What Not To Do When You're In Love

03 | Cared

03 | Cared

You'd think there'd be a rush of emotions as I first saw the smile of my elderly mother, then my shy brother who looked actually proud of my mature appearance as a bride, and then my younger brother, who was crying.

But, no. All there was was numbness on my part, a moment I only wanted to soak up what they looked like and how they spoke and laughed, with their eyes moist and their grins a little smaller than I had always known. And as for them, I can't really tell what they felt upon seeing me again.

They looked like they wanted to take me back home, and that was probably the case, at least for the two of them. But my mother sure didn't. She wanted me to remain at my in-law's house forever, and only my dead body to leave it if it must.

I despised that idea of hers, for more reasons than can be counted with ease. But, I respected it, because it was hers.

Occasionally, I would look sideways at Hasan, simply because I could. And, perhaps, also because he seemed like the only person I could share this painful experience of my own wedding reception with; him being sad because of my sadness, (as it seemed), and I because of his existence.

I looked at him so many times, that I had photographic images of his side stuck onto my sight. I noted that his beard was, dark, sharp, and precisely symmetrical. Beautiful.

The feeling was strong on my wedding day, but it was overwhelmingly intense today - you could actually cry from smiling so much. The number of fake smiles I had to shoot was straight up torture.

But I couldn't bear to let my relatives believe I was anything but extremely happy, because what would that say about my mother's singlehanded decisions regarding her only daughter?

People kept coming to me and making Dua'a that I would be happy with my new life. That I would have healthy children (soon!) and please my new family and husband always. I wished they would make Dua'a that at least some of my own wishes were taken into consideration where I was going to live now.

Again, my mind drifted to Ayesha. How many women here thought their daughters wasted their time when they engaged in art or something else they liked? How many of the women here actually encouraged them, instead of taunting their colourful ways to waste the time they could use learning better ways of housekeeping in?

The answer - none. I was sure of it.

I thought of the stupid desk of my dreams again. I had wanted just once small desk in a corner of the room. I wouldn't disturb him at all! I'd do all that was needed of me. All I asked for in return was the desk that could be where I sat and wrote, and that would let me breathe through all of the things I did not want to do, but would still do every day.

Literally, all I had ever wanted was that; surely it wasn't too much to ask?

During the night before my wedding, my last night as a girl with a free mind and light heart, I had decided that I would sacrifice being with Welton, my cat back at home, and I would give up my wish for travelling, and my dream of being a vet . . . I had decided that I would give up everything I had ever cherished and adorned with my prayers and hopes in my nineteen years of life, if that meant I would live a life my mother asked for me to, and that I could keep that one thing with me that could keep me sane after losing my life - my art.

I wanted one desk and one chair, and to be allowed to write, on the laptop that I already owned. Being the girl whose life revolved around stories, I wanted to write a book that would make a girl smile. That was all I had wanted. And I had always known I'd be able to do that alongside the housework.