As soon as the words were out of M's mouth, Z jumped into high gear. He needed the number to the mosque that we had contacted (the only one that agreed to perform the nikkah (wedding)) and he took it upon himself to start trying to round up witnesses. I tried to slow things down because I was convinced that M didn't mean it and that if we went too quickly I'd end up with a runner at the proverbial altar. . . Well, there was no altar, but you get what I mean.
Z made the calls and on two hours notice, we had a three o'clock appointment at the mosque. The Imam himself answered the phone and set up the appointment. We went back to M's apartment, he said he had things to do before we went, and I needed to change clothes. I decided to wear a pretty salwar kameez that M had brought me back from Pakistan and I decided the shirt M would wear. But as I turned around I saw that M had gotten Z to give him a phone card and he disappeared into the bedroom. It was after midnight Karachi time and M looked very serious. He took the phone and the phone card and I heard very stern Hindko coming from the bedroom. I walked in, worried. M had started to cry.
He had called his mother to tell her what was happening and to his surprise, and mine too, she started to cry. She was not crying as if he was betraying her by marrying 'gori,' which she still called me, but because, she told him, she wished she could be there with him to see it happen. After everything they had done to fight the marriage, he got his mother's blessing.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Saturday, September 5, 2009
His Everything
As I've said before, one of M's biggest complaints living in Canada was his lack of familial support. This is not to pretend that if his family was with him in Canada that they would have been much support, but in his head, that was the meaning and importance of family--to support you in big life changes. To want the best for you. The week I came for spring break, the week my parents came to Montreal, Z became all of those things for M. Z took the place of M's father, uncle, cousin and best friend.
My parents arrived while M was still at work. When he got home we led them to their hotel room and ordered a pizza for dinner. We saved all heavy talk for the next day. My dad and M spoke in Urdu and my dad told stories. M really just listened a lot and then we left them to rest. The next morning Z went with M and I to talk to my parents. Z and my dad got along very well. They all started with talking to my dad in Urdu and telling stories before jumping right into marriage talk. M seemed petrified. He was scared and it was something that I really had never seen before. I mean, I had talked to him while he was sick in Pakistan and he was upset, but never just petrified like this. He explained his whole story again to my dad and they compared stories of their own fathers.
It seemed that Z was trying to talk M into going ahead with the wedding and my father was just telling him that he had to do what made him happy. I listened over and over as M explained to both of them that he knew he was going to marry me. He explained that he had been ready to marry me even before his trip to Pakistan, but that now was not the right time. He explained that things were not right yet. I could see him getting frustrated and more and more nervous. I had to leave the room.
I walked into the bathroom and before I knew it I was sobbing. I was as silent as possible because I did not want anyone outside to hear me, but my mom had seen the look on my face as I walked into the bathroom. She walked in a few minutes after me and hugged me. For my mom, it was M's fault that I was crying. She knew the whole story and thought that he should be stronger, that he should be more firm and more ready. I defended him because it was all I could do. I had felt the fear oozing from his words and tones in the front room. I had held his hand the entire time he spoke to my dad and it was obvious to me that he just could not do it. After all this time, he still was not ready and in the bathroom staring at my tear-streaked red face in the mirror I knew it was over.
I took a deep breath and sent my mom back out into the front room. I washed my face with cold water and stared at myself in the mirror. I gave myself a pep talk to go back out and do what I knew I had to. I again was sure that this would be my last trip to see M and I was not even sure how I could do it. I pictured myself without him, ignoring his calls or not even getting any calls at all. I imagined myself having to explain why I was coming home alone and why I was no longer engaged. I imagined myself alone.
I walked back into the front room and took my seat again beside M. He was looking at me and the talk died down a bit before Z and my dad started discussing something I could not understand. M looked at me his eyes pleading for understanding, "You understand, right? We can do it next time. We can plan something bigger, we will do it later." I took a deep breath in.
"Everything is going to be all right," I said. He looked at me puzzled.
"We can do it next time?"
"Everything is going to be fine, you will be fine. Whether I am here or not, you are going to be fine. It is obvious that we are just not going to do this. We've talked about it too many times." I trailed off.
"I don't understand, we are going to do it, we just have to wait until the right time." he was continuing, but I wasn't really listening anymore. I had in my head what I had to say and I knew that unless I kept reminding myself, I wouldn't go through with it. I had, in fact, tried to get myself to do this before but was totally unable. M and I had even broken up once. We made it thirty minutes before we called each other back and apologized.
