Identity

Guilt

My relationship with Alex started to suffer the effects of the situation. I’d get upset whenever I spoke to or visited them. I felt guilty at the way I was treating them as everything I was doing was against the religious and cultural beliefs I’d had drummed into me as a child. I was in a relationship outside the sanctity of marriage, I was living in sin and I was hurting my parents. It couldn’t have got worse in their eyes unless I’d murdered someone.

 
The guilt was and still is the most difficult thing to live with. I try not to dwell on what I’ve done, but it’s always there, hanging over me. It’s like a bad feeling all over my body and inside me. Sometimes, without warning, it makes my heart plummet at the realisation of the enormity of what I’ve done. It’s like a slow disease which I feel creeping all over my body. It doesn’t matter how much I or others justify what I did, the guilt's always there.

Alex was understanding but the situation started to suffocate the relationship. He felt there was no space for anything else but my issues, my family, my guilt, my religion. I hadn’t realised how much I was leaning on him for support as I was just trying to get through the situation. But we managed to stay together, with a couple of brief periods apart.

I kept up appearances with my parents to appease them and breathed a sigh of relief when they left for Pakistan, as it meant some respite from the situation. They remained in Pakistan until we decided to get married, in 2004.

Brotherly advice

As I left my parents room, I passed on my brother Mohammed on the stairs. He must have seen how upset I was as he knocked on my bedroom door.

I don't have a good relationship with Mohammed - when I told him I was marrying Alex, he said I should have died instead of my two brothers, the shame I was going to bring onto the family. After that, I didn't talk to him or visit him unless I absolutely had to, at family funerals and the like.

Since my parents have been back, this is the first time i've spent time with him, although I use that term loosely, as we speak only about neutral topics and I keep my distance from him. So I approach anything he says and does, which involves me with caution.

But this time he seemed genuine, although I could be mistaken, and often am with my family. I'm quite gullible, as might be apparent.

Mohammed's relationship with my parents has been fraught for as long as I can remember and this in turn has had a negative effect on the relationship my sisters and I have had with him. My parents have always found it easier to get on with us than him and he's always resented this.

We're all to blame for the discord between us. My parents for not giving him more slack and setting him impossible standards, like they do with all of us, Mohammed for being obsessed with the notion that they favour us more than him and us for siding with our parents more than Mohammed and inevitably adding fuel to the fire, as we always do. Even i'm guilty of this.

Mohammed said I shouldn't let them get to me, they're mad anyway. Given their unreasonable demands, I was inclined to agree with him.

I just said to him, regardless of what you all think of me (ie, I have shamed the family / am a bad person / married a "gora" (white man) and will burn in hell for it) don't you realise I can't be told what to do in this country? Do I look so desperate for money that i'll do anything? Why can't they just be nice to me?

Mohammed offered to ask my father to give me the money, to which I said it's better he didn't involve himself in this, as they'll say he made them do it and it'd only have adverse effects on his relationship with them. Then, if I ever fell out with him, he'd naturally blame me for that. This is the inevitable never-ending cycle, common place in my family.

He said his door was always open for me, I could live there if I wanted and he wouldn't question my comings and goings. I said that was nice of him, I appreciated it but i'd sort myself out.

Falling out, all over again

The big falling out started with my arranging to view some houses to buy. My father, after the disaster which had been my living at Sameena's, had offered to give me some money towards a deposit on a house.

I was reluctant to accept his offer as I knew it come with conditions which I'd never be able to meet. But both my sisters had told me to play it clever, get what I could, get a place of my own and some stability. Stupidly I listened to them.

I also thought the house viewings would be a good idea as it would give us something to talk about and perhaps provide distraction from from their continuous interrogations and lectures for a while.

Of course, I was mistaken.

I showed my father the specification sheet the estate agent had given me for the various houses i'd lined up to view this morning. I explained they were just to view and get an idea of what was out there.

Then came my father's conditions. He said, if I put down the deposit on the house, your mum and I are going to live with you.

