sat dumbfounded at my ramblings. I was laughing, crying and angry all at the same time. Each time, he asked me to breathe deeply before speaking but I broke down every time I opened my mouth. I finally gave up. I shook my head and motioned to him that I needed to go upstairs.

When I reached the landing, I grabbed my purse and keys.

"You are in no state to drive," my father cautioned. But I didn't listen and he did not stop me. My brother came down and caught a glimpse of my tear-streakened face and knew better to say anything. "Go drive your sister," my father waved him over. But I shook my head and left without anyone interjecting. Our car at the time was a Pontiac Parisienne--a huge boat and one you couldn't tear out of the driveway and burn rubber for a dramatic effect. However, once you laid your foot on the gas, it was very easy not to notice how fast over the speed limit you were going. I turned down the window and gulped the air. I did not know where I was heading although my father's cliched phrase of My way or the highway did cross my mind.

"Can I see your driver's license?" the officer asked me, after pulling me over ten minutes later. My hands were shaking very badly and I caught my reflection in the rear view mirror. Black mascara was running down my cheeks. I looked like an escaped lunatic. And to top it off, the officer was young and handsome. Couldn't flirt my way out of this one. He shone his flashlight in my face.

"Miss, have you been drinking?" he asked as I passed over my license. I started to laugh but stopped when he looked back at me, puzzled. Imagine, me drinking--although the notion to start was not far off.

"No, I do not drink. Never have drank a drop. Its against my religion to drink so you will never..." The officer stopped me with his hand and smiled. "You know you were 10 km over the limit in a residential area." Instead of arguing with the him, I swallowed loudly and nodded my head in agreement. I could feel the food rising up in my throat. Oh God, please don't let me puke on the cute police officer...

"Clearly you are not drunk but you do seem very upset. Big fight at home?" I shook my head. "Just needed some air," I lied. He took my license and walked back to his cruiser. I caught myself gripping the steering wheel so hard that the tips of my fingers were blue. I looked back in the mirror. My eyes were red and I grabbed a tissue to blow my nose and wipe my face. Man, I was a sight. He returned and handed me back my license. "I will let you off with a warning." He paused and then leaned his elbows on my window. "You know, whatever you are going through, it will blow off. But just do me a favour? Next time, leave the car at home and take a walk."

I mustered up an embaressed smile and nodded. He winked and then returned to his cruiser. The officer remained in his car as I slowly pulled out and turned around to go home. I checked my mirror and sure enough, he was following behind me! ALL THE WAY HOME. Great. He does think I'm a lunatic. Doesn't he have some real criminals to capture? It amazed and bothered me at the same time but later I realized he just wanted to make sure I got home ok. You would never think the police would have time for an emotional teenager today but that night, he was my guardian angel.

As I turned into the driveway, I saw the curtain open and my father's bald head peer out. The living room lamp was on. He was waiting for me. Thank God he checked for me after the police cruiser drove by. I was only gone a half hour so I was not about to tell him about my run in with the law. I was smiling to myself when I walked in the front door. He followed me home.

My brother was waiting for me inside. He pulled me into the family room and shut the door. "What is going on?" he demanded. "Dad looks happy. What did you do?" I sighed and slumped into the couch. I would never think that I would be reprimanded for making my father happy! He continued to drill me. I was exhausted. "You look like crap. What did you fight about?"

I was too tired to talk. I just wanted to go and curl up in my bed and throw the covers over my head.

"Its over. Done. Finito. And I don't know how I am going to do it," I whispered.

"Do what?" My brother sat down next to me with a concerned look.

"Break his heart."

And unfortunately, that is exactly what I had to do.

Sunday, January 2, 2011

The Romantic Elliptical, Part 18: What have I done?

My recovery was slow. I call it a recovery because for me, I knew that I had fallen into the depths of an abyss. For those around me, to them, I had only withdrawn temporarily. But they did not share my experience, nor did they understand my destined road.