M saw something in my face and while I was turned around talking to my mother, he announced to my father, "We are getting married today."
Z and my dad were taken aback, my mom stopped talking. She looked at me and told me what he had said, and I did not at all believe it. I didn't want it. I had decided I was going home alone, and had as much as told M so, and I didn't want to get married as a last resort! I took M aside and told him that I didn't want him doing this because of pressure. I repeated over and over again, "You will be fine and so will I, we do not have to do this."
M was now oppositely certain of what we had to do. The day had begun with his inability to get married and ended with his inability not to.
I was still not convinced it was going to happen.
My parents arrived while M was still at work. When he got home we led them to their hotel room and ordered a pizza for dinner. We saved all heavy talk for the next day. My dad and M spoke in Urdu and my dad told stories. M really just listened a lot and then we left them to rest. The next morning Z went with M and I to talk to my parents. Z and my dad got along very well. They all started with talking to my dad in Urdu and telling stories before jumping right into marriage talk. M seemed petrified. He was scared and it was something that I really had never seen before. I mean, I had talked to him while he was sick in Pakistan and he was upset, but never just petrified like this. He explained his whole story again to my dad and they compared stories of their own fathers.
It seemed that Z was trying to talk M into going ahead with the wedding and my father was just telling him that he had to do what made him happy. I listened over and over as M explained to both of them that he knew he was going to marry me. He explained that he had been ready to marry me even before his trip to Pakistan, but that now was not the right time. He explained that things were not right yet. I could see him getting frustrated and more and more nervous. I had to leave the room.
I walked into the bathroom and before I knew it I was sobbing. I was as silent as possible because I did not want anyone outside to hear me, but my mom had seen the look on my face as I walked into the bathroom. She walked in a few minutes after me and hugged me. For my mom, it was M's fault that I was crying. She knew the whole story and thought that he should be stronger, that he should be more firm and more ready. I defended him because it was all I could do. I had felt the fear oozing from his words and tones in the front room. I had held his hand the entire time he spoke to my dad and it was obvious to me that he just could not do it. After all this time, he still was not ready and in the bathroom staring at my tear-streaked red face in the mirror I knew it was over.
I took a deep breath and sent my mom back out into the front room. I washed my face with cold water and stared at myself in the mirror. I gave myself a pep talk to go back out and do what I knew I had to. I again was sure that this would be my last trip to see M and I was not even sure how I could do it. I pictured myself without him, ignoring his calls or not even getting any calls at all. I imagined myself having to explain why I was coming home alone and why I was no longer engaged. I imagined myself alone.
I walked back into the front room and took my seat again beside M. He was looking at me and the talk died down a bit before Z and my dad started discussing something I could not understand. M looked at me his eyes pleading for understanding, "You understand, right? We can do it next time. We can plan something bigger, we will do it later." I took a deep breath in.
"Everything is going to be all right," I said. He looked at me puzzled.
"We can do it next time?"
"Everything is going to be fine, you will be fine. Whether I am here or not, you are going to be fine. It is obvious that we are just not going to do this. We've talked about it too many times." I trailed off.
"I don't understand, we are going to do it, we just have to wait until the right time." he was continuing, but I wasn't really listening anymore. I had in my head what I had to say and I knew that unless I kept reminding myself, I wouldn't go through with it. I had, in fact, tried to get myself to do this before but was totally unable. M and I had even broken up once. We made it thirty minutes before we called each other back and apologized.
M saw something in my face and while I was turned around talking to my mother, he announced to my father, "We are getting married today."
Z and my dad were taken aback, my mom stopped talking. She looked at me and told me what he had said, and I did not at all believe it. I didn't want it. I had decided I was going home alone, and had as much as told M so, and I didn't want to get married as a last resort! I took M aside and told him that I didn't want him doing this because of pressure. I repeated over and over again, "You will be fine and so will I, we do not have to do this."
M was now oppositely certain of what we had to do. The day had begun with his inability to get married and ended with his inability not to.
I was still not convinced it was going to happen.
Monday, July 27, 2009
Ongoing Negotiations . . . .
