She was at lunch on Friday with her friend and was shocked to hear her friend tell her bluntly that she'd been mean, hurtful, and altogether wrong to tell her husband that he was bad at phone sex.
A few days earlier, she had found condom packaging in her husband's car and thought she'd had hardly any reaction. But unfortunately, her anger leaked out of the weak spots...in conversations with friends, in how she treated her child. Her anger and her feelings had had to go underground for so long that now, the only way they could get out was sideways.
She felt crazy. Did she even know what the truth about her feelings was? Did she really know how she felt? She knew how she felt at that moment across the table from her friend...lonely, sad, disappointed, and damn pissed. But she didn't know whether most of her feelings were valid and true or just phantoms, generated by her will to be happy in marriage no matter what person she was married to or what deeds were being done.
And so she modified her behavior, after her friend regurgitated some of the very advice that she'd given when her friend was going through her own disappointments. She felt mildly irritated and ashamed at the time.
He was coming home that night. She hadn't cleaned the house or kitchen. Things were a mess. She found every excuse that day not to do these things, even though she knew it was important to him. But finally, she did shower. She did her makeup and her hair specially for his homecoming. She subconsciously chose Greys Anatomy over being on time to pick him up. When he complained via various cell phone calls, she dismissed the complaints as invalid, thinking about the times he had left her waiting for hours, not just minutes. She put on the black wool coat that she knew he liked, black jeans, and the purple shirt that he loved also. She also wore the perfume that he loved and the peridot earrings he'd given her.
She made sure that her makeup highlighted her green eyes, skin that was like Irish cream, and her full lips. Her teeth were as white as she could get them so that she could confidently smile widely.
So much about her body's imperfections, she knew, could be forgiven by him as long as she dressed nicely and her hair and makeup were labored over. And indeed, he did tell her that she was so pretty he hardly recognized her when she picked him up. And the rest of the night, he did keep looking at her dark hair and her beautiful eyes and remarking on them. He couldn't resist touching her when they looked at each other across a table.
Too bad she couldn't always look just like that. But then, she knew, he wouldn't appreciate it anymore.
One thing she did know, though, was that he was a visual person. He was a person would always appreciate a beautifully done, up to date, head of hair, a well-chosen garment, beautifully applied makeup, a woman who was outwardly charming to all.
She told him at dinner that she was no longer on the birth control pill and would not be taking it anymore. Although she tempered this announcement with saying that she was going to get a blood test that required she not be on the pill at the moment and once that was done, she would get back on it. Inwardly, she wasn't sure about that. She gave him the option to decide if he wanted to use another birth control method or not. She probably would not be able to get pregnant without a doctor's intervention, she said, but nothing was guaranteed, and he should know that and make his choice.
That night he made his choice. And with it, so many doubts drained away. She realized that he was planning a future with her, not without her, and that having children with her, which he took very seriously, was not something he objected to. She felt so happy just knowing this.
So much anger melted away. Was he cheating when he felt like it? She didn't know, and he would never tell her. She wondered if it mattered that much. She knew that he was lonely in that city, and that he sometimes thought that sex would solve loneliness. She knew he was wrong about that, but that was not a knowing that she could give him. He'd have to learn it for himself.
For today, things were alright. For today, she could ignore the recent discovery of that piece of printed light cardboard.
And for today, she ate and ate and ate and ate, whenever he wasn't around. She got some sugary baked goods and ate. The symptoms were telling her that maybe things were ok for today, but it might be because of the copious, numbing amounts of food she was eating and the escapist movies she was watching. She should call her sponsor but she didn't want to be asked any questions. She didn't want to talk about her marriage.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Islamic Anything
She felt she had finally found a way to fully relate to her nominal status as Muslim - Islamic Art.
The art of Islam, which was really many different flavors blended together, was, to her, some of the most beautiful art she'd ever seen. Not least because of the vibrant colors, or the gorgeous geometry, or even the intricate patterns of flowers and fruits...but just because of the unity that Islamic art gave and still gives to the Muslim world.
She looked at some of the pictures she had found online of mosque interiors and thought, "That was designed by my people, by people just like me." She knew that they weren't exactly like her -- they were probably men, and probably Arabic or another culture, and probably brown. She was Irish, freckled, feminist, female, ghostly white and seemingly unable to tan.