Well, Hell will freeze over before I live with them, at this stage in my life.

I said, who will pay the mortgage? I had planned on renting out the extra bedrooms to make ends meet, given houses are so expensive. He said I would pay the mortgage, as he would be giving the deposit. I asked, how much deposit are you going to give? To which his cryptic answers set in - "we'll see". Which translated, means as little as possible. I know my father too well.

I could immediately see i'd been stupid to even contemplate his offer. I'd been lulled into thinking it might be a good idea by my sisters, who think giving up your entire freedom is worth a deposit on a house.

I said I didn't want to live with them. They asked, so what will you do, live alone? To which I replied, yes. They said, what will you do, you can't live like that forever. And I said, yes I can, I like it.

I tried to explain I was attempting to meet them halfway and they should do the same, to which my father replied, they are.

I said, if I live with you, you don't want me to go out, come home from work late or do anything normal. I'm thirty-three, you can't tell me what to do, it doesn't work like that in Britain.

To which he replied, I'll tell you what to do until you're one hundred years old, i'm your father and it's my right.

Thanks God most people don't live to be one hundred years old.

Then he started getting angry, saying I was doing wrong, the same crap he spouts at me all the time. I couldn't take it anymore, I was mentally tired of listening to the same lectures, lectures i'd heard seven years before which have been repeated over the last six weeks. So I said, keep your money, i'll buy my own place when i'm ready and won't owe you anything.

I ended up leaving the room as I was beginning to get upset and didn't want to raise my voice, as I'd promised myself I wouldn't argue with them.

I can't believe, they claim they can't sleep because they worry about me, are so upset about my being estranged from them, yet still want to pursue this ridiculous idea of me doing exactly what they want, just because they gave birth to me.

If they were truly worried about me, as they say they are, surely they'd want to help me without any conditions? Or at least, try and be nice to me?

No money in the world can make up for personal freedom.

Falling out again

After thinking things were improving (or rather hoping and praying they were) with my parents, everything went wrong. Regardless of accusations about me writing against Islam for a newspaper, I thought I was getting somewhere with them, especially after my father didn't object when I told him about the Amsterdam trip.
But that all blew up in my face the other day. I'm not surprised, i'm seeing a pattern, whereby I go forward a few steps one day but then go backward by one hundred steps the next.

My parents give new meaning to the phrase, "give an inch and they take a mile".

I question myself and my own reasons for doing what i'm doing, clinging onto them. I wonder if it's because i'm now single and am clinging to them as I feel they're all I have. Am I so scared of being alone, i'm willing to put up with their demands and need to control my life?

I'm thirty three, for God's sake. It's embarrassing being in my situation, being myself. My friends are no doubt bored with my constant complaining, thinking, what the hell's wrong with her, why doesn't she just break free from them, tell them to piss off?

And I think to myself, how much longer can I realistically sit on the fence, my parents on one side, my freedom on the other and surrounding it, my sisters with their input, which is rarely helpful and every so often includes really hurtful remarks about the person I am.

The confrontation

The problem with my parents was and still is, they can't let me go, and I can't break free from them either. From extreme opposite sides of the fence, neither of us accepts defeat, so the situation continues, never improving.

When I went home I was really scared of what my father was going to say. As i've never lived with him for longer than a few months, we don't really know each other. Most of my life my sisters and I viewed him as someone to be scared of, although he never did anything to warrant this. But fathers in our families are generally feared, for no other reason apart from the fact that they're men and what they say or do is right and to be obeyed. They generally keep a distance from children and are the breadwinners, seldom taking part in looking after children. This is changing now but was very typical back then.

I went upstairs to where my mum was first. She was lying in bed, talking nonsense and appeared delirious, asking, is that you? What happened to you? Did you get lost? It was an act for me to see how my absence had affected her and it worked, I started to cry and said I was sorry.

Then was the confrontation with my father. He was angry and asked lots of questions. Where had I been? Why had I moved out of the flat? Who was the man with me, was he my boyfriend?