Z and his wife welcomed me in so happily. I have always loved his wife. She absolutely amazes me! She married Z very young, but knows just how to handle him. She is always patient and calm, attributes I do not have at all! He always knows when she's angry, and she doesn't have to say anything at all!
Anyway, I had my bag holding the lengha in my lap as we made small talk. Once we had exhausted the topics of weather and how my trip went, I turned to N (Z's wife) and told her that I had brought a lengha to show her. I told her I wanted to know if it was good or not and that I had found it on the internet. I pulled it gently out of the bag and she looked politely over the beading and embroidery with me. She smiled and looked at Z and we discussed how heavy the lengha was. Z was smiling from ear to ear and I knew that now he would ask the question that I needed him to ask.
"So then it's good news," he said.
I took a deep breath, and though this was how I expected the conversation to go, there were still tears trying to ruin my voice. "Well, we had planned for good news," I said. "But it appears that I have brought this dress for nothing. He has changed his mind again."
Z became serious and asked me what I meant. Z was one of the few people who knew the whole story of what happened with M in Pakistan.
I told Z that M had changed his mind again and that he was just too scared. I told him that we had already gone through this several times and that I just did not think that it was ever really going to happen and that I couldn't continue to live this way. "I will talk to him," he said, and that was that. N looked very sad for me and reassured me that Z was going to take care of things.
When M got home, I told him about my visit with Z, and M knew what to expect. Immediately after M got home, Z was calling him to come and talk. They went out together and were gone for two hours.
When M came back he was happier. He told me all about their conversation and laughed about it with me. The long and short was that Z basically asked him if he was crazy and what was wrong with him. M thought it was funny that someone besides me felt so strongly about his getting married. I could not help but think, here M was, sharing his "secret" conversation with me, as he did everything that happened in his life.
We were living in two different countries and yet we spoke to each other multiple times daily. We shared everything, but he couldn't seem to get over the fear of what had happened to him in Pakistan enough to make it "permanent." We were best friends, but so far, that was not enough.
Anyway, I had my bag holding the lengha in my lap as we made small talk. Once we had exhausted the topics of weather and how my trip went, I turned to N (Z's wife) and told her that I had brought a lengha to show her. I told her I wanted to know if it was good or not and that I had found it on the internet. I pulled it gently out of the bag and she looked politely over the beading and embroidery with me. She smiled and looked at Z and we discussed how heavy the lengha was. Z was smiling from ear to ear and I knew that now he would ask the question that I needed him to ask.
"So then it's good news," he said.
I took a deep breath, and though this was how I expected the conversation to go, there were still tears trying to ruin my voice. "Well, we had planned for good news," I said. "But it appears that I have brought this dress for nothing. He has changed his mind again."
Z became serious and asked me what I meant. Z was one of the few people who knew the whole story of what happened with M in Pakistan.
I told Z that M had changed his mind again and that he was just too scared. I told him that we had already gone through this several times and that I just did not think that it was ever really going to happen and that I couldn't continue to live this way. "I will talk to him," he said, and that was that. N looked very sad for me and reassured me that Z was going to take care of things.
When M got home, I told him about my visit with Z, and M knew what to expect. Immediately after M got home, Z was calling him to come and talk. They went out together and were gone for two hours.
When M came back he was happier. He told me all about their conversation and laughed about it with me. The long and short was that Z basically asked him if he was crazy and what was wrong with him. M thought it was funny that someone besides me felt so strongly about his getting married. I could not help but think, here M was, sharing his "secret" conversation with me, as he did everything that happened in his life.
We were living in two different countries and yet we spoke to each other multiple times daily. We shared everything, but he couldn't seem to get over the fear of what had happened to him in Pakistan enough to make it "permanent." We were best friends, but so far, that was not enough.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Negotiations
I stepped off the plane and got my luggage. I was going back and forth in my head about how the visit was going to go. M picked me up at the airport, late as always, and helped me put my bags in the trunk. On the ride home he held my hand and I watched the now familiar shopping malls and bus stops go past my window. I stared out the window, worried and making sure not to turn towards M.
You know what? There is just no way to maintain your dignity and at the same time ask a man if he still plans to marry you this week. I couldn't believe that after all this time I was still in a situation where I just had no idea of where I stood. I knew that M loved me, but it just didn't seem like enough any more. What point is there to being 'in love' if it is impossible to even live in the same country with the person? In our situation, the only way to live in the same country was to get married.
