My last semester at McMaster University was finishing at the end of April. I was preparing for my final exams in English, which I had selected as my elective. My love for English was made evident to me by one man. And it wasn't my fiancee/husband.
Squeeze me?
The elective I decided to take was first year English and as it turned out, it was only offered off-campus as a night course. The course was taught from 6-9pm where our professor lectured from 6-8 and a tutor took over at 8pm. A lot of students opted to leave around that time but I found I needed that extra hour to grasp the concepts and ideas. I was doing OK in the course but not at the level I desired to be at. At our first class, Grant was introduced to us. He was a short, blond-haired individual who tied his hair back in a ponytail most of the time. From the first time we all met him, what struck me was his soft-spoken voice. He was calm and soothing and I felt an instant connection, without us speaking a word to each other.
As the year progressed on, I ended up booking time with him to go over my essays. Majority of the time it would occur at 9pm, after tutorials. He was going for his Masters in English and tutoring was part of the requirement to graduate. He would dissect my essay, piece by piece as the cleaning staff would tidy up around us in the high school where the course took place. One night, out of nowhere, as I was packing up my books right after his tutorial, he approached me.
"I heard one of your classmates talking about your engagement. I really don't mean to pry but she mentioned something about this being an arranged marriage?" he smiled softly.
I was caught off guard. I looked everywhere except at him. He sensed my discomfort immediately.
"I am so sorry. I did not mean to embarress you. Its just that I find this a very interesting topic and wanted to learn more. Would you mind going out for a coffee one night to discuss it?" We were near the front doors of the school and I could see my father waiting in the parking lot, squinting his eyes to see what was going on.
I pondered over his invitation and remembered all the hours he spent with me, helping polish up my essays. I knew I could not go late after class or else my father would be suspicious. He would immediately concoct some story that I was seeing someone on the side while being engaged.
"How about next class, after your session? We could just stay at the school and I will ask my father to pick me up an hour later like usual?"
He nodded and said he was looking forward to it. As I walked over to the car, a million things were going through my head. What did he want to ask me? Does he want to know my whole history or just what was going on now? Do I start with religion or cultural expectations? Where do I begin? I felt like I would have to compile an essay and break it down, chapter by chapter to explain why I was going through with an arranged marriage. When I got in the car, I got the third degree.
"Who is that white boy with the ponytail? Why was he talking to you? Why were you both smiling? What took you so long?" my father demanded. I rolled my eyes and threw my books in the back seat. "And don't throw your education around like that. Is that the way you treat your scholastic possessions, considering that I am paying for your courses?" My father hit the brakes every time he made a point and the people driving behind him were flashing their headlights.
"Dad, that is my tutor. Remember? I told you someone was helping me bump my B's to A's. Well that is the guy," I said with exasperation.
"You never told me that your tutor was a man!" My father was driving 30km in a 60km zone.
"Dad, speed up, will ya? Maybe I forgot to mention that but what's the problem? I am going to school with guys, I will be working with guys. Its a fact of life, you know!" I looked out the window, wishing that I was walking home in peace instead of being interrogated.
"Well, as long as he is helping with your grades, I guess that is ok. Just don't spend time alone with him. If anyone sees you, as an engaged woman, you will get a reputation. Do you understand?"
I guess asking my father if I could meet my tutor over coffee was out of the question. I did not see the harm in it but if my father knew, he would go beserk.
The next class, I was wondering if Grant forgot about our rendezvous. As I was packing my things, he walked over.
"Black?" he asked. My mouth hung open and I struggled to answer.Black?! What the hell was he referring to?
"Your coffee? Do you like it black or with milk or cream? I will pick them up and come back." I felt stupid and bit my lip. I told him that I was actually a tea drinker and that the caffeine would wire me all night. He laughed and offered to buy me a chocolate milk. Once he left, I stood in the doorway of the school and waited. The cleaning staff had come in and smiled at me. One of the cleaners looked like he was either from India or Pakistan. He saw me and asked me in Urdu, "You here late again with that boy? Your father doesn't say anything?" He shook his head and made a 'tsk tsk' noise with teeth. I was shocked. I turned to respond but nothing came out of my mouth. I looked at my watch. 9:15pm. I paced back and forth and practiced my speech about arranged marriages and why I was about to enter into one. I walked back into the classroom and took out my novel and began to read. He showed up 5 minutes later with his steaming coffee, and no lie, my milk! Even before he sat down, I began to blabber.
"You know, many people have arranged marriages. Its tradition in our society and it is still practiced today. I was not forced into it but my father had a hand in choosing my future..." I was stopped by his hand. He sat across from me and stirred his coffee slowly while looking at me intently.
"I already know about the traditions of the Islamic marriage, how prevalent it is in your society and the Pakistani cultural expectations. In fact, it is cultural folklore which deceives many into the notion that a woman has no say in the matter of her own matrimony. In Islam, the woman has a right to say no. When she is wrongly coerced into a relationship, they blame the religion instead of culture." He continued to stir his coffee and stare off into space.
I was utterly flabbergasted. This was not the way I envisioned our conversation going. I sipped my milk through the straw, accidently making slurping noises. I was perplexed.
"If you know everything about arranged marriages, why did you want to meet with me to discuss it further?" I furrowed my brow and gave my best attempt at a analytic look.
He smiled and asked for my notebook. I passed it over to him and he took out some of my essays. He was quiet while he flipped through the pages of one essay. I heard my stomach growl. His calm demeanor and quiet reflection made me nervous.
"You have improved greatly over the course of the year. I am really proud of your progress. You exhibited dedication and hard work all year with one goal in mind: to increase your knowledge and improve your skills. You just needed some guidance to get there. When I saw your first essay, you did it for the sake of doing an essay but I knew you had more potential. There was something missing and I realized half way through the year, it was passion and inner reflection. When you added these two ingredients, I saw the creativity spew out on these pages. Your talent was hidden. I just helped you bring it into the limelight." He passed me back my notebook.
I sat there, opposite to him, utterly dumbfounded. Did I miss something? Weren't we supposed to talk about my impending arranged marriage? Clearly, he knew the tradition and the process. So what was I doing here?
"Um...I...thanks? Thanks for the support and encouragement. I am glad that I have improved my overall marks. My dad would kiss you if he were here," I joked.
"Were you 'guided' towards an arranged marriage? I mean, are you getting married for the sake of getting married or are you really going to do this?"
Finally, we were getting somewhere.
"You don't seem the type to have an arranged marriage. I mean judging by what I know about you, you have been born and raised here and you seem pretty liberal in your ideology. I find it fascinating that for someone who has been exposed to this society and the people around you, that you haven't thought about doing things your own way?"
"Are you asking me or you going to tell me what you think," I asked point blankly. He shot me a 'you caught me' look. I knew that he already knew.
"You are a very spiritual person. I feel that from you from your writing. And when you put that spirit into your written work, you amaze me with your words. You are driven and you base it on your faith. You looked at the characters in the novels in a different light--in a way that I, myself, had not seen before and I recognized your style. Even though you support your argument and your thesis with factual situations in the books we studied, you took a risk and delved into the spiritual element of the plot and the characters to reveal a three-dimensional angle. And that is who you are. I don't really need to ask why you are embarking on an arranged marriage. I already have that answer...you were slightly doubtful in the beginnning but now you know, more than ever, that it's right for you. And as your confidence increased, so did your writing skills. You are hitting the mark now, without even knowing it."
The clock struck 10pm and the headlights of my father's car shone into the school. I quickly gathered up my books without saying a word. I felt if I said anything, I would spoil his impression of me. It was like Cinderella leaving the ball. But I did not have to leave anything behind. The shoe already fit--he knew it and just wanted me to know it.
I was about to head for the doors but turned around and walked back to Grant. He stood up and extended his hand before I reached him.
"Good luck on your exams. Good luck in your married life. And don't stop writing. The future awaits your written word." I shook his hand and suddenly shyness overcame me. I turned away from my mentor and flew through the doors to the car.
My father was squinting through the windshield again and when I sat down, he started up again.
"I hope you are going to get over 90% in your course with all that time you spend with that boy! Thank God by this summer you will be married and accounted for!" I looked through the windshield and as Grant was leaving, he waved to me. I waved back while my father shook his head, disapprovingly.
THE FACTS
I did not get over 90% in my first year English class. I got a 75%.
My classmates invited me out to join them and Grant right after our exam but I declined. I received the affirmation I needed.
I stunned my father by switching my major from Sociology to English after my first year.
That summer, I prepared myself for the biggest exam ever...my arranged marriage.
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 41: Deep end
When I was six years old, my exasperated parents finally relented and allowed me to visit a friend and swim in her pool. I hounded them, week after week, begging to go. My bathing suit was one size too small and my mother made it as an excuse. Its not ladylike, it will fall off when you are swimming... I didn't care. With my flipflops on and butt cheeks hanging out of my swimsuit, I marched around the block to her house with my towel in hand and sunhat on my head.
I remember leaving in defiance and my father stood at the door watching me as I walked away. I turned back for a second and saw that my mother had joined him and it looked like as if they were deep in discussion. All I knew was that I had their permission, they knew where my friend lived and I promised to return after an hour. Problem was, I did not know how to swim.
Squeeze me?
Yes, I convinced my parents that I would swim, only under her mom's supervision and with my friend in the pool, just in the shallow end. They had spoken to her mother just before I left and she reassured them that everything would be ok. Where am I going with this? Hold on!
When I reached her house, my heart was pounding in sheer excitement. I was going swimming! Back then, it was only a spectator sport for me. I remember our play sessions being interrupted by parents taking my friends to swim lessons or having pools in their backyards and swimming throughout the summer. While this was going on, I would watch from my bedroom window, my knees sore as I kneeled on my lumpy bed and watched from afar. The pool would glisten in the sun and the shouts of laughter made me yearn to be with them, playing and enjoying the cool water during those hot summer days. Instead, shouts of my father coming from downstairs would barge into my dreams as he would rant about the mess I left in the toyroom. Yes, believe it or not, I remembered all this. Hey, dreams start very young, you know. Where am I going with this? I am getting there! Patience, my friend, patience.
When I reached their house, and let myself into their backyard, my friend's mother smiled as I delicately placed my towel on the retractable lawn chair and removed my sunhat and sunglasses. Melissa and I giggled as we sat next to each other, deciding to tan before going into the water. (Little did I know, the process was the other way around). We finally got into the shallow end and I screamed with delight. The pool was not heated and the water woke me up. Melissa laughed as she watched me 'pretend' to swim. She made me practice holding my breath under water. I blew ferocious bubbles and thought I was doing the 'doggypaddle'. We got out, approximately half an hour later.
As we were drying off, their phone rang inside the house. Melissa's mother looked over at us, mainly me, and sternly said not to go in the pool or near the deep end while she went to pick up the phone. Melissa nodded and I looked at her and imitated her actions, with a silly smile. At this point, her mother went in the house and left us alone. As Melissa applied her mother's suntan lotion with her back to me, I folded my arms behind my back and walked over to the other side of the pool--the deep end. I don't remember exactly if Melissa saw me walk over. I remember looking at the line that divided the deep end from the shallow end. I squinted, not sure if I was seeing it right. The line seemed to bend under water and I was not sure why. I stood, with my feet dangling precariously at the edge, and looked down. Something about the deep end thrilled me. I was only looking, not going in. I wondered what all the fuss was about. Being so close to the deep end aroused a stir in the pit of my stomach. It was all so exciting.
But at that very moment, I lost my balance and fell in. I clearly remember being under the water. At first, it was surreal. I could not believe I had fallen in the deep end. For a split second, I was in awe as I looked at the dividing line that had deceived me at the bottom of the pool. It wasn't crooked. Upon this realization, I panicked. I forgot to hold my breath and the water came in. As I thrashed around, I understood my 'pretend' swimming would not save me now. Melissa was above me at the edge of the pool, calling my name. I looked up and saw her blurred image.
"RAISE YOUR HAND! RAISE YOUR HAND!" I heard her yell. I stuck my hand up and felt her tug at it. It took her two attempts before she had a good grip and pulled me out of the pool. I lay on my back and saw the clouds and sky. I was gagging, coughing and spewing water from out of my nose. Melissa pushed me on my side, whacking my back. Her frightened mother heard the commotion from inside the house and raced around the pool.
"Are you ok? Oh darling, can you breathe?" Her face had gone pale. She grabbed my towel from the chair and wrapped it around me. I nodded and told her I was ok. She kept rubbing my shoulders, trying to warm me up. Melissa smiled at me and commented on my swimming style. "That doggy paddle kept you up a bit so I could grab your hand."
I smiled back. "So I can really swim?" I asked incredulously. Melissa slapped me on the back. "Yeah man! Come back tomorrow!"
"There is not going to be a tomorrow! I am calling her parents to come pick her up. She almost drowned today and you pulled her out. She does not know how to swim and she shouldn't swim in our pool until she does!" She made us follow her into their house as she dialed my number. I hung my head low and Melissa put her arm around me to console me. I did not want her to call my parents. I begged her not to but she insisted that they know what had happened. She spoke calmly and reassured my frightened parents that I was ok.