But what they did have in common was a thirst for beauty and a thirst for God's will. And they had in common a faith that God can and does communicate with lowly human beings. And that artistic ability is a gift from God that ought to be shared with others.
In seeing the calligraphy, she thought, this is a way I can relate to the need to learn Arabic. So I can read these gorgeous calligrams. She learned her first independently-sought Arabic phrase:
"Bismillah-ir Rahan-ir Rahim" - in the name of God - most Gracious - most Compassionate
She had seen it in a calligram and learned that it was often found in mosques and other places. What a beautiful sentiment.
She saw the amazing, intelligently designed zoomorphic images made from calligraphy. She soaked up the new terms and her new understanding of them - zoomorphic, anthropomorphic, micrography (using tiny letters and words to suggest a form) as she read about the calligraphy.
She noted that it was odd, her fascination with whatever she was currently fascinated in. Right now, she was reading a book called The Alexander Cipher. This book was situated in Egypt and Muslims were all around in that place. The archaeological information and the historical information were quite fascinating. And now she was studying Islamic art and very old structures...hmmm...
The art of Islam, which was really many different flavors blended together, was, to her, some of the most beautiful art she'd ever seen. Not least because of the vibrant colors, or the gorgeous geometry, or even the intricate patterns of flowers and fruits...but just because of the unity that Islamic art gave and still gives to the Muslim world.
She looked at some of the pictures she had found online of mosque interiors and thought, "That was designed by my people, by people just like me." She knew that they weren't exactly like her -- they were probably men, and probably Arabic or another culture, and probably brown. She was Irish, freckled, feminist, female, ghostly white and seemingly unable to tan.
But what they did have in common was a thirst for beauty and a thirst for God's will. And they had in common a faith that God can and does communicate with lowly human beings. And that artistic ability is a gift from God that ought to be shared with others.
In seeing the calligraphy, she thought, this is a way I can relate to the need to learn Arabic. So I can read these gorgeous calligrams. She learned her first independently-sought Arabic phrase:
"Bismillah-ir Rahan-ir Rahim" - in the name of God - most Gracious - most Compassionate
She had seen it in a calligram and learned that it was often found in mosques and other places. What a beautiful sentiment.
She saw the amazing, intelligently designed zoomorphic images made from calligraphy. She soaked up the new terms and her new understanding of them - zoomorphic, anthropomorphic, micrography (using tiny letters and words to suggest a form) as she read about the calligraphy.
She noted that it was odd, her fascination with whatever she was currently fascinated in. Right now, she was reading a book called The Alexander Cipher. This book was situated in Egypt and Muslims were all around in that place. The archaeological information and the historical information were quite fascinating. And now she was studying Islamic art and very old structures...hmmm...
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Giving Up. And letting go.
Taking stock of the evidence of his infidelity, even then, she knew she loved him. She also knew she was angry. So angry that she didn't care whom he fucked or what he thought anymore. Acceptance of him in his totality brought with it a finality. She finally knew that he wasn't the one. She didn't want to have children with him anymore. She would make him wear condoms. He was still good for that. She knew she had a duty to herself, heretofore that she had failed at...to be true to herself. When she had sex with him or anyone else now, it would be because she wanted to.
She would no longer pick up his calls if she didn't want to or had something better to do. All the unconscious subterfuges of courtship were now detected, and would be dropped. Her manipulations toward what she wanted would stop.
He could not be faithful. It was not her fault. She could be a supermodel who knew every Kama Sutra position, who was the most submissive wife who ever lived. She could be Clauida Schiffer, a perfect Pakistani Muslim girl and June Cleaver, all rolled into one --- and still he could not be faithful. And he would still do stupid shit with their money. He would still look out for number one more than anything else. He would still lie to her and call it privacy, still put her in her place, still call her names occasionally, still be an absentee husband. That's who he was. He was himself. As himself, with no imagined qualities foisted upon him, he was not what she wanted.
So if he was late, by any amount that she felt was inappropriate, she would make other plans. She would release him to do what he wanted. She would not take his calls. They would see eachother when they saw each other.
It was high time to finally become self-reliant - not in money just yet, but certainly, in most respects. In setting her schedule, in seeing movies she wanted, in how she raised her child. In whom she was friends with, and sexually too.
Divorce did not need to be sought.