We got home and had dinner. It was the next day before we discussed our plans. M was still unsure. It was maddening to me! It was his comment this day that got me started. He said, "You have your parents and K [my best friend.] I have no one to get advice from. I have no one to advise me."
You may remember Z from my earlier post. Z was a friend of M's from way back. They immigrated to Canada around the same time and were even from the same town in Pakistan. He and his two brothers were roommates to M in his earlier years in Canada, and the four had never moved away from living on the same street in their town in Canada. The two often gave each other advice and I had visited his home often to see his two small children and wife. Z had long been asking M why it was that we were not getting married and had in fact been one of the first people M discussed our April plans with. Z encouraged him. Z told him that he knew "better than anyone else" how M was when I was not there. He had told M, "you are depressed all of the time, until she gets here."
It was my opinion that it was time to enlist help. I called my dad. My dad and M had always gotten along ever since I tricked M into meeting him, more on that at another time. My dad had studied Hindi (Urdu's, for lack of a better term, 'sister' language??) for years long before I ever met M and for this reason, M found him intriguing. M also had a lot of respect for him because of all the help and advice he had given me while M was in Pakistan. I asked my dad to come all the way to Canada, not to watch me get married, but in case, I was getting married. I called him so that M could talk with him. (M actually had requested it too.)
My second action was to make a visit to Z and his wife. I had the week off but M had to go to work. I picked up my lengha, walked up the four flights of stairs to Z's house and knocked on the door. I had never visited them on my own, but this was important and I was nervous. I went up the stairs under the pretense of showing M's wife my bargain ebay purchase.
You know what? There is just no way to maintain your dignity and at the same time ask a man if he still plans to marry you this week. I couldn't believe that after all this time I was still in a situation where I just had no idea of where I stood. I knew that M loved me, but it just didn't seem like enough any more. What point is there to being 'in love' if it is impossible to even live in the same country with the person? In our situation, the only way to live in the same country was to get married.
We got home and had dinner. It was the next day before we discussed our plans. M was still unsure. It was maddening to me! It was his comment this day that got me started. He said, "You have your parents and K [my best friend.] I have no one to get advice from. I have no one to advise me."
You may remember Z from my earlier post. Z was a friend of M's from way back. They immigrated to Canada around the same time and were even from the same town in Pakistan. He and his two brothers were roommates to M in his earlier years in Canada, and the four had never moved away from living on the same street in their town in Canada. The two often gave each other advice and I had visited his home often to see his two small children and wife. Z had long been asking M why it was that we were not getting married and had in fact been one of the first people M discussed our April plans with. Z encouraged him. Z told him that he knew "better than anyone else" how M was when I was not there. He had told M, "you are depressed all of the time, until she gets here."
It was my opinion that it was time to enlist help. I called my dad. My dad and M had always gotten along ever since I tricked M into meeting him, more on that at another time. My dad had studied Hindi (Urdu's, for lack of a better term, 'sister' language??) for years long before I ever met M and for this reason, M found him intriguing. M also had a lot of respect for him because of all the help and advice he had given me while M was in Pakistan. I asked my dad to come all the way to Canada, not to watch me get married, but in case, I was getting married. I called him so that M could talk with him. (M actually had requested it too.)
My second action was to make a visit to Z and his wife. I had the week off but M had to go to work. I picked up my lengha, walked up the four flights of stairs to Z's house and knocked on the door. I had never visited them on my own, but this was important and I was nervous. I went up the stairs under the pretense of showing M's wife my bargain ebay purchase.
Sunday, July 5, 2009
The End of the Road
I started my student teaching in January, 2006. I was assigned to teach Spanish in a middle school. This particular school district only taught Spanish I in Middle school and had two different versions. They allowed seventh graders the option of starting Spanish 1 in seventh grade and taking the second half in eighth grade or just taking Spanish 1 as a full year subject in the eighth grade. My supervising teacher had been teaching for more than 40 years and so she had a cake walk schedule: six classes of 7th grade Spanish I (part 1.) This easy workload (as compared to a friend of mine who taught German I, II, III, IV and V in a high school, even though her desired post graduation job was teaching ESL) really helped me out in my already stressful life, since I was, in essence, working two full time jobs and finishing up graduate work too boot.