Going back home with my parents felt like the walk of shame. My father berated me all the way home and my mother shook her head in dismay, ruminating over what may have happened if Melissa did not pluck me from the deep end. I had a perpetual 'wedgey' as my wet bathing suit rode up on our way home but that was the least of my worries. My father forebade me from swimming in ANY friend's pool and ask me to retire my bathing suit. He yelled at me the whole way home as cars passed by and people looked over from their front lawns to see what all the shouting was about.
I went home and cried the entire night. Not as a result of his admonishment but because I would not have the chance to fall into the deep end again.
To fear is to live. And although I feared getting married to him all the while we were planning our wedding, the exhilaration of the unknown outweighed having to know everything.
I was content NOT knowing everything. It would come in time and I was prepared to fall into the deep end with him... after our vows were said and done.
I remember leaving in defiance and my father stood at the door watching me as I walked away. I turned back for a second and saw that my mother had joined him and it looked like as if they were deep in discussion. All I knew was that I had their permission, they knew where my friend lived and I promised to return after an hour. Problem was, I did not know how to swim.
Squeeze me?
Yes, I convinced my parents that I would swim, only under her mom's supervision and with my friend in the pool, just in the shallow end. They had spoken to her mother just before I left and she reassured them that everything would be ok. Where am I going with this? Hold on!
When I reached her house, my heart was pounding in sheer excitement. I was going swimming! Back then, it was only a spectator sport for me. I remember our play sessions being interrupted by parents taking my friends to swim lessons or having pools in their backyards and swimming throughout the summer. While this was going on, I would watch from my bedroom window, my knees sore as I kneeled on my lumpy bed and watched from afar. The pool would glisten in the sun and the shouts of laughter made me yearn to be with them, playing and enjoying the cool water during those hot summer days. Instead, shouts of my father coming from downstairs would barge into my dreams as he would rant about the mess I left in the toyroom. Yes, believe it or not, I remembered all this. Hey, dreams start very young, you know. Where am I going with this? I am getting there! Patience, my friend, patience.
When I reached their house, and let myself into their backyard, my friend's mother smiled as I delicately placed my towel on the retractable lawn chair and removed my sunhat and sunglasses. Melissa and I giggled as we sat next to each other, deciding to tan before going into the water. (Little did I know, the process was the other way around). We finally got into the shallow end and I screamed with delight. The pool was not heated and the water woke me up. Melissa laughed as she watched me 'pretend' to swim. She made me practice holding my breath under water. I blew ferocious bubbles and thought I was doing the 'doggypaddle'. We got out, approximately half an hour later.
As we were drying off, their phone rang inside the house. Melissa's mother looked over at us, mainly me, and sternly said not to go in the pool or near the deep end while she went to pick up the phone. Melissa nodded and I looked at her and imitated her actions, with a silly smile. At this point, her mother went in the house and left us alone. As Melissa applied her mother's suntan lotion with her back to me, I folded my arms behind my back and walked over to the other side of the pool--the deep end. I don't remember exactly if Melissa saw me walk over. I remember looking at the line that divided the deep end from the shallow end. I squinted, not sure if I was seeing it right. The line seemed to bend under water and I was not sure why. I stood, with my feet dangling precariously at the edge, and looked down. Something about the deep end thrilled me. I was only looking, not going in. I wondered what all the fuss was about. Being so close to the deep end aroused a stir in the pit of my stomach. It was all so exciting.
But at that very moment, I lost my balance and fell in. I clearly remember being under the water. At first, it was surreal. I could not believe I had fallen in the deep end. For a split second, I was in awe as I looked at the dividing line that had deceived me at the bottom of the pool. It wasn't crooked. Upon this realization, I panicked. I forgot to hold my breath and the water came in. As I thrashed around, I understood my 'pretend' swimming would not save me now. Melissa was above me at the edge of the pool, calling my name. I looked up and saw her blurred image.
"RAISE YOUR HAND! RAISE YOUR HAND!" I heard her yell. I stuck my hand up and felt her tug at it. It took her two attempts before she had a good grip and pulled me out of the pool. I lay on my back and saw the clouds and sky. I was gagging, coughing and spewing water from out of my nose. Melissa pushed me on my side, whacking my back. Her frightened mother heard the commotion from inside the house and raced around the pool.
"Are you ok? Oh darling, can you breathe?" Her face had gone pale. She grabbed my towel from the chair and wrapped it around me. I nodded and told her I was ok. She kept rubbing my shoulders, trying to warm me up. Melissa smiled at me and commented on my swimming style. "That doggy paddle kept you up a bit so I could grab your hand."
I smiled back. "So I can really swim?" I asked incredulously. Melissa slapped me on the back. "Yeah man! Come back tomorrow!"
"There is not going to be a tomorrow! I am calling her parents to come pick her up. She almost drowned today and you pulled her out. She does not know how to swim and she shouldn't swim in our pool until she does!" She made us follow her into their house as she dialed my number. I hung my head low and Melissa put her arm around me to console me. I did not want her to call my parents. I begged her not to but she insisted that they know what had happened. She spoke calmly and reassured my frightened parents that I was ok.
Going back home with my parents felt like the walk of shame. My father berated me all the way home and my mother shook her head in dismay, ruminating over what may have happened if Melissa did not pluck me from the deep end. I had a perpetual 'wedgey' as my wet bathing suit rode up on our way home but that was the least of my worries. My father forebade me from swimming in ANY friend's pool and ask me to retire my bathing suit. He yelled at me the whole way home as cars passed by and people looked over from their front lawns to see what all the shouting was about.
I went home and cried the entire night. Not as a result of his admonishment but because I would not have the chance to fall into the deep end again.
To fear is to live. And although I feared getting married to him all the while we were planning our wedding, the exhilaration of the unknown outweighed having to know everything.
I was content NOT knowing everything. It would come in time and I was prepared to fall into the deep end with him... after our vows were said and done.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 40: I can have your babies
"Where would you like to go on our honeymoon?"
I will say, planning a honeymoon, with a man who I really did not know was, to say the least, quite perturbing. I have always been known to do the opposite thing. You ask me to turn right, I would go left. You tell me how to do something your way, I would dissent and do it my way (however wrong it may be). When it came to marrying the muslim, traditional way, I finally acquiesced and decided this was the route I would take. And I just did not get it. People around me just did not get it.
Well it came down to this. It was not normal for me. Albeit, the act was normal in my religion and culture. However, being raised and educated in Canada while growing up within a Christian-dominated culture, I was heavily influenced by their ideals and values. Planning for a honeymoon with a man I barely knew was not the norm.
And I was all about going against the grain and doing the opposite. It was just an inherent trait.
"Personally, I would love to go down South," I suggested as we both knocked around some ideas.
"Yeah but we are brown. People going South are going there to lie in the sun and get dark," he reasoned. I chuckled. Why did our brown-skinned folks want to be white and the caucasians want to be brown? A picture of George Hamilton popped into my brain.
"Why don't we go somewhere in Europe? Especially to a place where there is Islamic architecture like Turkey or Spain? Before we have children, I think this is our chance to go through Europe. Later on, it may prove difficult," he said.
SQUEEZE ME?! Did he say children?
I froze at that moment while he continued talking about planning the trip with his travel agent.
Children.
He said the word. And although talks about our honeymoon were strange enough, mentioning children that we did not have, made me nervous.
A series of thoughts struck me all at once:
-what if I did not want children?
-what if I could not have children?
-what if he wanted TEN children?
-what if he already had children?
My rebellious nature was temporary as sense and sensibility kicked in. What did I REALLY know about him? As usual, I went in for the kill.
"So.... you mentioned kids...what about them?" I asked. I caught him mid-sentence and he had to pause to formulate his answer.
"Before we talk about that, I do need to know a VERY important question." He put a lot of emphasis on "VERY". I was waiting for it. I had a habit of making a mountain from a mole hill, mentally exacerbating the truth before it came out. He wanted me to mother his other children. I inhaled and waited for his answer.
"Do you have Thalassemia Minor?"
About a minute elapsed in time before I could answer. I was racking my brain trying to understand what it meant. Trouble was, I wanted to make a good first impression, and being a know-it-all was high on my list. Hmmm, it sounded like a medical condition.... and then my mental light bulb turned on.
We had never discussed the state of our health with one another. I could have been growing another breast and he would have no idea until we got married (unless the seamtress sewing my wedding dress uncovered my ghastly secret before our nuptials). Again, my imagination ran wild as I struggled with understanding this strange disease he spoke of.
"I am pretty healthy. I do not have any conditions that I know of," I replied sheepishly.
"Well, I cannot marry you if you have this condition because I have it. And if you have it, that will mean our children will have Thalassemia Major and require blood transfusions every month."
Wow, it sounded pretty serious.
I suddenly realized why he had mentioned children in our conversation. He was fishing to confirm/negate this potential threat. I knew my mom had been anaemic, coupled with allergies and rheumatic arthritis but that was all I knew. What lurked in my family genetics was still a mystery for me.
"I will get tested for Salathemia major. By the way, do YOU have any life-threatening diseases, like HIV or something crazy I should know about?" I asked rather abruptly.
"Thalassemia, not Salathemia," he corrected me. "That is it for me. I don't have any other issues," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
I may have offended him with my question but I had to ask. This blood condition he was referencing sounded very serious and my stomach tied up in a knot. If he was going to ask me about myself then I had every right to ensure he did not have any contagious diseases. Ironically, I would later learn that Thalassemia minor was not a "major' problem and that three of my children would inherit it as well.
Thalassemia minor: a blood disorder passed down through families (inherited) in which the body makes an abnormal form of hemoglobin, the protein in red blood cells that carries oxygen
The conversation had taken a new, more serious turn and honeymoon planning travelled to the back burner.
"Can you please find out from your doctor if you have this condition? You will need to take a blood test." He paused and for awhile all I could hear was breathing on both ends of the phone.
"I just had a blood test. If I had it, they would have let me know. My cholestrol is a tiny bit high so we need to watch the fried food on the wedding," I joked. There was an awkward silence on the other end. Great. He didn't get my medical humour.
"Okay, well, I ....I guess I will confirm my blood tests and get back to you on whether or not you need to cancel the wedding..." I shook my head and shot myself a look of exasperation in the mirror while I paced the hallway. This was by far, the oddest conversation to date.
He hung up the phone and I immediately called the doctor office. My fingers were shaking all the while as I was dialing. Why was I so nervous?? I had to redial twice. Why did it matter so much? Was I developing feelings? Did I really want to get married to him?
It was the last question that threw me for a loop. I just knew that I did not want my blood results to have Thalassemia. I waited for my doctor, who was reviewing my blood tests. My leg shook up and down and I was biting my nails. I was now in my bedroom looking at our engagement picture on my desk.
We made quite a pair. He was looking at me in the picture while I was bowing my head down, gazing at my hands. When I caught my reflection in my dresser mirror, my cheeks were flushed.
You want to marry him, my reflection responded.
After several minutes of paper-rustling, my doctor finally responded.
"All clear....Just watch your cholestrol."
I smiled into the mirror. I can have your babies.
I will say, planning a honeymoon, with a man who I really did not know was, to say the least, quite perturbing. I have always been known to do the opposite thing. You ask me to turn right, I would go left. You tell me how to do something your way, I would dissent and do it my way (however wrong it may be). When it came to marrying the muslim, traditional way, I finally acquiesced and decided this was the route I would take. And I just did not get it. People around me just did not get it.
Well it came down to this. It was not normal for me. Albeit, the act was normal in my religion and culture. However, being raised and educated in Canada while growing up within a Christian-dominated culture, I was heavily influenced by their ideals and values. Planning for a honeymoon with a man I barely knew was not the norm.
And I was all about going against the grain and doing the opposite. It was just an inherent trait.
"Personally, I would love to go down South," I suggested as we both knocked around some ideas.
"Yeah but we are brown. People going South are going there to lie in the sun and get dark," he reasoned. I chuckled. Why did our brown-skinned folks want to be white and the caucasians want to be brown? A picture of George Hamilton popped into my brain.
"Why don't we go somewhere in Europe? Especially to a place where there is Islamic architecture like Turkey or Spain? Before we have children, I think this is our chance to go through Europe. Later on, it may prove difficult," he said.
SQUEEZE ME?! Did he say children?
I froze at that moment while he continued talking about planning the trip with his travel agent.
Children.
He said the word. And although talks about our honeymoon were strange enough, mentioning children that we did not have, made me nervous.
A series of thoughts struck me all at once:
-what if I did not want children?
-what if I could not have children?
-what if he wanted TEN children?
-what if he already had children?
My rebellious nature was temporary as sense and sensibility kicked in. What did I REALLY know about him? As usual, I went in for the kill.
"So.... you mentioned kids...what about them?" I asked. I caught him mid-sentence and he had to pause to formulate his answer.
"Before we talk about that, I do need to know a VERY important question." He put a lot of emphasis on "VERY". I was waiting for it. I had a habit of making a mountain from a mole hill, mentally exacerbating the truth before it came out. He wanted me to mother his other children. I inhaled and waited for his answer.
"Do you have Thalassemia Minor?"
About a minute elapsed in time before I could answer. I was racking my brain trying to understand what it meant. Trouble was, I wanted to make a good first impression, and being a know-it-all was high on my list. Hmmm, it sounded like a medical condition.... and then my mental light bulb turned on.