I was cowardly and instead of telling the truth I lied, saying Alex was a friend who’d helped me move my stuff to a new place and I was doing nothing wrong. There was shouting, there were lectures, what an awful daughter I’d been, how I’d abused their trust, I should move back home, get married.

But the freedom they’d given me now meant I no longer relied on them for anything, so there was no reason for me to concede to any of their wishes. I was independent, I had my own car, I rented a flat and had a grant for my PhD which was enough to live on. Although scared, I didn't back down as I had no reason to.

This period was bad for everyone. After the initial confrontation, I visited home occasionally to appease them, we’d argue each time, they’d ask the same questions and I’d tell the same lies. Being religious, they prayed day and night I’d stop what I was doing. It would have been one of the darkest and most desperate periods of their lives as they had no control over me, their bright and intelligent daughter who they’d been so proud of and who they’d placed so much trust in.

Control and influence over children, no matter how old, is essential in our family. Parents are respected and their wishes, no matter how unreasonable are to be followed by their children. Not discarded the way I was doing so.

What I did was the biggest breach of trust that I could have committed. My parents were well respected in our community and had always defended my extensive studying to others, for a girl to be over the age of twenty and living away from home was unheard of. My father had been proud to say I was studying for a PhD and boasted the merits of women studying.

Yet I lived with hurting them the way I did, for my own gains. Looking back now I can’t believe I did it, I feel so awful and ashamed even thinking about it, at the things I said, which i'll live with for the rest of my life. Seeing it here in black and white makes it seem even worse.

I said I’d complete my PhD and made loose promises everything would be fine afterwards. We argued a lot, they prayed a lot and I found the strength to not back down.

I’m surprised at how strong and obstinate I was. I think being in love gave me a clear objective to fight for, as well as my freedom. I couldn’t bear the thought of breaking up with Alex, although we did have a brief period apart. Or perhaps I such a "gori" (white girl) as they said, I could reject my family easier than I imagined.

Accusations

I arrived back in the UK yesterday morning and after catching up on some much needed sleep, went to my parents’ house to let them know I'd returned from my trip abroad, was still alive and hadn’t decided to run away and live in Amsterdam.

I sat in their room, thinking how twenty four hours ago i'd been having so much fun, hanging out with my friends, walking around the city, going to cool bars and generally having a great time. Now here I was, in my parent's room, wearing my traditional shalwar kameez with my head covered by my dupatta (like a large headscarf) sat on the bed, trying to look good and not like i'd been sinning all weekend. My parents sat on their prayer mats, their faces set in stone as usual when faced with the dilemma which is their Youngest Daughter Who is still going off the Rails. It never ceases to amaze me, the contrast in the two lives I lead. Often, when i'm sat with my parents in such a situation, I like to think of really extreme things which I know they'd disapprove of, such as men and clubbing. I think it makes me feel like I get some control back, as although they might tell me what to do constantly, at least they can't get inside my head and stop me thinking what I want. Yet.

My mum was going through her list of ailments which I have to translate tomorrow to her GP. She's a bit of a hypochondriac and has been so for about twenty five years. For years she’s spoke of her impending death due to her catalogue of life threatening illnesses. These include high blood pressure, low thyroid and diet controlled diabetes, none of which have been life threatening to her so far (touch wood), but are a way of her commanding attention and her life revolves around never ending doctor's and hospital appointments, most of which are unneccesary.

This obsession with illness extends to all my extended family, although my mum’s definitely at the extreme end. Because of the self contained environment we live in and lack of other things to talk about, the second favourite and much discussed topic after religion and / or marriage is illness.

This usually involves what illness a person has, what operations they’ve had, what medicine they’ve been on or are on. There’s a lot of advice given, based on each person's experiences. But like their interpretation of religion, diseases and symptoms get confused and exagerated and often diseases are invented which don’t exist, based on what they think they have rather than what they actually have.

