Now I know what you all are thinking. The purpose of the "Romantic Elliptical Saga" is to present my viewpoint about arranged marriages. And here I go off on a tangent, talking about my rebellion. But let me explain. In my eyes, I did not sin. To my father and the rest of the Muslim world, I erred by concealing my relationship. However, in the end, I did reveal it to my father so he may arrange the marriage with this boy's family. I could have run away, eloped and married him without my father's consent but I never had the guts to entirely betray my only living parent.
I do have a point to all of this and its about faith and kismet. In the end, I did not have control, although I thought I did. In my tumultuous relationship with my father, he was used to having the upper hand. Not that it was my goal to upstage him. I just wanted to do something MY WAY. To show him it was the RIGHT WAY. And boy, was I wrong!
The friendship I had with this fellow was just that - a friendship. And it was formalized over the phone and through letters.
Squeeze me?
That's right. My friend only knew me through telephone conversations and letter writing. He remembered seeing me at a youth conference way back in 1985. I was friends with a mutual friend. We exchanged pictures and wrote each other letters. Of course, this was all secretive. My family thought the calls and letters were from a girlfriend. My siblings soon found out but were sworn to secrecy. My mother suspected something but never said a word. In retrospect, I think she knew I needed to do this despite the wrongs associated with my decision. That was the type of parent she was. Learn from my mistakes. Whereas my father was the ruler of the house. His way or the highway--except I had no way to get to the highway!
We agreed to tell our families. I told my father, who after hearing about how long I corresponded with my fiancee (2 years) and without his knowledge, refused to speak to me for a week. When he came to his senses, he called his brother, to come and meet his future nephew-in-law. So he suited up, came to my house and was raked over the coals for two hours by my father and uncle. I remained unseen, furiously biting my nails and rocking back and forth at the top of the stairs. When I spoke to him afterwards, he likened the meeting to a police interview in an examination room and it all went wrong, from the minute he walked in. This was not a suitor that was chosen by my family. He was being examined under a microscope because of me. He had just dropped out of 2nd year university and was working at a men's clothing store. WRONG ANSWER. Was he going to go back and finish his education? Not yet. WRONG ANSWER. How was he going to support me when I continued my studies? He would get another parttime job. WRONG ANSWER. What were his ambitions? He wanted to start his own business. WRONG ANSWER. I sat quietly listening as he expressed his fear about my father. Welcome to the club.
And as he continued to speak, something in the pit of my stomach ignited. It was ever so slight but there was something brewing.
And I'm not talking indigestion.
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