We had never discussed the state of our health with one another. I could have been growing another breast and he would have no idea until we got married (unless the seamtress sewing my wedding dress uncovered my ghastly secret before our nuptials). Again, my imagination ran wild as I struggled with understanding this strange disease he spoke of.
"I am pretty healthy. I do not have any conditions that I know of," I replied sheepishly.
"Well, I cannot marry you if you have this condition because I have it. And if you have it, that will mean our children will have Thalassemia Major and require blood transfusions every month."
Wow, it sounded pretty serious.
I suddenly realized why he had mentioned children in our conversation. He was fishing to confirm/negate this potential threat. I knew my mom had been anaemic, coupled with allergies and rheumatic arthritis but that was all I knew. What lurked in my family genetics was still a mystery for me.
"I will get tested for Salathemia major. By the way, do YOU have any life-threatening diseases, like HIV or something crazy I should know about?" I asked rather abruptly.
"Thalassemia, not Salathemia," he corrected me. "That is it for me. I don't have any other issues," he said in a matter-of-fact tone.
I may have offended him with my question but I had to ask. This blood condition he was referencing sounded very serious and my stomach tied up in a knot. If he was going to ask me about myself then I had every right to ensure he did not have any contagious diseases. Ironically, I would later learn that Thalassemia minor was not a "major' problem and that three of my children would inherit it as well.
Thalassemia minor: a blood disorder passed down through families (inherited) in which the body makes an abnormal form of hemoglobin, the protein in red blood cells that carries oxygen
The conversation had taken a new, more serious turn and honeymoon planning travelled to the back burner.
"Can you please find out from your doctor if you have this condition? You will need to take a blood test." He paused and for awhile all I could hear was breathing on both ends of the phone.
"I just had a blood test. If I had it, they would have let me know. My cholestrol is a tiny bit high so we need to watch the fried food on the wedding," I joked. There was an awkward silence on the other end. Great. He didn't get my medical humour.
"Okay, well, I ....I guess I will confirm my blood tests and get back to you on whether or not you need to cancel the wedding..." I shook my head and shot myself a look of exasperation in the mirror while I paced the hallway. This was by far, the oddest conversation to date.
He hung up the phone and I immediately called the doctor office. My fingers were shaking all the while as I was dialing. Why was I so nervous?? I had to redial twice. Why did it matter so much? Was I developing feelings? Did I really want to get married to him?
It was the last question that threw me for a loop. I just knew that I did not want my blood results to have Thalassemia. I waited for my doctor, who was reviewing my blood tests. My leg shook up and down and I was biting my nails. I was now in my bedroom looking at our engagement picture on my desk.
We made quite a pair. He was looking at me in the picture while I was bowing my head down, gazing at my hands. When I caught my reflection in my dresser mirror, my cheeks were flushed.
You want to marry him, my reflection responded.
After several minutes of paper-rustling, my doctor finally responded.
"All clear....Just watch your cholestrol."
I smiled into the mirror. I can have your babies.
Monday, March 14, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 39: I would like to get you know you better
"I would like to get to know you better."
This statement is still a source of many jokes that my husband and I reference when it came to our 'courting' months. Of course, there was no real courting or dating. After the engagement, we had to make sure we called each other when no one knew we were on the phone and the conversation always began with my husband saying, "I would like to get to know you better." And I knew it related to all levels: emotional, social, intellectual and most certainly physical.
The physical and emotional part would prove to be the most difficult, unless we escaped from the families and met. The thought entered my mind many times but I was too chicken to bring it up. He would get an impression of me that I was not ready to reveal--the crazy, spontaneous, impetuous me that wanted to let go of tradition and run away with him, only for a short while. But I knew that my father was pacing, in the recesses of my mind, waiting to see this engagement through to our marriage and he did not want anyone to muck it up, especially his own daughter, the bride-to-be.
Instead our conversations, revolved around the aftermath of the engagement and plans for the honeymoon.
Squeeze me?
Oh yes, him and I planned for our honeymoon and this became a huge joke amongst my non-Muslim friends at school. And this time the guys became part of the action.
We met at the university library one Sunday afternoon for a sociology project. I was passing around my engagement pictures when I blurted out that I was planning to go to Spain for my honeymoon. And the conversation went something like this:
John: "I heard Spain is great. A lot of architecture to look at.
Charlotte: "Ha ha. I don't think they will have time to look at the architecture!" She was winking at me furiously. I hid my face behind a textbook.
John: "Yeah, I am sure they will be busy day and night." He nudged his friend Ryan, who sat to his immediate left.
I grabbed my pictures and quickly returned them to the envelope and into my backpack. "Ok guys, this project ain't going to finish itself. Let's get started," I exclaimed, desperate to change the subject. But it was no use. It was like a train that had gained so much speed and momemtum, that it would take everything in my power to derail it.
Charlotte: "It will make for an interesting honeymoon especially if she hasn't even kissed her fiancee yet, let alone touched him." My mouth fell open and she realized her blunder. The guys did not know the details of my relationship with him. They thought we had dated.
At this point, a hushed silence fell onto the group and the blood drained out of my head. John and Ryan looked at me with gaping mouths and then quickly recovered after seeing my discomfort for the topic.
I had met them both in the beginning of the year and we had form a pretty tight knit group, sitting together in class, hanging out on campus between classes and taking turns carpooling home. But I had never spoken about my personal life to the boys in the group, fearing ridicule and judgement. Ryan had asked me out the year before and I had declined explaining that culturally I was not allowed to date. This had led to an awkward conversation with him about the politics of my religion and culture--he was not convinced and pushed harder during the year until my engagement was announced. Needless to say, he kept quiet during this interesting dialogue.
John: "I thought you knew the guy? You mean you have not dated?" I sat back in my chair and sighed. Charlotte knew the whole story but at this point, I think she wanted to hear how I would explain it...again.
Charlotte: "They see each other while being chaperoned. The honeymoon is being planned on the phone. This is part of her culture. Its how its done," she nodded at me and back at them.
Ryan folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. He was a tall guy, dark hair with deep, blue eyes and he looked over at me with an intense stare, smiling. I grabbed the papers on the table and distributed them to the group, taking my cue to start working on our project. I was the designated team lead so I wanted to take quick action, trying hard to change the topic. I knew it was futile. Ryan wanted to know everything and it seemed John pressed on for him.
John: "When are you going to Spain?"
I looked at him and then Ryan. There was some exchange going on between the guys but I could not figure out how. I looked down at Ryan's notebook to see if they had written notes to each other. Perhaps there was some 'guyspeak' that I did not know of. Girls certainly had mastered this art--communication through telepathy or body language and even the eyes. I felt as if Ryan was asking the questions, not John. However, John became the spokesperson of the group. Charlotte interjected when she could but she had broken the girl code. Even though it appeared she was defending me, her tone of voice undeniably revealed that she was unconvinced herself. I knew they would all not understand.
"I am leaving two days after we marry," I sighed. I sensed the red alert and knew where the conversation was heading.
John shook his head, incredulously. "You mean that you will only know him for two days and then you leave the country with him?"
I look over at Ryan. He stared back, perturbed, and then looked down and busied himself with the papers I handed to him earlier. Charlotte scratched her head with a pen and averted my silent stare in her direction.
John: "I know its your culture and all, but I hope you get to know him and are alone with him before you marry. That will make for an awkward wedding night!" John smiled and punched me in the arm to break my silence and awkwardness of the conversation. I shoved him back and he fell off his chair. I got up quickly to help him up. Dang. Perhaps it was getting to me. Maybe he was right.
"HEY! I was only kidding. You know if you need some practice, Ryan and I are here to give you some pointers." He laughed when I let go of him and pushed him back on the floor. When I turned around, Ryan had turned several shades of red and shot John a dirty look.
After we began working on our project and no one touched the subject of my impending nuptials and honeymoon again, I could not concentrate. I looked at my textbook to find an examples to support our argument for our project. Instead, the words floated off the page and were replaced with anxiety. How was I going to get married and fly off to Spain with someone I really did not know? Heck, I knew John and Ryan better than I knew my fiancee. Every night class we had together, Ryan would buy me a Nestea during our break. I didn't even ask him--he just knew that I loved iced tea. Even my fiancee did not know my favorite colour or birthdate. This wasn't right. If I could not alleviate my fears about marrying someone I hardly knew, how could I convince Charlotte, John or Ryan that I was making the right decision?
I had to make a list. While they were busy gathering facts for our project, I started making a list of questions my fiancee would need to ask me. I had reached Question number 23, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Ryan had gone and bought me my Nestea and I had not noticed that he paused during my question-making. And during that pause, he had reviewed my questions. He leaned down to whisper in my ear so that no one could hear him.
"I know the answer to every question on that list," he said as he put the can on the table. He moved close to me and my heart pounded. "And he will be a very lucky guy when he finds them all out." He stood up and then made his way to the other side of the table and sat down directly in front of me. He picked up his pen, put it in his mouth, looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and mouthed, Thank you. He winked and looked down at his notes. I continued to stare at him. If I was against arranged marriages, I probably would be dating him right now, I thought.
I was relieved. He understood. He did not judge or argue with me. And I knew if he could accept me, for being different from the rest of them, my fiancee would accept me for me.
I felt a little less scared that day. Because, as it turned out, even my friends who had difficulties accepting the ways of my culture and religion, were willing to accept and understand me, despite my natural fears and anxieties.
Ironically, it would be my non-Muslim friends instead of my family and Muslim friends, who in my most vulnerable state, kept vigil over me and kept me sane for the next three months...
This statement is still a source of many jokes that my husband and I reference when it came to our 'courting' months. Of course, there was no real courting or dating. After the engagement, we had to make sure we called each other when no one knew we were on the phone and the conversation always began with my husband saying, "I would like to get to know you better." And I knew it related to all levels: emotional, social, intellectual and most certainly physical.
The physical and emotional part would prove to be the most difficult, unless we escaped from the families and met. The thought entered my mind many times but I was too chicken to bring it up. He would get an impression of me that I was not ready to reveal--the crazy, spontaneous, impetuous me that wanted to let go of tradition and run away with him, only for a short while. But I knew that my father was pacing, in the recesses of my mind, waiting to see this engagement through to our marriage and he did not want anyone to muck it up, especially his own daughter, the bride-to-be.
Instead our conversations, revolved around the aftermath of the engagement and plans for the honeymoon.
Squeeze me?
Oh yes, him and I planned for our honeymoon and this became a huge joke amongst my non-Muslim friends at school. And this time the guys became part of the action.
We met at the university library one Sunday afternoon for a sociology project. I was passing around my engagement pictures when I blurted out that I was planning to go to Spain for my honeymoon. And the conversation went something like this:
John: "I heard Spain is great. A lot of architecture to look at.
Charlotte: "Ha ha. I don't think they will have time to look at the architecture!" She was winking at me furiously. I hid my face behind a textbook.
John: "Yeah, I am sure they will be busy day and night." He nudged his friend Ryan, who sat to his immediate left.
I grabbed my pictures and quickly returned them to the envelope and into my backpack. "Ok guys, this project ain't going to finish itself. Let's get started," I exclaimed, desperate to change the subject. But it was no use. It was like a train that had gained so much speed and momemtum, that it would take everything in my power to derail it.
Charlotte: "It will make for an interesting honeymoon especially if she hasn't even kissed her fiancee yet, let alone touched him." My mouth fell open and she realized her blunder. The guys did not know the details of my relationship with him. They thought we had dated.
At this point, a hushed silence fell onto the group and the blood drained out of my head. John and Ryan looked at me with gaping mouths and then quickly recovered after seeing my discomfort for the topic.
I had met them both in the beginning of the year and we had form a pretty tight knit group, sitting together in class, hanging out on campus between classes and taking turns carpooling home. But I had never spoken about my personal life to the boys in the group, fearing ridicule and judgement. Ryan had asked me out the year before and I had declined explaining that culturally I was not allowed to date. This had led to an awkward conversation with him about the politics of my religion and culture--he was not convinced and pushed harder during the year until my engagement was announced. Needless to say, he kept quiet during this interesting dialogue.
John: "I thought you knew the guy? You mean you have not dated?" I sat back in my chair and sighed. Charlotte knew the whole story but at this point, I think she wanted to hear how I would explain it...again.
Charlotte: "They see each other while being chaperoned. The honeymoon is being planned on the phone. This is part of her culture. Its how its done," she nodded at me and back at them.
Ryan folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in his chair. He was a tall guy, dark hair with deep, blue eyes and he looked over at me with an intense stare, smiling. I grabbed the papers on the table and distributed them to the group, taking my cue to start working on our project. I was the designated team lead so I wanted to take quick action, trying hard to change the topic. I knew it was futile. Ryan wanted to know everything and it seemed John pressed on for him.
John: "When are you going to Spain?"
I looked at him and then Ryan. There was some exchange going on between the guys but I could not figure out how. I looked down at Ryan's notebook to see if they had written notes to each other. Perhaps there was some 'guyspeak' that I did not know of. Girls certainly had mastered this art--communication through telepathy or body language and even the eyes. I felt as if Ryan was asking the questions, not John. However, John became the spokesperson of the group. Charlotte interjected when she could but she had broken the girl code. Even though it appeared she was defending me, her tone of voice undeniably revealed that she was unconvinced herself. I knew they would all not understand.
"I am leaving two days after we marry," I sighed. I sensed the red alert and knew where the conversation was heading.
