Ive read the first 2 and half of the third one names small print ? Ahh, k let me forcefully read till the end lol I really liked the first 2 though - short and sweet =)
I gave up everything for love: my home, my family, even money, in exchange marrying a man belonging to a poor family, simply because I was in love with him.
My family gave me the ultimatum. Choose us or choose him. And I chose him, giving up our large family home, my car, the money in my bank account which I had gotten from my extremely rich but rather snobby father, which he took back.
I still visited them. It’s not like they disowned me. They weren’t going to break the ties of kinship and risk being barred from going to Heaven. They even said I would get my share in inheritance. But other than that, I was treated as a stranger. And my husband wasn’t welcome in their house.
And so, here I was sitting in my one bedroom house, looking out at the snow falling onto the yard which belonged to his extended family. The apartment was on the third floor of his family’s house, and, although cozy, it was tiny compared to the house I had grown up in, with scarce furnishing and peeling paint on the walls. A traditional kerosene heater was lit in the corner to heat the room, in place of an electric heater which caused high electricity bills.
I glanced at my six-month daughter asleep in her cot and couldn’t help the worry coming over me regarding my dire circumstances. What was going to become of us? What would my daughter’s life be like? Would she go to a good school? Would she get a college education? Would she even get good nourishment?
Money was scarce in our home. My husband, Fareed, worked for his family’s business and barely earned the equivalent of $200, while I worked a few hours a week at an international company, earning a meagre salary. Expenses in this place were high and on top of that, my husband was trying to get higher education by taking evening classes, which took a big toll on our income. It was a three-year course that Fareed was nearly done with, having less than a year to go. And then I hoped that we’d be able to save some money, that he’d get a better job, etc. But those were just hopes. And hopes were something one couldn’t rely on much.
I had had big hopes while growing up. Particularly, from my family, but they let me down big time. They knew what I was going through but it seemed more like they wanted me to regret my decision and seeing sadness on my face was what they were looking forward to, what ever made it happen.
And I tried hardest to not let that happen. But it was hard to resist. Just as now, I wanted to cry. What would become of our life in the next 5, 10 years? I wanted more children, but could I afford having them? Already, the pregnancy and delivery had kept me out of work for nearly six months, not to mention the expenses that a baby brought, and that nearly destroyed my small family. After all, when you have financial problems, you can’t be happy and that affects your marriage, especially when you don’t have the support of others. There were times when we’d argue over everything, simply because of the scarcity of money. My husband’s family were even unhappy with the timing of the baby, saying that I should have waited until my husband completed his education and our circumstances were better, but alhamdullillah Fareed and I were grateful for this great gift of Allah and did everything to not let it affect us or our small child. Now looking at her, I was both happy and sad. The questions kept striking me, making me wish I could do something to make things different.
Just then the phone rang. “Hello,” I said into the phone.
“Are you crying?” it was my little sister, Joy.
“Why would I be crying,” I yelled at her.
“Dunno, you just sounded sad.”
“In your dreams.” I replied. “I’ve got the best hubby and child in the world. So what you calling for?”
“Oh,” she shrieked, “how could I forget?! I’m getting engaged!”
“Talk about something to be excited about.” I knew who she was getting engaged to, as our parents had talked about it often in the near past. It was their neighbour, who was totally not my type, having a reputation of practically living in the office and I didn’t think marriage with him would be any fun.
“Well, at least he’s rich. There will be plenty of security in that marriage, insha-Allah. Unlike yours.”
“I’m secure,” I said back. “But will there be love and happiness and fun? Or just a boring life? Why not just stay unmarried? You’ve got plenty of security living with Mum and Dad.”
“I knew I couldn’t talk to you,“ she replied. “I wonder if you’re starving yourself. I can’t imagine how someone can enjoy life if they are starved?”
“Well then I must not be. So when is it?” I said bringing back to the subject. Was I going to be invited?
“Tonight!” she shrieked.
