There’s a wedding celebration going on in our neighborhood. I haven’t decided if they’re actually Desi, or just white people with Eastern flair. They’ve been honking on the streets for the past ten minutes now, as a procession of cars covered in traditional flower wreaths parade down, heading towards the cul-de-sac.
I murmur a little blessing for them--- God knows, all newly weds need some form of divine intervention.
even have half a mind to slip into one of my over-the-top selwars and head down to the party. It could be like Wedding Crashers, minus the alcohol induced stupidity and sex.
Wow…that was such an awkward word to type. I’m actually blushing and if admitting that is super lame, well then….I suppose I’m super lame. There’s no avoiding it; you were going to find out eventually.
This gets me thinking about how awful the prospects of marrying someone is right now. It’s downright terrifying, and I’m you will agree, dear.
I mean, I know it’ll have to happen eventually, because there’s a crap load of religious and social obligations that come along with being a part of the human family.
But to be quite honest, I think learning to live with someone else is so uncomfortable. Once the euphoria wears off, once your husband disappoints you with some insensitive remark, once you find out your wife uses flannel nightgowns, once one of you has a total psycho moment that only your family was privy to, once you see the person they are, rather than the person they want you to believe they are, well…that’s when everything goes wrong. You’re no longer oblivious to their moodiness or neediness or bossiness. Each annoyance is heightened and the love is lost.
If it was ever there to begin with.
I can’t marry someone if there isn’t love to begin with---and I don’t mean that it has to be the romantic kind (I fully understand how it‘s Islamically unacceptable to fall in love before marriage--- lest we all become wanton adulterers--- but would it be too much to ask for a friend-turned-romantic-interest?). It just has to exist.
I think of that couple, they’re beaming faces, and I have to wonder, how long are they going to last? How long before one of them snaps? How long before the line is crossed?
I hope it’s never.
I know I sound cynic. This also, can’t be avoided.
They’re happy now---at least I hope they are. There isn’t a more inauspicious way to start a new life than in misery.
Well, all the best, I suppose.
P.S. I’ve written a preface to a book. It’s awful, but it’s something.
P.P.S. I’m trying to stay focused on writing said book, but the drummers and party-goers were just too distracting.
P.P.P.S. PLEASE don’t get yourselves married off any time soon, that would be a tragedy.
P.P.P.P.S. I was only kidding…sort of.
P.P.P.P.P.S. Sigh. I don’t really know what I’m talking about. I know plenty of happily married people. But I’m sure that any man that decides to marry me, will have a very hard time of things. I’m a super bitch, as my brother will more than happily inform you. Sigh. Perhaps that’s the real Athia, the one at her meanest (but he’s so bloody infuriating, I can’t help being mean to him. My god, if you’ve met the boy you want to strangle him with in the first five minutes! He’s lucky to have survived for this long!).
Saturday, November 15
Sunday, November 2
We use to have so much fun during Halloween.
I remember the three of us---me, Vera, and Bobby---running like crazy kids down the streets, pumpkin light refractors in tow while our parents kept a watchful eye of us from afar. We’d go out in our homemade costumes that never quite looked right. I remember always wanting to be whatever Vera was and how she would get so upset that her bratty little cousin was always trying to steal her thunder. She’d go stomping to her mum, ready to throw a fit, and her mum would only say, “Oh, she’s the little one. You can both be *insert Disney princess*”
That’s probably why V and Bobby walked a ways ahead of me. Or they could have just been excited about candy---the fatties---and had forgotten that my short little legs couldn't get me as far quick enough.
And, as if on business, we systematically tore the streets hitting each house on the block. Then we’d beg and pled with our parents to take us to the other neighborhoods so we could get more candy even though we had to empty out our bags at least twice already. Someone would grudgingly take us by car and we were once again invincible.
Then when the night was over, we’d sit around in a circle, several feet apart from each other, and dump all the candy in front of us. We’d count out how many pieces each one of us had and the one with most was declared Halloween champion.
Of course, there was the candy stealing---mainly complimentary of Bobby---to try and win the title and battles would break out. We’d shout and then I’d start to cry until the adults told us it was time for bed and that I was the winner. Life is good when you’re a kid.
I feel bad for Asima and Tarn. They’ll never have Halloween the way we did.