John shook his head, incredulously. "You mean that you will only know him for two days and then you leave the country with him?"
I look over at Ryan. He stared back, perturbed, and then looked down and busied himself with the papers I handed to him earlier. Charlotte scratched her head with a pen and averted my silent stare in her direction.
John: "I know its your culture and all, but I hope you get to know him and are alone with him before you marry. That will make for an awkward wedding night!" John smiled and punched me in the arm to break my silence and awkwardness of the conversation. I shoved him back and he fell off his chair. I got up quickly to help him up. Dang. Perhaps it was getting to me. Maybe he was right.
"HEY! I was only kidding. You know if you need some practice, Ryan and I are here to give you some pointers." He laughed when I let go of him and pushed him back on the floor. When I turned around, Ryan had turned several shades of red and shot John a dirty look.
After we began working on our project and no one touched the subject of my impending nuptials and honeymoon again, I could not concentrate. I looked at my textbook to find an examples to support our argument for our project. Instead, the words floated off the page and were replaced with anxiety. How was I going to get married and fly off to Spain with someone I really did not know? Heck, I knew John and Ryan better than I knew my fiancee. Every night class we had together, Ryan would buy me a Nestea during our break. I didn't even ask him--he just knew that I loved iced tea. Even my fiancee did not know my favorite colour or birthdate. This wasn't right. If I could not alleviate my fears about marrying someone I hardly knew, how could I convince Charlotte, John or Ryan that I was making the right decision?
I had to make a list. While they were busy gathering facts for our project, I started making a list of questions my fiancee would need to ask me. I had reached Question number 23, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Ryan had gone and bought me my Nestea and I had not noticed that he paused during my question-making. And during that pause, he had reviewed my questions. He leaned down to whisper in my ear so that no one could hear him.
"I know the answer to every question on that list," he said as he put the can on the table. He moved close to me and my heart pounded. "And he will be a very lucky guy when he finds them all out." He stood up and then made his way to the other side of the table and sat down directly in front of me. He picked up his pen, put it in his mouth, looked at me and smiled. I smiled back and mouthed, Thank you. He winked and looked down at his notes. I continued to stare at him. If I was against arranged marriages, I probably would be dating him right now, I thought.
I was relieved. He understood. He did not judge or argue with me. And I knew if he could accept me, for being different from the rest of them, my fiancee would accept me for me.
I felt a little less scared that day. Because, as it turned out, even my friends who had difficulties accepting the ways of my culture and religion, were willing to accept and understand me, despite my natural fears and anxieties.
Ironically, it would be my non-Muslim friends instead of my family and Muslim friends, who in my most vulnerable state, kept vigil over me and kept me sane for the next three months...
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 38: I am who I am
After the ring ceremony, the dancing began. Everyone got up, one by one (except me, of course) and danced the night away. My girlfriends, aunts, uncles, brother and his family friends. They even got my fiancee up for a few songs. I watched from my seat on the sofa and smiled at everyone, still aware that the video camera was rolling and the cameras were clicking away.
Afterwards, the men stayed upstairs in the living room talking religion, politics, community affairs and every taboo subject there was. Only my fiancee remained downstairs with the women, seated next to me.
As the girls were searching for the next song, he turned to me and began talking.
"You look very lovely," he said. I could hear the nervousness in his voice.
"Thank you," I replied and gave him a sideways glance. Good. Now what? You got to say something more! He is still looking at you. Think of something else to say, dummy. I opened my mouth to say something and I could see he was waiting to hear what I would say.
"I...I..I like your shoes." And that was the most intellectual thing I could think of. The minute it came out, I cringed and looked down at my hands. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wore a half smile. Who talks about shoes as a conversational opener? For pete's sake, I had to come up with another topic. I was not good when it came to small talk. Then I noticed the ring on my finger. Of course! I had to tell him about the ring.
"The ring is beautiful. Small and dainty." I looked at him and smiled. He looked frightened.
"I know its a really small diamond but it is was all I can afford at the moment. I hope its ok?" He looked down at the ring and bit his lip. I wished I could take my words back. He misunderstood my small and dainty comment. I only wanted to show him that I liked it for its simplicity, not to criticize the size. Time for damage control. I closed my eyes to concentrate on what I was about to say.
"What I mean is that I like everything about it. It's a simple design and I like that." Just then, I realized my eyes were still closed. I quickly opened them up when I felt his hand on mine. He had lifted it to observe the ring more closely. But I knew better and smiled.
"The ring is small but its got all the 4 C's, meaning its a very good diamond," he explained, still clutching my hand. I looked up and caught my aunt staring over at us. I immediately withdrew my hand. I wished right then I had magical powers --just one blink and everyone would disappear. This chaperoned business was getting on my nerves. I thought to myself that being engaged now would make a difference but I could clearly see I was still under watch.
It was now close to 1am and the party was coming to a close. I did not want him to leave and I could sense he was trying to delay his departure by having small talk with my aunt and the older ladies. Their yawns and stretches indicated they were tired and ready to pack it up. But for me, the night was still young and I wanted to know more about my new fiancee. We started talking about his job and what he was looking to do in the future. He asked about my courses at University and what my ambitions were. Everytime we would get into a lengthy conversation, we were interrupted by children, my aunt or guests who were leaving. The interruptions set us back each time and it felt like we were meeting each other for the first time and starting from square one.
The clock now showed 1:30am and they were ready to leave. He got up and bid everyone goodbye. When he reached down to pick up some envelopes that fell onto the floor, he whispered to me, "I'll call you when no one is around." And with that, they all went upstairs, leaving me behind and alone. When I knew that their family had left, I took off the embroidered shawl, removed the heavy jewellery and lay back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Everyone had left except my aunt's family who were staying with us at the time. My sister came down and laughed.
"Now that looks like my sister. Not too lady-like," she commented as she picked up the decorations that littered the floor.
"I don't care! I need to get me out of these clothes and makeup. And will someone please bring me some food?!" I was famished. I spotted a Coke bottle in the corner, screwed off the cap, and put the whole bottle to my mouth and drank it like it was water. My sister turned around and stared at me in stunned silence. Then she picked up the camera and quickly snapped my picture.
I never included that picture in any album and years later, I burned it thinking it was very untraditional, although the few who saw it felt it was the most natural and alluring picture of me: engagement dress with no shawl, dishevelled hair, one hand on my hip and the other grasping a pop bottle, drowning its contents.
I yelled at my sister after she took the picture. "What do you think you are doing?" I demanded.
She smiled and said, "From all the years I have known you as my big sister, I have never remembered you this quiet and polite! It scares me. But right here, right now, THIS is REALLY who you are!" She grabbed the garbage bag of decorations and took it upstairs.
I stood there with the bottle in my hands and shuddered.
Yes, but will he accept me for who I am?
Afterwards, the men stayed upstairs in the living room talking religion, politics, community affairs and every taboo subject there was. Only my fiancee remained downstairs with the women, seated next to me.
As the girls were searching for the next song, he turned to me and began talking.
"You look very lovely," he said. I could hear the nervousness in his voice.
"Thank you," I replied and gave him a sideways glance. Good. Now what? You got to say something more! He is still looking at you. Think of something else to say, dummy. I opened my mouth to say something and I could see he was waiting to hear what I would say.
"I...I..I like your shoes." And that was the most intellectual thing I could think of. The minute it came out, I cringed and looked down at my hands. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and wore a half smile. Who talks about shoes as a conversational opener? For pete's sake, I had to come up with another topic. I was not good when it came to small talk. Then I noticed the ring on my finger. Of course! I had to tell him about the ring.
"The ring is beautiful. Small and dainty." I looked at him and smiled. He looked frightened.
"I know its a really small diamond but it is was all I can afford at the moment. I hope its ok?" He looked down at the ring and bit his lip. I wished I could take my words back. He misunderstood my small and dainty comment. I only wanted to show him that I liked it for its simplicity, not to criticize the size. Time for damage control. I closed my eyes to concentrate on what I was about to say.
"What I mean is that I like everything about it. It's a simple design and I like that." Just then, I realized my eyes were still closed. I quickly opened them up when I felt his hand on mine. He had lifted it to observe the ring more closely. But I knew better and smiled.
"The ring is small but its got all the 4 C's, meaning its a very good diamond," he explained, still clutching my hand. I looked up and caught my aunt staring over at us. I immediately withdrew my hand. I wished right then I had magical powers --just one blink and everyone would disappear. This chaperoned business was getting on my nerves. I thought to myself that being engaged now would make a difference but I could clearly see I was still under watch.
It was now close to 1am and the party was coming to a close. I did not want him to leave and I could sense he was trying to delay his departure by having small talk with my aunt and the older ladies. Their yawns and stretches indicated they were tired and ready to pack it up. But for me, the night was still young and I wanted to know more about my new fiancee. We started talking about his job and what he was looking to do in the future. He asked about my courses at University and what my ambitions were. Everytime we would get into a lengthy conversation, we were interrupted by children, my aunt or guests who were leaving. The interruptions set us back each time and it felt like we were meeting each other for the first time and starting from square one.
The clock now showed 1:30am and they were ready to leave. He got up and bid everyone goodbye. When he reached down to pick up some envelopes that fell onto the floor, he whispered to me, "I'll call you when no one is around." And with that, they all went upstairs, leaving me behind and alone. When I knew that their family had left, I took off the embroidered shawl, removed the heavy jewellery and lay back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling. Everyone had left except my aunt's family who were staying with us at the time. My sister came down and laughed.
"Now that looks like my sister. Not too lady-like," she commented as she picked up the decorations that littered the floor.
"I don't care! I need to get me out of these clothes and makeup. And will someone please bring me some food?!" I was famished. I spotted a Coke bottle in the corner, screwed off the cap, and put the whole bottle to my mouth and drank it like it was water. My sister turned around and stared at me in stunned silence. Then she picked up the camera and quickly snapped my picture.
I never included that picture in any album and years later, I burned it thinking it was very untraditional, although the few who saw it felt it was the most natural and alluring picture of me: engagement dress with no shawl, dishevelled hair, one hand on my hip and the other grasping a pop bottle, drowning its contents.
I yelled at my sister after she took the picture. "What do you think you are doing?" I demanded.
She smiled and said, "From all the years I have known you as my big sister, I have never remembered you this quiet and polite! It scares me. But right here, right now, THIS is REALLY who you are!" She grabbed the garbage bag of decorations and took it upstairs.
I stood there with the bottle in my hands and shuddered.
Yes, but will he accept me for who I am?
Thursday, March 3, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 37: Diamond in the Rough
I slept peacefully before my engagement. I expected to see her in my dreams that night but she had already come and reassured me. I learned looking for signs was not the right way about it. I had to relax and let things be. Allow events to happen and just accept them.
My relatives were visiting and all the women chipped in to help clean up and prepare the food. There was happiness in the house again. For many months, the absence of my mother left an overwhelming despair. Laughter, jokes and camaraderie trickled back in again and made us feel whole again. Everyone was excited to meet my new family and we decorated the rooms with flowers, streamers and balloons to commemorate my engagement.
A week prior, my mother-in-law had sent over my outfit and matching jewellery. It was customary to wear attire supplied from the groom's side. The dress was meant to be colourful and bright so that the bride-to-be stood out from the crowd. My three best girlfriends came early to help me get ready. They took turns with my hair and makeup while joking about what my husband was like.
"Is he going to be wearing a matching tie?"
"Will he be allowed to sit next to me?"
"Is he going to be wearing a tweed jacket?"
"Will he be the one slipping the ring on my finger?"
They drove me nuts with all their questions but a part of me wanted to know the answers too. I was too nervous to think about it all and told the girls that I was going to "...go with the flow!" They laughed excitedly and gave me a mirror so I could see their progress. I almost shrieked at my reflection. My hair was formed into a bouffant and the makeup was too dark. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. Serves me right for distracting them as they were preparing me!
I wiped off the excess makeup and fixed my hair. While doing this, I looked in the mirror and did not recognize myself. And then I was struck by a thought. What if he doesn't recognize me? What if he doesn't like what he sees? What if I trip and fall in front of him? A series of inexplicable events ran through my mind and I envisioned the worst. The butterflies started in my stomach and I felt myself break out in a cold sweat.
When I returned to my room, I had gone pale.
"You wiped off all the makeup! You need it darker for the pictures," one of my friend's shook her head disapprovingly. "You look really pale!"
The girls rushed over and started to apply what I had removed.
"You OK?" My childhood friend sensed something was wrong. I was close to tears but could not come out and explain my insecurities with them. She understood my silence and pushed the other two girls away from me.
"She looks fine. Leave her." She took the heavily embroidered shawl and placed it over my head, pinning it from the back so it would not slip off.
"You are beautiful just the way you are and you will take his breath away when he sees you," she reassured me. I blinked back tears and nodded slowly. There was only half hour left before their arrival and I felt the clock tick in unison with every heartbeat.
They led me downstairs to the sofa, sat me down and arranged my dress to fall elegantly on the floor. From the corner of my eye, I saw my father look over. He had napkins in one hand and a placemat in the other, nervously trying to assess what was missing. But when he saw me, he froze and stared intently. There was neither a smile or frown but a look that indicated that he was deep in thought and transported to another time. I looked away quickly and down at my feet. What he was thinking at the time, he would confide in me later...