I took trips to see M for Christmas, and each three day weekend I was allowed. . . I saw him again in February and then had to wait for Spring Break in April. M and I had been calling mosques all around his town trying to find one that would allow us to get married. I could tell M was still scared of getting married, and the fact that his mosque still would not perform the marriage did not help. Finally, I found a mosque on the other side of the city that would perform the marriage. It made me very excited to hear the imam sound so accepting of the idea. I had begun to believe I would never find a mosque that would accept us.
The plan was that we would get married during my Spring Break. I started looking for something to wear as a surprise for M. We had been talking marriage so long that I actually had bought a white wedding dress (big mistake!) but this was not an appropriate occasion for this and my life was not conducive to planning a big reception in Canada. My family is also not able to travel frequently or on short notice. I looked over and over for a lengha to wear for M after the marriage.
*For those who may not be familiar, lengha is a traditional outfit in Pakistan for basic receptions after marriage. The traditional colors are red and gold, but people wear all different styles and colors.*
It was surprising to me that lenghas are VERY expensive. The majority that I found were more expensive than any of the American wedding dresses I looked at, and much more expensive than the one that I had bought. . . And so, I did something typically 2006 American, and looked on Ebay. Much to my surprise, I found several gorgeous ones, but as is typical of Ebay, they were usually used and altered and had only one available. It took months to find one that was my size and I liked (and could win at auction. . . )
I ended up with a gorgeous (to me) pink one with two layers and heavy red/gold embroidery. The shirt left much to be desired, it was not well kept and not as had been described, and there was no dupatta or covering for the head. I also did not have the typical jewelry, but since I was doing this as a surprise, it would have to do. Typically the jewelry and lengha purchase is up to the groom anyway, so I felt I was going above and beyond!
Just before my trip M started backing out. He started talking about postponing our plans until the next visit. We had already done this since November, and I had already been feeling abandoned since then. This was the last straw. I could not take it anymore. I was patient with M on the phone as we discussed his idea. I told him that it was not an option. I explained that it was completely up to him, but that I could not live like this anymore, travelling to visit every chance I got and being otherwise alone. I told him that I knew he wasn't happy this way, and that I already knew he was feeling guilty about meeting me anyway. I knew what 'boyfriend/girlfriend' was considered in Islam, and I had been doing it for too long.
My parents had taken time off of work to come and see us get married, I told them to scrap their original plans and I would let them know if they needed to come at all. I packed the lengha in my luggage carefully, convinced this would be my last trip to see M. I knew we weren't getting married, and I knew I would never see him again.
I took trips to see M for Christmas, and each three day weekend I was allowed. . . I saw him again in February and then had to wait for Spring Break in April. M and I had been calling mosques all around his town trying to find one that would allow us to get married. I could tell M was still scared of getting married, and the fact that his mosque still would not perform the marriage did not help. Finally, I found a mosque on the other side of the city that would perform the marriage. It made me very excited to hear the imam sound so accepting of the idea. I had begun to believe I would never find a mosque that would accept us.
The plan was that we would get married during my Spring Break. I started looking for something to wear as a surprise for M. We had been talking marriage so long that I actually had bought a white wedding dress (big mistake!) but this was not an appropriate occasion for this and my life was not conducive to planning a big reception in Canada. My family is also not able to travel frequently or on short notice. I looked over and over for a lengha to wear for M after the marriage.
*For those who may not be familiar, lengha is a traditional outfit in Pakistan for basic receptions after marriage. The traditional colors are red and gold, but people wear all different styles and colors.*
It was surprising to me that lenghas are VERY expensive. The majority that I found were more expensive than any of the American wedding dresses I looked at, and much more expensive than the one that I had bought. . . And so, I did something typically 2006 American, and looked on Ebay. Much to my surprise, I found several gorgeous ones, but as is typical of Ebay, they were usually used and altered and had only one available. It took months to find one that was my size and I liked (and could win at auction. . . )
I ended up with a gorgeous (to me) pink one with two layers and heavy red/gold embroidery. The shirt left much to be desired, it was not well kept and not as had been described, and there was no dupatta or covering for the head. I also did not have the typical jewelry, but since I was doing this as a surprise, it would have to do. Typically the jewelry and lengha purchase is up to the groom anyway, so I felt I was going above and beyond!