I used to scoff at these terms: star-crossed, fate, destiny, kismet, providence. I knew I was in control of my fate. I made everyday decisions that propelled me in the direction I determined was my own making. But when my mother passed, it was an event that rocked the world as I knew it. Just when you thought things could not get better, BAM! You don't believe you will wake up one morning to lose someone near and dear to you. When this happened, I avoided religion, I turned away from those who gave their spiritual explanations and I even repelled my own soul. But the noise never went away. The whisperings of my inner sanctum kept me awake at night and made me more vigilant during the day. No matter how hard I tried to ignore it, the more they came.

They? What? Who? What the heck is she talking about? Well, I learned when the going got tough, the tough tried to push it away, just for it to boomerang back and slap me in the face. So you wonder, what is up with the bird? Why tell the story? How on Earth could a bird help me understand my plight? Was he a bird whisperer? How funny is that? Or is it? Now I am not going to tell you that this bird whispered things to me leading me to self-discovery or understanding the situation I was in. But he was a sign. I saw many signs that year. And they came to me only when I was not looking.

It was now October 1990. The month I was born. But this month and year would be a pivotal one, because my entire future was about to change, once again.

My father and I resumed somewhat of a cordial relationship but it was still frayed by tension. He was happy that I had gained some weight and that the colour had come back into my cheeks. But I know he longed for our quiet walks, accompanied trips out in the city and the jovial person I used to be. When I became social again with the same friends who I had abandonned, each one of them had not given up on me. They continued to call and inquire about my health and upcoming nuptials. But one thing in common was their concern --that I had changed. The light that once radiated from my being was missing, my usual cheeriness and the ability to avert the negative. Instead, they observed my pensiveness, impetuous and mercurial behaviour. I laughed it off but deep down, I understood their concern. And I needed to do something about it.

One night, as I sat alone in the TV room flipping through the stations, my father came down to join me. He asked me to turn off the TV because he wanted to talk. I was dreading the inevitable.

"I think you know why I am here to talk to you," he started off. I felt my head throbbing already. The interesting thing about my father was that when he was about to begin a huge speech, it was as if he needed to summon all the powers of Mount Olympus. Essentially, he needed to warm up but when he was in the thick of things, he was running with the torch.

"I want you to think very carefully about the step you are going to take. You need to understand the consequences of your decision." His choice of words implied that I was about to make a huge mistake.

"Are you talking about the caterer I have selected for the engagement?" I innocently asked. I knew that would tick him off. I folded my arms. I was now in defensive mode. My father sighed heavily. I was not about to make this easy for him. He sat back in his seat for a moment and stared up at the ceiling. He raised his palms up.
Oh, for crying out loud Dad! Melodrama. He was pretending to pray! My father was infamous at psychological guilt trips. History showed that the numerous times we argued, he would grab his chest and announce that his Will was located in his night table. I would respond back by asking which night table. The one on the right or left? He would storm out of the room at my sarcastic humour. It was the way I survived his interrogations.

"I accept him. If you are happy, I am happy." He looked at me with glistening eyes. I looked down and made circles in the carpet with my foot. What was happiness? I forgot what it was like to be happy. My heart had been virtually sinking since the year before. I would wake up every morning and ask no one in particular, When will I feel happiness again? Happiness. Such an arbitrary word. And as I sat there and thought, while my father was staring at me, the sinking feeling came back. No matter how hard I fought him, his ideas, his values, his decisions, his control--everything that he represented was the truth. And for many months, I was in denial and God was showing me this in many signs. And because I was in denial, my happiness would never come to fruition because I was deceiving everybody, including myself. Of everyone that I thought had my back, it was my nemesis, my own blood, of all people, that knew me better.

"My darling, are you happy?" he inquired. The circles in the carpet became blurred. It was a simple question. How dare he ask me. But he had every right. He was the only one to ask me the questions that mattered. I was about to respond. I tried to formulate the answer in my mind but the words were unable to reach my lips.

And suddenly, it came. My chest was heaving so much that my father got up and put his arms around me. The force was so strong that I could barely control myself. It was Fate and it finally opened the door that I kept locked and hidden behind all these months.

"Oh Daddy!! What have I done?!?!"