The doorbell rang and I could hear many voices, laughter and shouts of "Mubarak (Congratulations)!" My girlfriends, sister and the rest of the family had left my side to quickly meet my fiancee at the door. I could hear his voice and I became nervous. Do I get up and greet him? Do I look up when he comes in? Do I move over and make room for him on the sofa? What was I to do? No one told me the protocol of an "about to be engaged girl" in our culture. Before he came in, my aunt hurriedly walked over to where I was sitting and motioned me to look down and not move.
Me not move? That was impossible! The girl with the restless soul also had restless joints. I tried to sit in a way that was comfortable but knowing he was about to enter the room made me conscious about everything--which way my feet pointed, how to hold my hands in my lap, the itchiness of my nose was and the constant growling in my stomach! I had forgotten to check if there was lipstick on my teeth or if my shawl sat properly on my head. I was talking hurriedly to my aunt about all my grievances before she shut me up and pushed my head down. After this abrupt gesture, my fiancee and his entire family had entered and a hush fell around the room.
Squeeze me?!?!?
Did he fall? Was there toilet paper hanging out the back of his pants? Why was everyone quiet? I did not dare raise my head. I could see his shiny, black shoes (why was he wearing his shoes on my carpet?!), the bottom of his trousers and next to him were his mother's feet. I could hear her talking to my aunt inaudibly and strained to catch what they were saying. DANG IT! I continued to look down at my feet and heard my stomach growl again. Oh for pete's sake! I should have ate something when it was offered to me. I sucked in my breath and waited.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and then I saw my aunt's feet walk over and seat him next to me. His knee slightly brushed mine and I winced. My nervousness got the better of me and I stifled a giggle. When his seating arrangement was confirmed and everyone was happy that he was sitting next to me, the silence was broken by his father insisting for a photo op. My eyes travelled over to him, still with my head bowed. He had placed his hands on top of his knees and I could see that a garland hung from his neck and fell over his right leg. Man, this was going to be hard. How to look like a demure lady without ogling her fiancee was an outright test of patience. My childhood friend came and kneeled in front of me so I could see her face while my fiancee was busy talking to my sister.
"Are you ok? Do you need something?" she implored. I looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"You got a mirror so I can least see what he looks like?" I whispered. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth, laughing.
"You are impossible! You will never change. By the way, he looks great. You both do. I guess you will have to see the pictures AFTER the engagement to see what your husband-to-be looks like," she whispered back with a wink. I could have pinched her right then but I knew the video cameras were rolling and I would be caught being unlady-like! She left and I sat there wondering what would happen next.
The doorbell rang several times and guests were filing in. Each one would come and hug me and place envelopes of money in my hands. They would shake my fiancee's hand and tell him how pretty I looked. Nice...except he didn't get chance to have a good look. Neither did I and I wondered for the most part if I would have a neck injury in the morning from all the bowing.
My aunt announced dinner and everyone, except me, got up and headed to the dining room for dinner. My girlfriends came back quickly and gorged themselves on all the food. I lifted my head and pulled my veil back to get a good look at what they were eating.
"If it weren't for the loud music, you guys would have heard my stomach growling and been sensitive enough to bring me some food!" I barked while they laughed and talked amongst themselves, gossiping about my fiancee and his family.
"You don't need to eat. You are supposed to watch your weight for the wedding. Plus you will spoil your makeup!" The girls looked at each other and I caught one winking at the other. I scratched my nose and pulled my veil back down violently.
"I will get you all back. You think this is funny? I am hungry, my neck hurts and I have no idea how he looks! Does he look good? Did he say anything to me when he came in?" I asked. The girls laughed and whispered amongst each other. They were up to something but I could not place my finger on it. They sat on the ground at my feet with their food and the smell made me even more hungry.
There was a hushed silence again and the girls parted like the Nile. I saw his feet and then my dinner was presented to me. All of my favorite foods were nicely arranged on the plate. It was him. He had brought me my dinner. I heard him greet me and explain that he had put together my dinner with the help of my aunt. I nodded without looking up and took the plate. I felt him sit next to me and begin a conversation with my friends. They were talking and laughing but I was not listening. I stared at the plate and absorbed the importance of his gesture.
After dinner, (I ate very little), I heard my mother-in-law announce that they should begin the ceremony. I had left momentarily to wash up and returned back with the help of my aunt. Technically, I did not need her to hold my arm and guide me back to my seat but I figured out that I was supposed to look chaste and helpless! It made me laugh but I went along with it and took advantage of the moment because before I sat down next to him, I looked at him directly. He returned my glance with a huge smile and I bashfully smiled back. Finally! And no one caught either of us in this moment of disobedience...
I saw someone place a velvet box into his hands. We were told to stand and face each other. I kept my head down and my aunt reached for my hand to hold out. He was going to put the ring on my finger in front of twenty five people. I had seen this scene in every chick flick I had watched prior to this moment--a very private moment that would be shared in front of family and friends. It happened without him speaking a word to me or each of us looking into each other's eyes. Even this symbol of unity was executed with a chaperone whereby my aunt held both our hands and guided his hand to put the ring on my finger.
Ironically, I took no notice of the ring. The size, colour, shape or brilliance. My eyes were transfixed on the quivering of his hand as he placed it on my finger. And this is what I remembered fondly about that day. How endearing he was. The smile, delivering my dinner and his hand shaking when our engagement was sealed. I did not need the ring to confirm if he was the one. His actions spoke louder than words.
And I realized that day, he was my diamond in the rough.
My relatives were visiting and all the women chipped in to help clean up and prepare the food. There was happiness in the house again. For many months, the absence of my mother left an overwhelming despair. Laughter, jokes and camaraderie trickled back in again and made us feel whole again. Everyone was excited to meet my new family and we decorated the rooms with flowers, streamers and balloons to commemorate my engagement.
A week prior, my mother-in-law had sent over my outfit and matching jewellery. It was customary to wear attire supplied from the groom's side. The dress was meant to be colourful and bright so that the bride-to-be stood out from the crowd. My three best girlfriends came early to help me get ready. They took turns with my hair and makeup while joking about what my husband was like.
"Is he going to be wearing a matching tie?"
"Will he be allowed to sit next to me?"
"Is he going to be wearing a tweed jacket?"
"Will he be the one slipping the ring on my finger?"
They drove me nuts with all their questions but a part of me wanted to know the answers too. I was too nervous to think about it all and told the girls that I was going to "...go with the flow!" They laughed excitedly and gave me a mirror so I could see their progress. I almost shrieked at my reflection. My hair was formed into a bouffant and the makeup was too dark. I ran to the bathroom and locked the door. Serves me right for distracting them as they were preparing me!
I wiped off the excess makeup and fixed my hair. While doing this, I looked in the mirror and did not recognize myself. And then I was struck by a thought. What if he doesn't recognize me? What if he doesn't like what he sees? What if I trip and fall in front of him? A series of inexplicable events ran through my mind and I envisioned the worst. The butterflies started in my stomach and I felt myself break out in a cold sweat.
When I returned to my room, I had gone pale.
"You wiped off all the makeup! You need it darker for the pictures," one of my friend's shook her head disapprovingly. "You look really pale!"
The girls rushed over and started to apply what I had removed.
"You OK?" My childhood friend sensed something was wrong. I was close to tears but could not come out and explain my insecurities with them. She understood my silence and pushed the other two girls away from me.
"She looks fine. Leave her." She took the heavily embroidered shawl and placed it over my head, pinning it from the back so it would not slip off.
"You are beautiful just the way you are and you will take his breath away when he sees you," she reassured me. I blinked back tears and nodded slowly. There was only half hour left before their arrival and I felt the clock tick in unison with every heartbeat.
They led me downstairs to the sofa, sat me down and arranged my dress to fall elegantly on the floor. From the corner of my eye, I saw my father look over. He had napkins in one hand and a placemat in the other, nervously trying to assess what was missing. But when he saw me, he froze and stared intently. There was neither a smile or frown but a look that indicated that he was deep in thought and transported to another time. I looked away quickly and down at my feet. What he was thinking at the time, he would confide in me later...
The doorbell rang and I could hear many voices, laughter and shouts of "Mubarak (Congratulations)!" My girlfriends, sister and the rest of the family had left my side to quickly meet my fiancee at the door. I could hear his voice and I became nervous. Do I get up and greet him? Do I look up when he comes in? Do I move over and make room for him on the sofa? What was I to do? No one told me the protocol of an "about to be engaged girl" in our culture. Before he came in, my aunt hurriedly walked over to where I was sitting and motioned me to look down and not move.
Me not move? That was impossible! The girl with the restless soul also had restless joints. I tried to sit in a way that was comfortable but knowing he was about to enter the room made me conscious about everything--which way my feet pointed, how to hold my hands in my lap, the itchiness of my nose was and the constant growling in my stomach! I had forgotten to check if there was lipstick on my teeth or if my shawl sat properly on my head. I was talking hurriedly to my aunt about all my grievances before she shut me up and pushed my head down. After this abrupt gesture, my fiancee and his entire family had entered and a hush fell around the room.
Squeeze me?!?!?
Did he fall? Was there toilet paper hanging out the back of his pants? Why was everyone quiet? I did not dare raise my head. I could see his shiny, black shoes (why was he wearing his shoes on my carpet?!), the bottom of his trousers and next to him were his mother's feet. I could hear her talking to my aunt inaudibly and strained to catch what they were saying. DANG IT! I continued to look down at my feet and heard my stomach growl again. Oh for pete's sake! I should have ate something when it was offered to me. I sucked in my breath and waited.
I felt a hand on my shoulder and then I saw my aunt's feet walk over and seat him next to me. His knee slightly brushed mine and I winced. My nervousness got the better of me and I stifled a giggle. When his seating arrangement was confirmed and everyone was happy that he was sitting next to me, the silence was broken by his father insisting for a photo op. My eyes travelled over to him, still with my head bowed. He had placed his hands on top of his knees and I could see that a garland hung from his neck and fell over his right leg. Man, this was going to be hard. How to look like a demure lady without ogling her fiancee was an outright test of patience. My childhood friend came and kneeled in front of me so I could see her face while my fiancee was busy talking to my sister.
"Are you ok? Do you need something?" she implored. I looked at her with a raised eyebrow.
"You got a mirror so I can least see what he looks like?" I whispered. Her eyes widened and she covered her mouth, laughing.
"You are impossible! You will never change. By the way, he looks great. You both do. I guess you will have to see the pictures AFTER the engagement to see what your husband-to-be looks like," she whispered back with a wink. I could have pinched her right then but I knew the video cameras were rolling and I would be caught being unlady-like! She left and I sat there wondering what would happen next.
The doorbell rang several times and guests were filing in. Each one would come and hug me and place envelopes of money in my hands. They would shake my fiancee's hand and tell him how pretty I looked. Nice...except he didn't get chance to have a good look. Neither did I and I wondered for the most part if I would have a neck injury in the morning from all the bowing.
My aunt announced dinner and everyone, except me, got up and headed to the dining room for dinner. My girlfriends came back quickly and gorged themselves on all the food. I lifted my head and pulled my veil back to get a good look at what they were eating.
"If it weren't for the loud music, you guys would have heard my stomach growling and been sensitive enough to bring me some food!" I barked while they laughed and talked amongst themselves, gossiping about my fiancee and his family.
"You don't need to eat. You are supposed to watch your weight for the wedding. Plus you will spoil your makeup!" The girls looked at each other and I caught one winking at the other. I scratched my nose and pulled my veil back down violently.
"I will get you all back. You think this is funny? I am hungry, my neck hurts and I have no idea how he looks! Does he look good? Did he say anything to me when he came in?" I asked. The girls laughed and whispered amongst each other. They were up to something but I could not place my finger on it. They sat on the ground at my feet with their food and the smell made me even more hungry.
There was a hushed silence again and the girls parted like the Nile. I saw his feet and then my dinner was presented to me. All of my favorite foods were nicely arranged on the plate. It was him. He had brought me my dinner. I heard him greet me and explain that he had put together my dinner with the help of my aunt. I nodded without looking up and took the plate. I felt him sit next to me and begin a conversation with my friends. They were talking and laughing but I was not listening. I stared at the plate and absorbed the importance of his gesture.
After dinner, (I ate very little), I heard my mother-in-law announce that they should begin the ceremony. I had left momentarily to wash up and returned back with the help of my aunt. Technically, I did not need her to hold my arm and guide me back to my seat but I figured out that I was supposed to look chaste and helpless! It made me laugh but I went along with it and took advantage of the moment because before I sat down next to him, I looked at him directly. He returned my glance with a huge smile and I bashfully smiled back. Finally! And no one caught either of us in this moment of disobedience...
I saw someone place a velvet box into his hands. We were told to stand and face each other. I kept my head down and my aunt reached for my hand to hold out. He was going to put the ring on my finger in front of twenty five people. I had seen this scene in every chick flick I had watched prior to this moment--a very private moment that would be shared in front of family and friends. It happened without him speaking a word to me or each of us looking into each other's eyes. Even this symbol of unity was executed with a chaperone whereby my aunt held both our hands and guided his hand to put the ring on my finger.
