Carry on...
December 25, 2005
So...
First off, Merry Christmas to all my Christmasers. It's cold here in Egypt, only made colder by our marble-floored house, and it's feeling very wintery/christmasy, and I'm reminded of all the wonderful Christmas parties I went to when I was last in Philadelphia.
But anyway. Another place, another life.
So, guess what? I met Walid the doctor the doctor. I came home this past Wednesday from a LONG day (in the morning I saw my Philly friend "Eeyore" who is here visiting for a month, went to work till 9pm, and then went to dinner with PG since he'll be off vacationing for a month) to find that my mom has been in "talks" with Walid's sister. It seems these two intelligent women have been racking their brains trying to figure out how to trick their reluctant test cases into meeting. So I just made it easier for all involved, and wearily told my mother, "Fine, let's do it. Friday. One hour. No more."
So Friday came. I spent most of the day in a bad mood, which had only a tiny bit to do with the fact that my minor acne problem, has become huge and painful and widespread, and pretty much everything to do with the fact that I still didn't feel right about going through with this meeting. But anyway, I sucked it up, and we went to the sporting club at 8:30 pm, and I managed to get my mom (who seems smitten with Walid's sister) out of there by 9:45 pm.
Walid was very nice. He was tall and handsome, and had a few stray gray hairs and glasses (both of which are things I find oddly attractive in men). He was articulate and able to speak on a variety of topics, and not just medicine as seems to be the problem with so many doctors.
But, not surprisingly, he is not someone I could ever picture as a future mate. Mostly because this homegirl don't play dat, and also because here's the thing - even if I put aside that I am so totally uncomfortable with this method of choosing a mate - we may hold the same nationality, but we sure as hell don't come from the same culture. I've tried time and again to explain this simple fact to my parents, but it usually ends with, "Oy, we have done the wrong thing. You kids are confused about who you are." By that point I've already spent 15 minutes explaining that it's not about my background, it's about the experiences I've had and where I grew up, and I just don't have it in me to go over it again. My parents are tragic Arab immigrants, more commonly represented in America by their Jewish or Greek counterparts.
My dad didn't even ask me what had happened after my mom and I came back last night, but today, as we were sitting alone in the family room after lunch, he decided to cautiously broach the topic. And we got into that whole discussion of culture again, after which he just got kind of quiet and seemed kind of sad. For the rest of the night, any chance he got he'd say, "Well maybe I just don't get this because it's not my culture." He'd say it jokingly, but part of me knows that he regrets leaving Egypt 36 years ago to make a better life for himself and his family only to have kids whom he considers utterly confused.
I keep trying to tell him that it's not true, that I believe my sister, brother, and I all have a pretty solid idea of who were are, even if it doesn't fit into any single, neat category. I keep telling him that I personally wouldn't have wanted for our lives to be any other way, and that actually the only thing I regret is that we didn't move MORE. I keep trying to tell him, though not directly, that the only person who is confused is him.
Harsh, I know. I love my dad. I only say these things because I believe them to be true.
In any case, my mother called Walid's sister back to gently break it to her that I'm not interested. But guess what? Walid's sister won't take no for an answer. She said that Walid felt he wasn't at his "best" last night, and that I was probably shy and reserved because of the setting, and that he'd like to meet again just the two of us. My mom kept trying to tell her that it's just not going to work for me, but it seems the girl has decided that I'm the one for her brother, and my own insight (and foresight) be damned. This is exactly why I didn't want to meet in the first place.
It's rare that I put my foot down as adamantly as I initially did about this meeting. I am usually open and flexible because I like to have different experiences, and also because I don't trust my instincts.
It seems like I should probably give my instincts a little more credit. We'll see how this pans out.
And to my friend(s?) out there who I suspect might be nursing broken hearts, this {{hug}} is for you.