Well, I knew it. “Thanks for telling me. Good luck.” And I hung up the phone. I wasn’t invited. You don’t call someone on the day of a party to invite them. The phone rang again but I didn’t pick it up. Just then my mobile phone beeped, letting me know there was a message. From Joy, of course.
“It’s at 7:30. You can come if you have something to wear.”
Well, I ignored it. I knew it wasn’t a sincere invitation. And I didn’t care what not going proved to them. I wasn’t about to waste money on some dress I would only wear one evening and regret buying, probably the rest of my life.
***
A few week’s later, I was informed of the wedding. At least they had the courtesy to invite me in advance. And I went to the wedding. I didn’t want to let my younger sister down in case she wanted me there, and I didn’t want my family to think I didn’t have money to buy clothes or anything. The dress I wore was my sister-in-law’s that I borrowed and dry-cleaned. I still didn’t want to waste more than my husband’s salary to buy a dress. The dress was new, having only been worn once to a party, so no one would know, but was my sister psychic or what because she said the exact thing. “That dress looks like you borrowed from someone.”
I just shrugged. “Whatever,” I said. “If I cared what people said, I wouldn’t have married Fareed when everyone was against it.”
“If you had a brain, you wouldn’t have married him,” she said.
“Why? Because he doesn’t have as much money as we did? He’s religious and good-mannered, not to mention gorgeous. And it’s loads of fun being around him. What more can I want?” We had had this conversation before and I knew it would go nowhere with my sister.
She just shook her head. “Some people never learn. When Sahr is growing up,” she said, nodding at my daughter, “not being able to go to a proper school, not being able to eat a proper dinner, you will realize your mistake.”
“Neither her father nor I will let that happen, unlike our parents, who are willing to do just that. What good is having so much money, if you can’t help a relative in need?”
“Who? You?” she asked, then walked away.
The wedding went well and the couple flew to the Bermuda Islands for their honeymoon. Over the next few days I was informed that they were having the time of their life, and I was happy for them. But I wondered if that was possible. My brother-in-law, Asim, was the most boring man on the planet who spent more time at work than anything else and I wondered what type of life he would give his wife? Would he change now that he was married or would it be the same and he would be home late, go to work early, and be too tired to pay any attention to his wife?
And it seemed, unfortunately, that that was exactly what was happening, just two months after they were married. My sister was constantly calling me, asking me for advice to spice up their marriage.
“Tell me what to wear,” she said once. “I’ll even pay you for the advice. What ever you ask.” Well she was desperate to be saying that.
“Umm, wear something revealing. And a little makeup, to make it seem natural. but not too much makeup. And don’t forget the perfume. It does wonders.” I replied. “or you could go for the mysterious look and wear a black dress.” Black really worked for me. I even had black furniture in the bedroom and the wall near the bed was painted black to give it the mystical effect. “And I don’t want any money.” I added. “What do I look like to you?”
Another time she said, “He’s never home. Not even on the weekends. What should I do to change this?”
“That’s news to me. “ I said sarcastically. “Nothing you can do to change boring people, except for not marrying them.”
“Give. Me. Some. Proper. Advice.”
Soon the couple were going to counselling, and less than a year after getting married, they were separated. My sister was back in my parent’s house and considering divorce, while parents were trying to solve her issues. It wasn’t working.
“I could give it another try,” Joy said to me once.
“And get more headache,” I replied. “Look, make your own decisions, but if I were you I would end things when there’s still a chance. Not that I would’ve ever married him in the first place.“
“What do you mean?”
“Before you have any children, stupid.”
Well, that drove the message home, and a few days later Joy was divorced. Her divorce even changed my family’s attitude toward me. It seemed they finally understood why I had made my decision to marry the man I loved and that it wasn’t just to defy them. I got back the money that had been in my bank account and things changed for the better. My parents started welcoming my husband more. And soon after, Joy remarried. This time to someone who came from a middle-class family but who wasn’t boring or a workaholic. And someone Joy was in-love with.
And so, alhamdolillah, mine and Joy’s problems were solved and our futures looked bright. Joy had a happy marriage and my financial troubles were over. My daughter would have a good upbringing, insha-Allah.