Ironically, I took no notice of the ring. The size, colour, shape or brilliance. My eyes were transfixed on the quivering of his hand as he placed it on my finger. And this is what I remembered fondly about that day. How endearing he was. The smile, delivering my dinner and his hand shaking when our engagement was sealed. I did not need the ring to confirm if he was the one. His actions spoke louder than words.
And I realized that day, he was my diamond in the rough.
Monday, February 28, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 36: The Winds really do Whisper
Runaway Bride. My Best Friend's Wedding. Father of the Bride. The Wedding Singer.
For some reason, I was drawn to these movies during my pre-engagement period. I would sit with a box of tissues, a couple of girlfriends and a notion of how my wedding should be. It was in the media, in the windows at People's and Birks, with co-workers planning their weddings and pamphlets left on my windshield for wedding shows. You could not escape the societal norm and it stared me in the face wondering, Why are you not a part of this?
The typical wedding was in the air. However, for me, romance wasn't. And I thought the two went hand in hand.
Back to my story.
No one knew about the engagement date except my close girlfriends, family and a few elderly couples known to my father and inlaws, which included the family that introduced us.
The secrecy was killing me. Shouldn't I be shouting it out to the world?
"I am about to enter a LOVELESS marriage! Yeehaw! Be happy for me! Ignite the fireworks! Shout it out in the streets"! Again, the feeling of dread overtook me and I wondered if I, frayed nerves and all, would make it to my engagement.
My father whistled while he worked. He would walk past me and smile gingerly when I was executing on the most mundane chores (mopping, laundry, etc) and I would break out laughing. He was happy but I knew deep down it was bittersweet. Happy to have a commitment and sad to finally let me go. I continued my daily routine but I had to admit, I was entering a stage in my life that I never thought would come this fast. And I pretended that it would just another evening like every other...OK, who was I kidding!!? My nervousness translated into laughter.
Squeeze me?
I was a laughing hyena everywhere I went. My mother-in-law would phone to ask about the preparations and I would giggle. The newpaper boy would collect the dues and I would laugh while paying him. My professor asked a question in sociology class about the economics of marriage. I laughed so hard that I had to leave the lecture hall. I was a bumbling idiot, laughing incessantly that my friends thought I was high most of the time. "I am sure she took something for the stress," I overheard one friend tell another. I laughed at that too. I did't know why everything seemed so funny to me. Perhaps I was thinking this would be last time I laughed--once I realized what I was getting myself into. Or maybe it masked the reality of my situation, to enter a loveless marriage. Would this be something I could laugh about later or would the joke be on me?
My friends led a countdown and every time they would phone, it would be to remind me how many days closer it was to the engagement day. I would usually hang up abruptly but they would call right back and laugh into the phone. Funny game for them, disturbing for me. We weren't young kids anymore--no longer fun and games. This marriage was a clearly a reality and a huge gamble...
One night, as I walked up the stairs towards my bedroom, I passed the wedding picture of my parents. The elegant brass framed photo was in the main hall between the four bedrooms. I stood close to the picture to get a better look. I studied each detail carefully. She wore a red dress and gold jewellery with her hands clasped elegantly in front of her. My father wore a three piece suit, a traditional hat and pants that looked a size too small. His expression was stern and overbearing. She had a demure smile, full of innocence and naivety. I stared at her intently. She smiled back at me. I remained there for awhile until I felt a presence behind me. There was a shadow in the reflection of the glass on the picture. The hairs on my arms stood up. I turned around quickly, expecting to see my father but no one was there.
I opened everyone's bedroom door. "Did you stand behind me when I was in the main hallway?" I asked my father, my brother and then my sister. They were all tucked into their rooms either busy with homework, reading or preparing for bed. The answer was a resounding NO. I closed their doors and returned back to the picture. It was as if I wanted someone to move. Ok Mom, blink if you see me. Twitch your finger, Dad. Do something! Give me a sign. Were you two truly happy in this picture? Will I wear a fake smile while my husband stares sternly into the camera on our wedding day?
Remember, when I asked for signs, they did not come. It was a feeling that enveloped me instead. I knew someone stood behind me but who? I had no dreams of my mother for months and I thought it was because she was happy about my decision. For selfish reasons, I wanted her to come again. The more I expected it, the more disappointed I ended up. Until the day before my engagement.
It was a Friday afternoon. I had studied the night before and then worked that morning. When I came home, I ate lunch and then headed to my room to take a quick nap. I was nervous about the engagement and figured I would clean up the house when my father came home from work and my brother and sister came home after school.
No one was home so I headed upstairs to lay down. I was on my right side and I slowly drifted off to sleep. And then I dreamt.
I was standing in an open pastoral green field. The sun was shining, birds were chirping and there was not a cloud in the sky. The breeze felt warm upon my face and I lay down in the field and fell asleep. I woke up in my dream to find that dark clouds had rolled in, thunder was clapping and the winds were blowing me around. I tried to fight the winds but they lifted me up off the fields and threaten to throw me into the air, away from where I felt safe. I cried out but no voice came out of my mouth. I tried again, this time to scream, but no one heard me.
I felt myself coming out of my dream but I could not open my eyes. My body was heavy but my mind was alert. I felt my chest begin to heave and I tried to let out a sob. Again, no sound came out. I could feel the spasm of fear erupting in my chest but before it became intense, I felt someone sit down at the side of my bed. I tried to open my eyes but I couldn't. And then I felt a hand on top of my hand. There was no temperature--the hand was neither cold or warm. I tried to move my hand in response to this touch but I could not move. What soothed me was that I recognized the touch. My panic dissipated and I felt a calm envelope me. The winds stopped blowing and I returned to my original patch of green field where I had laid down. And as I stared into the sky I was slowly awakening from my dream.
I could still feeling something or someone sitting on my bed and this feeling lasted for a full minute. No matter how much I tried to open my eyes to see her, something prevented me from doing so. Why? Why won't you let me see you? I had to settle for her touch. As soon as she came, she left just as quickly and when I felt the bed rise back up, my eyes flew open. My room looked the same as it did before I fell asleep.
The only difference was not physical in nature. It was the resolute tranquilness that remained.
She had been in front of me when I admired her picture. She was behind me while I pondered my future in the hallway. She was beside me when I felt lost in the field.
Darling, don't look for just one sign...the signs are everywhere, I heard her whisper, as the winds died down.
For some reason, I was drawn to these movies during my pre-engagement period. I would sit with a box of tissues, a couple of girlfriends and a notion of how my wedding should be. It was in the media, in the windows at People's and Birks, with co-workers planning their weddings and pamphlets left on my windshield for wedding shows. You could not escape the societal norm and it stared me in the face wondering, Why are you not a part of this?
The typical wedding was in the air. However, for me, romance wasn't. And I thought the two went hand in hand.
Back to my story.
No one knew about the engagement date except my close girlfriends, family and a few elderly couples known to my father and inlaws, which included the family that introduced us.
The secrecy was killing me. Shouldn't I be shouting it out to the world?
"I am about to enter a LOVELESS marriage! Yeehaw! Be happy for me! Ignite the fireworks! Shout it out in the streets"! Again, the feeling of dread overtook me and I wondered if I, frayed nerves and all, would make it to my engagement.
My father whistled while he worked. He would walk past me and smile gingerly when I was executing on the most mundane chores (mopping, laundry, etc) and I would break out laughing. He was happy but I knew deep down it was bittersweet. Happy to have a commitment and sad to finally let me go. I continued my daily routine but I had to admit, I was entering a stage in my life that I never thought would come this fast. And I pretended that it would just another evening like every other...OK, who was I kidding!!? My nervousness translated into laughter.
Squeeze me?
I was a laughing hyena everywhere I went. My mother-in-law would phone to ask about the preparations and I would giggle. The newpaper boy would collect the dues and I would laugh while paying him. My professor asked a question in sociology class about the economics of marriage. I laughed so hard that I had to leave the lecture hall. I was a bumbling idiot, laughing incessantly that my friends thought I was high most of the time. "I am sure she took something for the stress," I overheard one friend tell another. I laughed at that too. I did't know why everything seemed so funny to me. Perhaps I was thinking this would be last time I laughed--once I realized what I was getting myself into. Or maybe it masked the reality of my situation, to enter a loveless marriage. Would this be something I could laugh about later or would the joke be on me?
My friends led a countdown and every time they would phone, it would be to remind me how many days closer it was to the engagement day. I would usually hang up abruptly but they would call right back and laugh into the phone. Funny game for them, disturbing for me. We weren't young kids anymore--no longer fun and games. This marriage was a clearly a reality and a huge gamble...
One night, as I walked up the stairs towards my bedroom, I passed the wedding picture of my parents. The elegant brass framed photo was in the main hall between the four bedrooms. I stood close to the picture to get a better look. I studied each detail carefully. She wore a red dress and gold jewellery with her hands clasped elegantly in front of her. My father wore a three piece suit, a traditional hat and pants that looked a size too small. His expression was stern and overbearing. She had a demure smile, full of innocence and naivety. I stared at her intently. She smiled back at me. I remained there for awhile until I felt a presence behind me. There was a shadow in the reflection of the glass on the picture. The hairs on my arms stood up. I turned around quickly, expecting to see my father but no one was there.
I opened everyone's bedroom door. "Did you stand behind me when I was in the main hallway?" I asked my father, my brother and then my sister. They were all tucked into their rooms either busy with homework, reading or preparing for bed. The answer was a resounding NO. I closed their doors and returned back to the picture. It was as if I wanted someone to move. Ok Mom, blink if you see me. Twitch your finger, Dad. Do something! Give me a sign. Were you two truly happy in this picture? Will I wear a fake smile while my husband stares sternly into the camera on our wedding day?
Remember, when I asked for signs, they did not come. It was a feeling that enveloped me instead. I knew someone stood behind me but who? I had no dreams of my mother for months and I thought it was because she was happy about my decision. For selfish reasons, I wanted her to come again. The more I expected it, the more disappointed I ended up. Until the day before my engagement.
It was a Friday afternoon. I had studied the night before and then worked that morning. When I came home, I ate lunch and then headed to my room to take a quick nap. I was nervous about the engagement and figured I would clean up the house when my father came home from work and my brother and sister came home after school.
No one was home so I headed upstairs to lay down. I was on my right side and I slowly drifted off to sleep. And then I dreamt.
I was standing in an open pastoral green field. The sun was shining, birds were chirping and there was not a cloud in the sky. The breeze felt warm upon my face and I lay down in the field and fell asleep. I woke up in my dream to find that dark clouds had rolled in, thunder was clapping and the winds were blowing me around. I tried to fight the winds but they lifted me up off the fields and threaten to throw me into the air, away from where I felt safe. I cried out but no voice came out of my mouth. I tried again, this time to scream, but no one heard me.
I felt myself coming out of my dream but I could not open my eyes. My body was heavy but my mind was alert. I felt my chest begin to heave and I tried to let out a sob. Again, no sound came out. I could feel the spasm of fear erupting in my chest but before it became intense, I felt someone sit down at the side of my bed. I tried to open my eyes but I couldn't. And then I felt a hand on top of my hand. There was no temperature--the hand was neither cold or warm. I tried to move my hand in response to this touch but I could not move. What soothed me was that I recognized the touch. My panic dissipated and I felt a calm envelope me. The winds stopped blowing and I returned to my original patch of green field where I had laid down. And as I stared into the sky I was slowly awakening from my dream.
I could still feeling something or someone sitting on my bed and this feeling lasted for a full minute. No matter how much I tried to open my eyes to see her, something prevented me from doing so. Why? Why won't you let me see you? I had to settle for her touch. As soon as she came, she left just as quickly and when I felt the bed rise back up, my eyes flew open. My room looked the same as it did before I fell asleep.
The only difference was not physical in nature. It was the resolute tranquilness that remained.
She had been in front of me when I admired her picture. She was behind me while I pondered my future in the hallway. She was beside me when I felt lost in the field.
Darling, don't look for just one sign...the signs are everywhere, I heard her whisper, as the winds died down.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 35: I will rock your world
We had made the verbal agreement to marry in February 1991. And the engagement was slated for April. In the month of March, the wheels were in motion with the decision to have the ceremony at our house.
Today, the typical Pakistani wedding would involve many weeks of preparation for a four day event: two mehndis (a ceremony each for the bride and groom), the baraat (actual wedding day) and the following day which is called the walima (function sponsored by the family of the groom). Prior to the marriage, the engagement is an over-the-top affair, resembling a 'mini' wedding.
Too much decadence. Back when I got engaged, it was simple and small, with only immediate family.
Three weeks prior, my husband went to buy my ring. I did not accompany him nor did I give any input about what I wanted. Ironically, back then, it did not matter to me.
Squeeze me?
When I see women getting engaged today, they are going with their respective other and helping to choose their dream ring. Contributing, suggesting and ultimately buying something they want. Most men do not mind this as it eliminates the guesswork in figuring out what their fiancee wants. For me, it was one more aspect of the process of getting married that I was not involved in. I took it in stride while my girlfriends around me freaked out. The ring was an inanimate object to me. Instead, my main concern was of an empathetic nature. How was the poor boy going to buy something for me without having a clue?
Romance. I never saw my parents openly show affection. No holding of the hands, a kiss, hug or even a friendly shove. In my toddler years, I rocked. Not to heavy metal music--I mean physically rocked back and forth. When the springs of the sofa protruded after damage caused by my rocking, my father took me for the eleventh time to the pediatrician. The doctor finally asked him if I was in an environment of love. After my father stormed out of the office, my mother calmly explained that in our culture, it was customary for parents not to show affection in front of their children.