Just before my trip M started backing out. He started talking about postponing our plans until the next visit. We had already done this since November, and I had already been feeling abandoned since then. This was the last straw. I could not take it anymore. I was patient with M on the phone as we discussed his idea. I told him that it was not an option. I explained that it was completely up to him, but that I could not live like this anymore, travelling to visit every chance I got and being otherwise alone. I told him that I knew he wasn't happy this way, and that I already knew he was feeling guilty about meeting me anyway. I knew what 'boyfriend/girlfriend' was considered in Islam, and I had been doing it for too long.
My parents had taken time off of work to come and see us get married, I told them to scrap their original plans and I would let them know if they needed to come at all. I packed the lengha in my luggage carefully, convinced this would be my last trip to see M. I knew we weren't getting married, and I knew I would never see him again.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Separation Grind
We did not immediately get married, and I settled into a routine. I went to school, volunteered at my rescue squad and worked every available shift to make extra money to take trips to see M. I kept my eyes peeled for cheap airfares, signed up for a frequent flier program, and got used to driving each time I could not find a good fare.
*As a side note, any students who might be reading, check out www.studentuniverse.com for really good airfares. You have to book a minimum of two weeks ahead of time and have to keep your eyes peeled because the fares change daily, but I got some monster good deals during that period of my life since I was working on my Master's and full time in school.*
The fact that M and I were not yet married and therefore could not start his immigration process really began to get me angry. Every spare moment I had was dedicated to either finding ways to travel to be with him, actually travelling or working so that I would be able to travel. I was beginning to get exhausted and started to blame M. After all, we could start if he could just get over being petrified of marriage after his Pakistan ordeal. On reflection, I may have been being selfish, but I knew he wasn't going to get better until things were settled. He was still horribly depressed, and this on top of everything else really stressed me out.
On the up side, school was really interesting, but didn't consume much of my time. The most difficult scheduling for that semester (Fall, 2005) was doing 30 hours of high school observation. The next semester, however, I knew was going to be absolutely crazy. The culminating project for my Master's in Teaching was a full-time (unpaid) student teaching assignment at a middle school. I would be required to work the same hours as a teacher, including all after-school assignments and parent meetings, and somehow manage to keep up with my "M travel" and work enough to keep a roof over my head. The way I did this was by working 14 hour night shifts on Friday and Saturday nights and a 10 hour day shift on Sunday. My saving grace was the November/December horse racing assignments.
That sounds funny, right? . . . an ambulance at a horse race. . .well, we were to take care of any jockeys that fell off. For this, we were payed overtime pay, 1.5 times our normal rate, no matter if it was midway through shift or if we came in specially for it. These were basically snooze assignments. We would sit on the field, watch the race, or read, whatever, and wait for something to happen. Thankfully, usually, nothing did.
Anyway, exhausted as I was, I continued all of these assignments and waited, impatiently, for M to wake up.
*As a side note, any students who might be reading, check out www.studentuniverse.com for really good airfares. You have to book a minimum of two weeks ahead of time and have to keep your eyes peeled because the fares change daily, but I got some monster good deals during that period of my life since I was working on my Master's and full time in school.*
The fact that M and I were not yet married and therefore could not start his immigration process really began to get me angry. Every spare moment I had was dedicated to either finding ways to travel to be with him, actually travelling or working so that I would be able to travel. I was beginning to get exhausted and started to blame M. After all, we could start if he could just get over being petrified of marriage after his Pakistan ordeal. On reflection, I may have been being selfish, but I knew he wasn't going to get better until things were settled. He was still horribly depressed, and this on top of everything else really stressed me out.
On the up side, school was really interesting, but didn't consume much of my time. The most difficult scheduling for that semester (Fall, 2005) was doing 30 hours of high school observation. The next semester, however, I knew was going to be absolutely crazy. The culminating project for my Master's in Teaching was a full-time (unpaid) student teaching assignment at a middle school. I would be required to work the same hours as a teacher, including all after-school assignments and parent meetings, and somehow manage to keep up with my "M travel" and work enough to keep a roof over my head. The way I did this was by working 14 hour night shifts on Friday and Saturday nights and a 10 hour day shift on Sunday. My saving grace was the November/December horse racing assignments.
That sounds funny, right? . . . an ambulance at a horse race. . .well, we were to take care of any jockeys that fell off. For this, we were payed overtime pay, 1.5 times our normal rate, no matter if it was midway through shift or if we came in specially for it. These were basically snooze assignments. We would sit on the field, watch the race, or read, whatever, and wait for something to happen. Thankfully, usually, nothing did.
