It must have happened overnight. Sometime between last February and last night, I aged. The memo must have gotten lost in the mail, the same way many packages I've been sending from work have been getting misplaced. If I had more time, I'd give the Post Master a piece of my mind. But I'm too busy running around trying to freeze this so called aging process that I've unknowingly become a victim of. Luckily, the Shiseido products I've been using for the past three years have a densely anti-aging focused ingredient. Yay to that!
Three years ago, just a mere 1,095 days ago, word on the street was that I was just an infant. A toddler in the eyes of society. Shunned for just the thought of uniting my life with that of another. I still had a "whole life ahead of" me. I still had to travel to Europe [because apparently there is something in the air over there dedicated only to singles that would be greatly missed if I met prince charming]. I still had to encounter "stuff" that I could never do after saying I do [still dying to know what that "stuff" is]. This same street must have undergone the same amounts of renovations that every street in the OC is currently enduring, because word on the street is quite different now. Suddenly getting married is a race, a necessary perquisite to be eligible for oxygen. And if, dare a female Arab state her desire for otherwise, watch the backlash and disapproval begin.
She pulled me aside and lowered her voice to a whisper. "Dania, I have to tell you, this new thing, it's not good for you." That was how she began the conversation and I couldn't help but feel a bit confused in the middle of a bridal shower. What thing could she be referring to? The first red lipstick I ever decided to buy just three hours prior to the party? Regardless of the rampage of compliments I was receiving for that risk? Or was it the reduced fat plate I poured myself regardless of the three tables of well decorated pink desserts just to stick to the successful diet?
My thoughts were far from reality as she began the "M" discussion. "I've recommended a few great men already to your family and I still have quite a few others, but I'm not getting good feedback from you." I shook my head, laughing, as I prepared to end the conversation. "Sweetie, listen, thanks for your concern but you don't have to worry about me. My family and I are quite content with the way my life, and our life, is going right now. The last thing I really want is to ruin it with marriage." She distorted her face at my words. Why? I don't know. Not long ago she and her friends were bombarding me with threats about the error of marriage. What changed? Had their reality settled in?
I was starting to enjoy life on my own, with my family of origin, having no strings attached, no baggage. Watching the way they were presenting motherhood as yet another torturous aspect of life (after accepting life with a traditional male role husband) was scaring me farther and farther away from the desire to reproduce and closer to articles about tube tying. [Although I honestly believe child rearing all comes down to TIME MANAGEMENT - something our current ummah truly lacks.] I was beginning to finally indulge in the "I" that was forgotten for a while, and now that suddenly became wrong.
"They're jealous," a friend was telling me, after I had finished my story. I looked at her a bit worried. Could she be right? That they were envious? Was it a regretful decision that they only learned of after experiencing it? Is that why they were warning me previously and then suddenly thought, "Hmmm, why prevent her from falling? She should experience what the true role of a woman is!" because now they've surrendered to the belief that this is what a woman's true role is? My friend nodded and I thought about it. They did start to increase their sick jokes about how I'd find myself handcuffed to a kitchen once I say I do. How I'd probably get knocked up within six months of marriage as karma for saying no thank you to that idea. They stated that marriage without kids is boring after a year. I laughed. Only in our culture is marriage without kids boring. But I have seen couples, and not to seriously quote television but having seen a few somewhat realistic sitcoms (The King of Queens is quite enjoyable and funny) I realize that in the American culture, the one that I feel most in tune with being born and raised as such, they do see marriage as a bond between two great friends. Something to cherish with numerous alone time before children become part of the picture.
He didn't pick her because she has wide enough hips to reproduce well. Because rumor has it she is the best chef in the world. Or because she doesn't have enough education to make it out on her own and will probably consume her time with (1) shopping, (2) child producing/rearing, (3) house cleaning, and (4) consistent get togethers and parties with friends. He chose her because he loved her, enjoyed sharing a mature conversation with her, loves sharing time with her and doesn't see her as the reproduction machine he can't wait to get started.
After meeting a few men from my culture/community and comparing those experiences (and please, try not to take the word "experiences" the wrong way that you have to give me a list of tsk tsk items - you meet people and have mediocre conversations at all the family dinner parties and that is experience enough to cross off 99% of the guys here) with the connections I made in graduate school. Polar opposites! I mean laugh out loud shocking opposite. As I get asked by the Arab man how on earth I made it through life without cooking, the guy sitting beside me in class shrugs that fact off his shoulder like a worthless fruit fly, and says, "I like it. Wish I had more time for it." As the Arab man shudders at the thought that I could possibly work or...wait for it...make a higher income than him, the study buddy in the student union acknowledges my intellect. Appreciates the idea I just proposed. The hour I dedicated to tutoring. The drive I have to learn and make a difference in the world. The accomplishments I've made so far. The Arab man sees my accomplishments as being too liberal and extreme; not what a prim and proper "Yes, dear!" woman should do. Even this blog or my poetry or my books. Shame! But why? Why can't a woman be seen as the best friend he can't wait to enjoy life with? Someone he can support in her endeavors and dreams? Laughable concepts? Really? Am I trying too hard here? Okay.