But was it all a big manipulation, or a dis-entanglement? Knowing that a change in behavior will evoke a reaction in someone is not the same as trying to get them to do what you want or be who you want. Sometimes it is just detaching yourself from a vice.
The realizations came flooding in. It was freeing.
Did she need to say anything to him? No, she didn't think so. The constant, "I love you"'s could cease, though. The goodnight or good morning calls - no need for those anymore. A less personal nickname seemed a good idea too. The opening moves of a surgery intended to amputate her emotions. It seemed unnecessary to take his calls while with friends too. He would be demoted.
He was not the partner she had thought or imagine. Her intuition finally had to be heeded.
It was sad. She felt disappointed; disappointed in his broken promises. But even more disappointed that she had not trusted herself. She knew those promises would be kept as they were being made. She always knew what he was, starting with the first time she'd heard herself referred to as a 'friend'. No, earlier. She knew it from the moment that he'd asked her to be his 'full-time girlfriend' as thought she was being hired for a job.
Maybe there was romantic love out there for her. Maybe there would be babies. Maybe there was a career. No way to know right now. The only thing she knew was that she had to stop giving her all and then some to people who were not the right recipients of it. Continuing to do so would suck the life right out of her.
And finally, she had to accept the facts & how it all worked. Those times her intuition told her he was doing wrong - he was. Those times he went alone to bars or clubs - that not what married, committed men did. Not ones that she wanted, anyway. Those times he seemed he was not sharing things with her that he should have been...he wasn't. Those times that her intuition told her he didn't feel attracted to her or was giving her a pity lay or thought she was stupid or those times it seemed he was being fake - she knew why, without being told.
She would no longer pick up his calls if she didn't want to or had something better to do. All the unconscious subterfuges of courtship were now detected, and would be dropped. Her manipulations toward what she wanted would stop.
He could not be faithful. It was not her fault. She could be a supermodel who knew every Kama Sutra position, who was the most submissive wife who ever lived. She could be Clauida Schiffer, a perfect Pakistani Muslim girl and June Cleaver, all rolled into one --- and still he could not be faithful. And he would still do stupid shit with their money. He would still look out for number one more than anything else. He would still lie to her and call it privacy, still put her in her place, still call her names occasionally, still be an absentee husband. That's who he was. He was himself. As himself, with no imagined qualities foisted upon him, he was not what she wanted.
So if he was late, by any amount that she felt was inappropriate, she would make other plans. She would release him to do what he wanted. She would not take his calls. They would see eachother when they saw each other.
It was high time to finally become self-reliant - not in money just yet, but certainly, in most respects. In setting her schedule, in seeing movies she wanted, in how she raised her child. In whom she was friends with, and sexually too.
Divorce did not need to be sought.
But was it all a big manipulation, or a dis-entanglement? Knowing that a change in behavior will evoke a reaction in someone is not the same as trying to get them to do what you want or be who you want. Sometimes it is just detaching yourself from a vice.
The realizations came flooding in. It was freeing.
Did she need to say anything to him? No, she didn't think so. The constant, "I love you"'s could cease, though. The goodnight or good morning calls - no need for those anymore. A less personal nickname seemed a good idea too. The opening moves of a surgery intended to amputate her emotions. It seemed unnecessary to take his calls while with friends too. He would be demoted.
He was not the partner she had thought or imagine. Her intuition finally had to be heeded.
It was sad. She felt disappointed; disappointed in his broken promises. But even more disappointed that she had not trusted herself. She knew those promises would be kept as they were being made. She always knew what he was, starting with the first time she'd heard herself referred to as a 'friend'. No, earlier. She knew it from the moment that he'd asked her to be his 'full-time girlfriend' as thought she was being hired for a job.
Maybe there was romantic love out there for her. Maybe there would be babies. Maybe there was a career. No way to know right now. The only thing she knew was that she had to stop giving her all and then some to people who were not the right recipients of it. Continuing to do so would suck the life right out of her.
And finally, she had to accept the facts & how it all worked. Those times her intuition told her he was doing wrong - he was. Those times he went alone to bars or clubs - that not what married, committed men did. Not ones that she wanted, anyway. Those times he seemed he was not sharing things with her that he should have been...he wasn't. Those times that her intuition told her he didn't feel attracted to her or was giving her a pity lay or thought she was stupid or those times it seemed he was being fake - she knew why, without being told.
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