Anyway, exhausted as I was, I continued all of these assignments and waited, impatiently, for M to wake up.
Wednesday, June 17, 2009
Slow Changes
The divorce certificate arrived in November 2005, seven months after M sent the divorce. I went for my Thanksgiving break and we got it notarized. I thought that this would be the end of all our problems and that we would just immediately get married. M was not thinking the same thing. M was still reeling from his last "marriage" and felt like nothing should be rushed. He was getting a little more to himself but was still much more gun-shy than the man I once knew. Before his trip M was almost cocky, now he was hesitant about each new move. He had the urge to study everything and wanted to just 'let things happen' without any forward motion from his direction. For this reason marriage, among other things were difficult.
M again sought counsel about marriage from the Imam of his mosque, who did not even listen to his question and basically sent him away. He tried instead the gentleman who handled marriage ceremonies at his mosque. This man actually yelled at M. The man demanded to know why M would want to marry a non-Muslim. M could not even try to reason with him, he was too embarrassed by the man's reaction. M never tried to speak with either man again. M had attended this mosque for more than eight years, but when he needed assistance and counsel, no one would listen, except for Uncle.
**********************************************************
M had arrived in January and since then had not been able to find consistent work. In April, as soon as the divorce was declared and sent, he managed to find agency work. It was not always the same place, but it was daily work and gave him some money to work with. After a month of showing he was dependable, the agency sent him to work in a factory as a temp for a long term assignment. This gave him a bit of consistency and a higher wage, but ended after only three months and though his supervisor wanted to hire him permanently, the contract they had with the temporary agency prohibited it. And so by November, it was just temp work again moving from place to place to place and working for meager pay after trudging through Canadian winter snow and riding the bus.
M hated riding the bus more than anything. Riding the bus meant walking a fair distance through the snow, and added about 45 minutes to what would normally be a 15 minute drive. When you have to be at work at 7:00 am, this is a significant hardship, at least for my friend M. I was trying to find solutions to this problem and it came in the form of my own car-lust. I wanted a different car. I had long been wanting a change and fell in love with a little sporty Cougar. They were not very new, and thus were pretty cheap. I wanted one and that meant that I would no longer need my older 1999 Contour. I thought it would be a cool idea for M to have a car and for me to have my Cougar. That November M got his divorce and his Contour.
Getting up 45 minutes later than before somehow made living in a motel, working temp jobs for crappy pay and 700 miles of separation a little more tolerable.
M again sought counsel about marriage from the Imam of his mosque, who did not even listen to his question and basically sent him away. He tried instead the gentleman who handled marriage ceremonies at his mosque. This man actually yelled at M. The man demanded to know why M would want to marry a non-Muslim. M could not even try to reason with him, he was too embarrassed by the man's reaction. M never tried to speak with either man again. M had attended this mosque for more than eight years, but when he needed assistance and counsel, no one would listen, except for Uncle.
**********************************************************
M had arrived in January and since then had not been able to find consistent work. In April, as soon as the divorce was declared and sent, he managed to find agency work. It was not always the same place, but it was daily work and gave him some money to work with. After a month of showing he was dependable, the agency sent him to work in a factory as a temp for a long term assignment. This gave him a bit of consistency and a higher wage, but ended after only three months and though his supervisor wanted to hire him permanently, the contract they had with the temporary agency prohibited it. And so by November, it was just temp work again moving from place to place to place and working for meager pay after trudging through Canadian winter snow and riding the bus.
M hated riding the bus more than anything. Riding the bus meant walking a fair distance through the snow, and added about 45 minutes to what would normally be a 15 minute drive. When you have to be at work at 7:00 am, this is a significant hardship, at least for my friend M. I was trying to find solutions to this problem and it came in the form of my own car-lust. I wanted a different car. I had long been wanting a change and fell in love with a little sporty Cougar. They were not very new, and thus were pretty cheap. I wanted one and that meant that I would no longer need my older 1999 Contour. I thought it would be a cool idea for M to have a car and for me to have my Cougar. That November M got his divorce and his Contour.
Getting up 45 minutes later than before somehow made living in a motel, working temp jobs for crappy pay and 700 miles of separation a little more tolerable.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