And if that is the life these poor women are confined to, then maybe envy is right? I don't know. I've disconnected myself from that click because it becomes suffocating to hear what Tupperware is now on sale, what new recipe is in, and how annoying or adorable this child was because he/she did blah blah blah. But apparently these are the studies I must excel in, because what I spent years studying previously is nothing. Useless. Because I'm just going to marry and have kids. [And I've heard parents and older women state that very nonchalantly and matter of factly, "Oh it doesn't matter. She's just going to marry, have kids, and she doesn't have to use it.] I mean after all, how will I utilize the graduate school knowledge when making fajitas, wiping the bathroom mirrors, ironing his shirt, changing a diaper? Let's see, Public Policy could be implemented in the type of material used in this diaper and whether or not it is bio-degradable and whether or not that recycling company takes it and so I should switch to this brand so that the City Planner doesn't have diapers piling up on the street!
Exaggeration. Yes, but then again, not so much. It's quite tiring to hear the whiplash of comments people have to give a single girl. Three weddings in three months and one has to be bombarded with pitiful wishes of, "Your turn next deary don't worry." Whoever said I was worrying? "He'll appear darling. Don't fear. God is just hiding him from you for now." They wink and walk away. Gag? Please don't wish that on me because it isn't the life I want to be trapped in. It isn't fair or happy. But I guess I have no choice as age begins to make its presence upon my aura.
After she distorted her face at my words during the loud and ecstatic bridal shower, she got a bit agitated. "Marriage is not awful!" I rolled my eyes. "Prove it!" I wanted to say but bit my tongue instead. "Look the truth is I'm worried about you. Because well, see girls, honestly, they only have a short window of opportunity before it's too late. And you're reaching the edge." Now I didn't mind laughing. Letting my deep red lips extend from ear to ear as I bent over and laughed at her remark. "A window of opportunity? Like my biological clock or something?" She nodded in confusion to my laughter. "Dude have you forgotten destiny? Fate? God?!?!" A puzzled look was still on her face as I walked back over and sat beside her, slowly collecting myself for the next portion of the conversation that I knew needed to be a serious and deep finale. "Okay, you supposedly believe in God. And if so, then you believe in fate/destiny, naseeb in Arabic. And if God has written down that my naseeb will not arrive till I am 42, then that is when my freakin window will be unlocked and open. And if God has written that I get a man ten minutes after I walk out of this party, I will. So how can you honestly tell me that I have a window of opportunity that is slowly ticking away."
The Female Time Bomb, that is all women are now correlated with. Whether it was kids, the sex drive, wrinkles, strength I really can't tell. There are far too many theories out there telling human beings (actually, women) what is the right kind of life to live and what isn't. It's so tiring and quite too irritating when it comes from your peers. I guess I am deaf to the ticking of this internal time bomb I am unaware of. And when it explodes it will be too late as my insides and outsides distort and I am no longer able to marry an (Arab) man. Good news, there may be others? The ones who don't view me as the future: maid, sleep with partner, chef, nanny, homemaker that must look hot 24/7 in order to push away any competition he could run into at work or in the street [yes, also complaints I am hearing from the women]. I just don't get how you can agree to marrying a man who would value you for those things AND make you worry about the latter!
Life is tough. No need to preach, we all live the difficulties. And marriage is no picnic I know, but it should have many more moments that are better than the world around me advertises it, so I won't settle. I won't fear the race time has supposedly put me in, accept a horrifically unequal life, and marry someone who begins the conversation with, "So, you are citizen of U.S. and know how to make chai? Good!" An unnecessary battle we don't have to fight. Why make life worse by putting a deadline to everything? Why not put a deadline to other things like how late we're going to be to this meeting, how much we are going to slack off on this project or this educational journey. And forget about trying to control aspects of life we can't...or at least the aspects of OTHER people's lives.
For now I'm briskly walking at my own pace. My biological clock is off. I took the batteries out a while ago. Found that there is no use to wear them out in times like these, when there isn't someone worth ticking for. When this dry spout/phenomena changes, I'll probably throw out that clock and enjoy living to my own tune with the man that decides to value who I am rather than what I "should" be.
