I received questions here about writing and marriage. It made me ponder upon my recent wordlorn*, and well, about marriage, ‘the one’, and ‘my future wife’ and all those too familiar and overly recurrent thoughts. If you’ve been one of this blog’s early readers, you might recall there was once a post published to that effect. I actually fail to remember its title, but it was describing my future wife.
This post was cast in my private archive, amongst many others, around the time I was choosing the set to go in the book. Some didn’t make it and for some reason I didn’t republish them again. I think at the time I thought no one would really read that huge archive anyway, and that the selection in the book would suffice to show how extremely untalented I am.
The thoughts, following their norm, stayed through the night and towards the morrow. I spontaneously then visited my Half Our Deen profile, deserted, and long unvisited. When I had created that profile two years ago, it was majorly to explore the website and minutely to catch a glimpse of some lost hope in their notorious success stories. What I included back then was that privatized post describing how I imagine my life partner. The post then was quite fresh on the blog, and I fervently copied it, fully believing in every point there mentioned.
Some months went by before I received the following message from a woman who’s 30 years older than me (yes, 30 years). Usually, the messages exchanged on such a website are respectful expressions of interest, or genuine questions about details. Let me clarify again that the community using this monetized service is very religious, serious and reverent. It is one of the reasons why it is so successful, actually. Why I haven’t benefited from it can well be attributed to its area of focus being mainly on western non-Muslim countries, where youth find it hard to locate good Muslim matches on their own.
The conversation went like this:
I see you need at least 2 wives…one to bear your children and another as your source of comfort.
Me, some hours later:
Thanks for the advice. May God grant me both in one insha’Allah.
Now, as I read this through my Friday afternoon, I wondered about what hadn’t, oddly, crossed my mind then. I mean, at that time the message was strange to me, and I replied in that context, but today, I was wondering why did she have to send me this? Why did she take the time to read my description, lengthy description, and then spend effort on telling me that what I need, or want, is so sickly unrealistic that in order for it to freaking manifest, I have to marry two wives? What stations my frustration even more, is her age. I am quite sure she never considered me as a match, since I’m typically her son’s age, if she has one. She then what, dropped that line out of mere, mere.. I don’t know, condescension? Back then I connoted her words as ‘advice’, and thanked her for it, but today I seriously considered getting back to her again and asking her why did she have to send me such a useless message.
You would think I’d defend myself by retorting any argument that might be forming in your mind right now, given that you hadn’t read that description, by actually copying it here so that you’d decide for yourself. You might then think my needs are indeed unrealistic, and that she might be more experienced, or any other logical explanation. However, that is not my point today. Today I am not strictly logical. I am just frustrated. I do not claim maturity or wisdom, although life had taught me that marriage was never about having a ‘list’ or a ‘description’ or a predefined set of ‘conditions’. My point today is this: I am just hurt.
I had spent a significant part of my life building my notion of a successful marriage, and with the first reality check (or blow, so to speak), the strength of such structure didn’t surpass that of a house of cards. I am not too sad, we all have that, but the amount of mental and emotional effort I’ll have to somehow summon again is too great, too profound, and too damn personal, for someone a sea or two away to simply tell me that I need at least two wives, and end their sentence with a detestable period.
Years into this ordeal and the number of ‘wives’ I have, is zero.
I hope she’s happy and wise.
* wordlorn is a word I invented. It is linguistically akin to lovelorn and forlorn. It signifies that I am deserted by words, or completely wordless.