This environment resulted in the opposite effect on me. I looked for and spread my affection freely. I remember looking at my baby pictures. I was always hanging onto someone: in the crook of my father's arm, on my mother's lap with my thumb in my mouth and my head resting on her chest, or snuggled in between my parents as their missing link. I was starving back then and the rocking motion settled me down. I knew my parents loved me and showed me affection in many ways however the sensation of touch was not one of them, within the four walls of our home.
Yet, outside my front door was a world of emotion. And although I craved it, I was a silent observer. I did not fit the mould. Time and time again, my beliefs and values clashed with the world as I knew it, given the fact that I still secretly wanted to fit in. Odd one out. Whistling to a different tune. My proposal, or lack thereof was just another chapter in my life where I accepted the unfolding events of my life as not the part of the norm.
I did not get the traditional fairytale proposal. He did not bend on one knee and slip a ring on my finger. Heck, he did not even ask me to marry him. My fate was sealed in a knowing smile, a manly hug with my father, a slight nod of the head and the setting of a dining table. Romance, my foot! I did not know what was worse: the lack of romance at the time of the proposal or explaining the lack of romance at the time of my proposal to my non-Muslim friends.
Driving home one day after class, my best friend threw her feet on my dashboard and interrogated me all the way home.
"Where is your ring?"
"I will get it in April when we are formally engaged," I replied, trying to concentrate on the road.
"What does your ring look like? What style and what size?"
"Dunno." My friend paused and lost the chewing gum somewhere on the floor of my car.
"Let me get this straight. Dude doesn't propose to you directly, utters not a word after you agree to marry him and now is shopping for your ring, a big ticket item without knowing a thing about you?" she exclaimed. I sighed and pretended to notice something in my rearview mirror. At this point, even I felt dismayed.
"You know, given all that I have been through my wish is for me to get to the wedding without there being any fallout! You know my dad still keeps in touch with all the suitors in Pakistan? What for? Plan B??" I shook my head and turned on the radio. She switched it off and removed her seatbelt so she could turn and address me.
"Listen, you know me. I have always given you my honest advice, right? Anytime you have had issues or needed a sounding board, I have been here and my two cents have been worth it, correct?" I did not know where she was going with this and I had no choice but to listen, considering I was trapped in a moving vehicle with her.
"I know you. You are born here. Raised here. Educated here. You ain't off the boat and I understand this is your culture and religion. Seriously, how do you know he is the right man for you?"
And I can honestly say that I had many sleepless nights wondering the same thing. What got me through was the inexplicable gut feeling. A sixth instinct that I possessed and could not explain to anyone. I waited for my mother to reappear at night but I took her absence as a sign. She only came to me when I was genuinely troubled. This time, I saw no trouble in sight. Although sleep eluded me, my senses were alarmingly heightened. It was a high.
"Well my dear, it works both ways. You trust me too. And when I say its right although I cannot explain it, you just have to trust my instincts. I know its pretty lame to rely on a gut feeling when making the most important decision in my life...just believe in me, be there for me and support me."
It was all I could offer her. I had not told her, much less anyone about all the signs I had witnessed. Knowing her skepticism, she would laugh in my face. All I know was that when she met him at my engagement party, she took back every doubt she ever had.
He called me one night, without his parents or my father knowing. It was late and I was studying. There was no caller id back then and I had to pick up the phone quickly without waking anyone up.
"I bought your ring today," he whispered, nervously gushing with happiness.
I sat back and smiled into the phone.
I did not ask one detail about the ring.
Instead, I congratulated him and told him to surprise me at the engagement.
And that he did.
Screw the proposal. Who needs tradition anyway?
Today, the typical Pakistani wedding would involve many weeks of preparation for a four day event: two mehndis (a ceremony each for the bride and groom), the baraat (actual wedding day) and the following day which is called the walima (function sponsored by the family of the groom). Prior to the marriage, the engagement is an over-the-top affair, resembling a 'mini' wedding.
Too much decadence. Back when I got engaged, it was simple and small, with only immediate family.
Three weeks prior, my husband went to buy my ring. I did not accompany him nor did I give any input about what I wanted. Ironically, back then, it did not matter to me.
Squeeze me?
When I see women getting engaged today, they are going with their respective other and helping to choose their dream ring. Contributing, suggesting and ultimately buying something they want. Most men do not mind this as it eliminates the guesswork in figuring out what their fiancee wants. For me, it was one more aspect of the process of getting married that I was not involved in. I took it in stride while my girlfriends around me freaked out. The ring was an inanimate object to me. Instead, my main concern was of an empathetic nature. How was the poor boy going to buy something for me without having a clue?
Romance. I never saw my parents openly show affection. No holding of the hands, a kiss, hug or even a friendly shove. In my toddler years, I rocked. Not to heavy metal music--I mean physically rocked back and forth. When the springs of the sofa protruded after damage caused by my rocking, my father took me for the eleventh time to the pediatrician. The doctor finally asked him if I was in an environment of love. After my father stormed out of the office, my mother calmly explained that in our culture, it was customary for parents not to show affection in front of their children.
This environment resulted in the opposite effect on me. I looked for and spread my affection freely. I remember looking at my baby pictures. I was always hanging onto someone: in the crook of my father's arm, on my mother's lap with my thumb in my mouth and my head resting on her chest, or snuggled in between my parents as their missing link. I was starving back then and the rocking motion settled me down. I knew my parents loved me and showed me affection in many ways however the sensation of touch was not one of them, within the four walls of our home.
Yet, outside my front door was a world of emotion. And although I craved it, I was a silent observer. I did not fit the mould. Time and time again, my beliefs and values clashed with the world as I knew it, given the fact that I still secretly wanted to fit in. Odd one out. Whistling to a different tune. My proposal, or lack thereof was just another chapter in my life where I accepted the unfolding events of my life as not the part of the norm.
I did not get the traditional fairytale proposal. He did not bend on one knee and slip a ring on my finger. Heck, he did not even ask me to marry him. My fate was sealed in a knowing smile, a manly hug with my father, a slight nod of the head and the setting of a dining table. Romance, my foot! I did not know what was worse: the lack of romance at the time of the proposal or explaining the lack of romance at the time of my proposal to my non-Muslim friends.
Driving home one day after class, my best friend threw her feet on my dashboard and interrogated me all the way home.
"Where is your ring?"
"I will get it in April when we are formally engaged," I replied, trying to concentrate on the road.
"What does your ring look like? What style and what size?"
"Dunno." My friend paused and lost the chewing gum somewhere on the floor of my car.
"Let me get this straight. Dude doesn't propose to you directly, utters not a word after you agree to marry him and now is shopping for your ring, a big ticket item without knowing a thing about you?" she exclaimed. I sighed and pretended to notice something in my rearview mirror. At this point, even I felt dismayed.
"You know, given all that I have been through my wish is for me to get to the wedding without there being any fallout! You know my dad still keeps in touch with all the suitors in Pakistan? What for? Plan B??" I shook my head and turned on the radio. She switched it off and removed her seatbelt so she could turn and address me.
"Listen, you know me. I have always given you my honest advice, right? Anytime you have had issues or needed a sounding board, I have been here and my two cents have been worth it, correct?" I did not know where she was going with this and I had no choice but to listen, considering I was trapped in a moving vehicle with her.
"I know you. You are born here. Raised here. Educated here. You ain't off the boat and I understand this is your culture and religion. Seriously, how do you know he is the right man for you?"
And I can honestly say that I had many sleepless nights wondering the same thing. What got me through was the inexplicable gut feeling. A sixth instinct that I possessed and could not explain to anyone. I waited for my mother to reappear at night but I took her absence as a sign. She only came to me when I was genuinely troubled. This time, I saw no trouble in sight. Although sleep eluded me, my senses were alarmingly heightened. It was a high.
"Well my dear, it works both ways. You trust me too. And when I say its right although I cannot explain it, you just have to trust my instincts. I know its pretty lame to rely on a gut feeling when making the most important decision in my life...just believe in me, be there for me and support me."
It was all I could offer her. I had not told her, much less anyone about all the signs I had witnessed. Knowing her skepticism, she would laugh in my face. All I know was that when she met him at my engagement party, she took back every doubt she ever had.
He called me one night, without his parents or my father knowing. It was late and I was studying. There was no caller id back then and I had to pick up the phone quickly without waking anyone up.
"I bought your ring today," he whispered, nervously gushing with happiness.
I sat back and smiled into the phone.
I did not ask one detail about the ring.
Instead, I congratulated him and told him to surprise me at the engagement.
And that he did.
Screw the proposal. Who needs tradition anyway?
Thursday, February 17, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 34: Walk the Walk
Back when I was in high school, I thought I had it all figured out. Most teenagers think that they do. What exactly did I know back then? Well, primarily it was about living two different lives.
Squeeze me?
Growing up, I was completely aware of the double life I led. The one behind my front door and the other past the front door.
You see, living at home was the easy part. Rules, culture and religion were known aspects within our home. Pray five times a day, don't eat pork, be home before 10pm, no alcohol and don't talk back to your father. I grew up with those regulations without questioning them. It was the accepted way of life.
When I walked out the front door, that was when I entered the unknown. Different rules, cultures, religions and expectations.
Assimilate or differentiate?
When you are a teenager trying to fit in, the answer is clear. And I tried hard to compromise. I never balked from going out the front door but I did return, coming home more confused than ever.
I recall sitting with a group of friends in the high school cafeteria. We would discuss school, assignments, gossip about other people, share our goals and aspirations and fight the odd time. We sat at the same table everyday -- we were a rather large group of about 10 girls and guys. Many of the girls had boyfriends who they would bring along to share in the discussion.
The topic of dating and relationships came up one afternoon. I remained quiet for the most part. This was not my topic of expertise and believe me, I never held back on any other topic from before so I let this one slide. The conversation consisted of the girls complaining about men, how they lacked sensitivity and emotions while the guys complained how moody and judgemental the girls were. I was careful not to comment, take sides or to offer any insight. They all knew I was forbidden to date based on my "look but don't touch rule". It was common knowledge but a mysterious unknown. To them, it was something about my religion being against the concept. But no one ever asked me bluntly to explain it.
Until that day.
Everyone had left the table to go to class except one of the guys and me. I was still eating my lunch and studying for a test. He asked if he could sit with me since he had a spare. He was one of my friend's boyfriend and I knew that they were not on good terms. In the past, they had both approached me for advice. And ironically, I had offered my advice -- this coming from a girl who never dated. If I thought she was at fault, I called her out on it and vice versa. I never volunteered to be their confidante but I ended up becoming the 'guru of dating'. It came down to trust and honesty--both traits that I offered. Easy for me because there were no strings attached.
Until that day.
"So Tina and I are breaking up," he quietly said to me as I tried to apply ketchup over my french fries. It squirted everywhere when he made his announcement.
Note to reader: I was a HUGE klutz back then and still am today.
He helped me clean up the mess, oblivious to my blunder and more concerned about my reaction.
"Did you tell her?"
"Not yet. I was going to ask your thoughts on the matter first," he replied. I looked back at my textbook, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
"You should not be telling me this. You need to talk this through with her. I am sure you both can work it out together. You are a bit headstrong, you know." I clapped my hand over my mouth. Damn! Seriously, I thought, I talk too much!
"Headstrong? That is an unfair observation. What do you know?" he demanded.
"All I know is that you both have been unhappy for the last six months and instead of talking to each other, you both come to ME to complain!" I threw out the fifteen napkins it took to clean up the ketchup mess on the table.
He looked at me silently and then sat back in his chair. I resumed studying for my test. I thought he would make up his mind and leave to talk to Tina.
But he just sat there and stared at me.
"You know something? Over the period of time that we have known each other, I have noticed something about you."
I looked up from my textbook. He passed me another napkin and motioned me to clean the ketchup off my shirt.
"And what is that?" I asked.
"You get me. You always have. And if you were allowed to date, we would be dating now."
I could feel my ears growing hot while the blood spread across my face and the butterflies erupted in my stomach. I looked everywhere else but at him.
"You are wrong. Even if I could date, I would not date my friend's boyfriend!"
He did not buy my answer. "Forget Tina. If she did not exist, would you date me?" he asked. He moved closer and I dropped my pencil case on the floor.
"I am not allowed to date so don't throw these fictitious scenarios at me."
"You are not answering the question."
"I don't want to answer the question!" He moved back to his original spot at the table and watched me fumble with my textbook.
"I am not allowed to date," I repeated in a hushed voice and again could not make eye contact.
"Why not?" he inquired.
"Because we are not supposed to ...with any dating ....before we marry...and its an arranged marriage ...parents are supposed to do this..." I stood up with my books and tried to walk past him. I had no clue what I was saying. All I knew was that I was speaking a foreign language.
He blocked my exit. "You are a great listener and even a better friend. You are not like the other girls. Tina doesn't understand me. You don't know it but you would be a great girlfriend. Everyone says it... but not to you."
I looked up at him. He was not joking and there was sincerity in his eyes. They would all come to me with their problems and I felt free just knowing that I was not part of the drama. On the other hand, I missed having a relationship that was deemed 'normal' --in that world outside my front door.
What perturbed me the most was that I could not explain why I could not date. It was sort of explained to us more as a rule than a reason. You cannot date. You cannot have a boyfriend. You will shame your family. You will shame the community. You are Muslim. You are not like them. It paralyzed me that I could not offer an explanation to him without knowing what it meant to me.
I looked around the cafeteria and saw many couples. Some were eating together, studying or just sitting in silence holding hands. He stood in front of me, blocking my way out of the cafeteria, waiting for an answer. I could feel both my worlds colliding, the warning bells going off in my brain and my heart sinking.
"I am who I am because I am not in a relationship. The quintessential observer. Unbiased, non-judgemental--on the outside looking in. I can talk the talk but I cannot walk the walk. It would not be the same if we were in a relationship together. I would not be the same. I think you know that," I reasoned. We stood facing each other for a good minute.
He stepped aside and allowed me to pass. You don't know it but you would be a great girlfriend. Everyone says it but not to you. I walked home that day wondering what type of girlfriend I would really be, if given the chance.
Would I always be the outsider looking in? Always be a part of society but not really? These questions stayed with me until I met my husband.
Even though I was technically no longer the outsider, I was not in any relationship that allowed me to 'walk the walk' with my husband...nor were we the only two people!
Squeeze me?
Growing up, I was completely aware of the double life I led. The one behind my front door and the other past the front door.
You see, living at home was the easy part. Rules, culture and religion were known aspects within our home. Pray five times a day, don't eat pork, be home before 10pm, no alcohol and don't talk back to your father. I grew up with those regulations without questioning them. It was the accepted way of life.
When I walked out the front door, that was when I entered the unknown. Different rules, cultures, religions and expectations.
Assimilate or differentiate?
When you are a teenager trying to fit in, the answer is clear. And I tried hard to compromise. I never balked from going out the front door but I did return, coming home more confused than ever.
I recall sitting with a group of friends in the high school cafeteria. We would discuss school, assignments, gossip about other people, share our goals and aspirations and fight the odd time. We sat at the same table everyday -- we were a rather large group of about 10 girls and guys. Many of the girls had boyfriends who they would bring along to share in the discussion.
The topic of dating and relationships came up one afternoon. I remained quiet for the most part. This was not my topic of expertise and believe me, I never held back on any other topic from before so I let this one slide. The conversation consisted of the girls complaining about men, how they lacked sensitivity and emotions while the guys complained how moody and judgemental the girls were. I was careful not to comment, take sides or to offer any insight. They all knew I was forbidden to date based on my "look but don't touch rule". It was common knowledge but a mysterious unknown. To them, it was something about my religion being against the concept. But no one ever asked me bluntly to explain it.
Until that day.
Everyone had left the table to go to class except one of the guys and me. I was still eating my lunch and studying for a test. He asked if he could sit with me since he had a spare. He was one of my friend's boyfriend and I knew that they were not on good terms. In the past, they had both approached me for advice. And ironically, I had offered my advice -- this coming from a girl who never dated. If I thought she was at fault, I called her out on it and vice versa. I never volunteered to be their confidante but I ended up becoming the 'guru of dating'. It came down to trust and honesty--both traits that I offered. Easy for me because there were no strings attached.
Until that day.
"So Tina and I are breaking up," he quietly said to me as I tried to apply ketchup over my french fries. It squirted everywhere when he made his announcement.
Note to reader: I was a HUGE klutz back then and still am today.
He helped me clean up the mess, oblivious to my blunder and more concerned about my reaction.
"Did you tell her?"
"Not yet. I was going to ask your thoughts on the matter first," he replied. I looked back at my textbook, suddenly feeling uncomfortable.
"You should not be telling me this. You need to talk this through with her. I am sure you both can work it out together. You are a bit headstrong, you know." I clapped my hand over my mouth. Damn! Seriously, I thought, I talk too much!
"Headstrong? That is an unfair observation. What do you know?" he demanded.
"All I know is that you both have been unhappy for the last six months and instead of talking to each other, you both come to ME to complain!" I threw out the fifteen napkins it took to clean up the ketchup mess on the table.
He looked at me silently and then sat back in his chair. I resumed studying for my test. I thought he would make up his mind and leave to talk to Tina.
But he just sat there and stared at me.
"You know something? Over the period of time that we have known each other, I have noticed something about you."
I looked up from my textbook. He passed me another napkin and motioned me to clean the ketchup off my shirt.
"And what is that?" I asked.
"You get me. You always have. And if you were allowed to date, we would be dating now."
I could feel my ears growing hot while the blood spread across my face and the butterflies erupted in my stomach. I looked everywhere else but at him.
"You are wrong. Even if I could date, I would not date my friend's boyfriend!"
He did not buy my answer. "Forget Tina. If she did not exist, would you date me?" he asked. He moved closer and I dropped my pencil case on the floor.
"I am not allowed to date so don't throw these fictitious scenarios at me."
"You are not answering the question."
"I don't want to answer the question!" He moved back to his original spot at the table and watched me fumble with my textbook.
"I am not allowed to date," I repeated in a hushed voice and again could not make eye contact.
"Why not?" he inquired.
"Because we are not supposed to ...with any dating ....before we marry...and its an arranged marriage ...parents are supposed to do this..." I stood up with my books and tried to walk past him. I had no clue what I was saying. All I knew was that I was speaking a foreign language.
He blocked my exit. "You are a great listener and even a better friend. You are not like the other girls. Tina doesn't understand me. You don't know it but you would be a great girlfriend. Everyone says it... but not to you."
I looked up at him. He was not joking and there was sincerity in his eyes. They would all come to me with their problems and I felt free just knowing that I was not part of the drama. On the other hand, I missed having a relationship that was deemed 'normal' --in that world outside my front door.
What perturbed me the most was that I could not explain why I could not date. It was sort of explained to us more as a rule than a reason. You cannot date. You cannot have a boyfriend. You will shame your family. You will shame the community. You are Muslim. You are not like them. It paralyzed me that I could not offer an explanation to him without knowing what it meant to me.
I looked around the cafeteria and saw many couples. Some were eating together, studying or just sitting in silence holding hands. He stood in front of me, blocking my way out of the cafeteria, waiting for an answer. I could feel both my worlds colliding, the warning bells going off in my brain and my heart sinking.
"I am who I am because I am not in a relationship. The quintessential observer. Unbiased, non-judgemental--on the outside looking in. I can talk the talk but I cannot walk the walk. It would not be the same if we were in a relationship together. I would not be the same. I think you know that," I reasoned. We stood facing each other for a good minute.
He stepped aside and allowed me to pass. You don't know it but you would be a great girlfriend. Everyone says it but not to you. I walked home that day wondering what type of girlfriend I would really be, if given the chance.
Would I always be the outsider looking in? Always be a part of society but not really? These questions stayed with me until I met my husband.
Even though I was technically no longer the outsider, I was not in any relationship that allowed me to 'walk the walk' with my husband...nor were we the only two people!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Romantic Elliptical, Part 33: Bad rep
"So it is a go?"
"Yep. We will be officially engaged in April."
"And you still have to have a proper conversation with him?"
"Yes. Its kind of hard when his father is breathing on the other line and MY father is sitting in earshot, pretending to read the newspaper."
"What? Listen, you really need to go out alone with him and have some time to get to know each other."
"And how am I supposed to do that? He asked me to meet up--told me his parents have no problem with the idea. But my Dad is a real stickler. He doesn't want me to see him. He thinks if we break off the engagement for whatever reason, I will end up with a reputation."
"That is dumbest thing I have ever heard! Why would you have a reputation? Do you plan on sleeping with him on the first date?"
"Yes, of course.... NOT! My dad thinks if we are alone together, the community will jump to the conclusion that there was some hanky panky and then I will be blamed for it."
"Your culture is so weird. That is pretty backwards thinking. What if you don't do anything and he makes the moves on you? You will still get blamed? That is so unfair. You are only trying to get to know each other. There must be another way?"
"Well, my father says he is trying to protect my honour. When two people are alone, there is not a third person as a witness."
"A witness? Sounds more like a court trial than a date! What about if you go out in a group setting?"
"Well my fiancee suggested we go out with his brother and my brother and sister. We could come over as a family and then take off for dinner."
"So what did your Dad say?"
"I have yet to ask him. I think that is reasonable, don't you think?"
"Listen, if you need a witness, I will come!"
"Thanks, but I don't need to implicate you either. Let's stick with one girl having a bad rep, Ms Sleep with him on the first date!" I joked with my best friend. Out of all of my friends, she had to be the wildest, most spontaneous one.
Enter Supreme Ruler of the household
"OVER MY DEAD BODY! I don't care if your brother and sister are there! They are younger than you and don't know any better. Even if there are a hundred people sitting between you, you will still come out of this tainted."
My father had that look on his face that prevented me from arguing my point. This was getting ridiculous! How on earth was I going to get to know him?
I couldn't go out with him alone nor with a chaperone. My father was taking this arranged marriage thing to a whole new level.
"Just get to know him over the phone. Didn't you do that with the last one?" he proclaimed and walked away in a huff.
DANG IT. I certainly had that coming.
While my new engagement was being orchestrated, I often wondered how this was going to resonate once it became official? There was no way I could hide my engagement from our immediate community. And when the news broke, it would spread like wildfire. I knew something heavy would hit the fan once my ex-fiancee's family found out. But that was off in the distance and I blocked it from my mind.
"I'm sorry but he will not allow a group setting," I told him over the phone.
"Mom! Get off the phone!" my husband yelled. I lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. It felt like we were in grade school.
"You know, I would like to get to know you better," he sighed.
There was a long pause before I answered.
"Yeah, same here. But it won't happen the way we want it to."
I wanted to tell him about all the signs. How I knew he was the one. What I had gone through in the last year to be finally led to him. But everytime I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I did not know where to start. I sensed that he too wanted to talk and open up about himself but the setting was not right. The phone calls were foreign and uninviting--ironically the opposite experience I had with my ex-fiancee. However, it was a good thing. It only reiterated the feeling I possessed--that I needed to get to know him in person.
And I would find a way to do this, with or without Daddy's approval.
"Yep. We will be officially engaged in April."
"And you still have to have a proper conversation with him?"
"Yes. Its kind of hard when his father is breathing on the other line and MY father is sitting in earshot, pretending to read the newspaper."
"What? Listen, you really need to go out alone with him and have some time to get to know each other."
"And how am I supposed to do that? He asked me to meet up--told me his parents have no problem with the idea. But my Dad is a real stickler. He doesn't want me to see him. He thinks if we break off the engagement for whatever reason, I will end up with a reputation."
"That is dumbest thing I have ever heard! Why would you have a reputation? Do you plan on sleeping with him on the first date?"
"Yes, of course.... NOT! My dad thinks if we are alone together, the community will jump to the conclusion that there was some hanky panky and then I will be blamed for it."
"Your culture is so weird. That is pretty backwards thinking. What if you don't do anything and he makes the moves on you? You will still get blamed? That is so unfair. You are only trying to get to know each other. There must be another way?"
"Well, my father says he is trying to protect my honour. When two people are alone, there is not a third person as a witness."
"A witness? Sounds more like a court trial than a date! What about if you go out in a group setting?"
"Well my fiancee suggested we go out with his brother and my brother and sister. We could come over as a family and then take off for dinner."
"So what did your Dad say?"
"I have yet to ask him. I think that is reasonable, don't you think?"
"Listen, if you need a witness, I will come!"
"Thanks, but I don't need to implicate you either. Let's stick with one girl having a bad rep, Ms Sleep with him on the first date!" I joked with my best friend. Out of all of my friends, she had to be the wildest, most spontaneous one.
Enter Supreme Ruler of the household
"OVER MY DEAD BODY! I don't care if your brother and sister are there! They are younger than you and don't know any better. Even if there are a hundred people sitting between you, you will still come out of this tainted."
My father had that look on his face that prevented me from arguing my point. This was getting ridiculous! How on earth was I going to get to know him?
I couldn't go out with him alone nor with a chaperone. My father was taking this arranged marriage thing to a whole new level.
"Just get to know him over the phone. Didn't you do that with the last one?" he proclaimed and walked away in a huff.
DANG IT. I certainly had that coming.
While my new engagement was being orchestrated, I often wondered how this was going to resonate once it became official? There was no way I could hide my engagement from our immediate community. And when the news broke, it would spread like wildfire. I knew something heavy would hit the fan once my ex-fiancee's family found out. But that was off in the distance and I blocked it from my mind.
"I'm sorry but he will not allow a group setting," I told him over the phone.
"Mom! Get off the phone!" my husband yelled. I lay back on my bed and stared at the ceiling. It felt like we were in grade school.
"You know, I would like to get to know you better," he sighed.
There was a long pause before I answered.
"Yeah, same here. But it won't happen the way we want it to."
I wanted to tell him about all the signs. How I knew he was the one. What I had gone through in the last year to be finally led to him. But everytime I opened my mouth, nothing came out. I did not know where to start. I sensed that he too wanted to talk and open up about himself but the setting was not right. The phone calls were foreign and uninviting--ironically the opposite experience I had with my ex-fiancee. However, it was a good thing. It only reiterated the feeling I possessed--that I needed to get to know him in person.
And I would find a way to do this, with or without Daddy's approval.
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