After my mum had gone through her list of self diagnoses, which included an ulcer (which I have to report to the GP, without sounding like a fool), my father out of the blue asked if I’m writing a column for a newspaper against Islam.

To say I was shocked is putting it mildly. I couldn’t believe it. I said no, and I’ve no idea why you’d think that. To which he said “Yes you are, you’re writing it, I know. And don’t you dare mention my name in it.” He was really angry and kept repeating himself, not listening to my objections.

I thought, perhaps they've seen I’m attached to my laptop and made their assumptions based on that. I explained everyone has a laptop and the internet is probably the most useful invention in the world. Then I thought, did Mohammed tell them I was reading a book about Palestine and make it sound as if the book was against Muslims? So I explained the book as well.

The problem is, the more I explain things to my father, the more that signifies wrong doing in his eyes.

He said if I was innocent, I’d just say no, but instead I’m diverting the answer by making excuses. I replied I’m shocked you’d even ask such a thing, to which his answer was, if I’m innocent, I wouldn’t be shocked.

My God, how can I win against such ridiculous arguments?

Then they started saying, you should read such and such a book, pray, be a good Muslim, ours is the best religion in the world. They got into the religious lecture again and I escaped after another ten minutes of them droning on to the sounds of their own voices and me insisting I was still Muslim and not an athiest columnist for a newspaper. Chance would be a fine thing, if I could get a newspaper column.

But I was really scared – how did my father know what I’m doing? I can’t believe how my heart plummeted when he made the accusation, although it’s not justified. But it scared me he even had an inkling I was writing anything related to them or religion and despite its’ anonymity, made me realise how careful I have to be. Although I doubt my family would do anything apart from tell me how I’ve shamed them even more if I was associated with the blog, I still don’t want to be identified and it’s freaked me out that I might be.

To blog or not to blog?

I've realised I have to be careful about whom and what I blog about. That might seem obvious but one can really get carried away, writing about themselves, it's so cathartic you almost forget that someone out there will know everything about me and there are some things I want to keep private.

This in particular applies to Alex. Poor thing, he's already been complaining to a friend about the aftermath of being with a journalist. Anything between Alex and I will be related to the effects of my family on our relationship, not factors which were personal to us.

Blogging is quite hard. I want people to read my blog but I don't want my friends to know some of this stuff, which is why it's anonymous, but I still tell people what i'm doing (to justify what on earth it is I do all day) and everyone wants to read it. I hope, apart from my family, who i'll never tell, I don't piss anyone else off in what i've written.

But I'll include friend's dating stories, as well as reactions from parents to potential suitors for their daughters, as this opens up another area of British-Asian culture which isn't well known. To be honest, I can't add anything personal in this section as my family disapprove of all men, regardless of colour or religion.

Losing my religion

I was in a café this morning, writing when “losing my religion” by REM came on the radio. I've never paid attention to the lyrics so don’t know if they make any sense or not, but the title is quite apt for my current situation. I used to love being Muslim. I used to love the strength it gave me, the conviction that as long as I was a "good" Muslim everything would turn out well.

Then being Muslim started to clash with what I was doing in my life, when it became too ‘Western’. But I managed to justify most things. When I went out and wore revealing clothes, I put it down to a phase which i'd get out of my system. When I started seeing Alex, I justified it as him being a serious boyfriend, the only man I’d slept with. I didn’t drink alcohol or take drugs.

I took the ‘do-able’ elements of Islam and lived by those, quite basic principles which aren't restricted to Islam at all. But that’s how I justified living my type of life and still being Muslim.

Now I’m a stage further. Since splitting up with Alex i’ve been with other men, so the "only ever slept with the man I’m going to spend the rest of my life with" argument doesn’t apply. I started drinking alcohol a few months ago. This weekend I’m going to Amsterdam for the first time where I’ll try a hash cake.

I think my parents complete and utter devotion to Islam and how they ignore everything else going on around them, pushes me further and further away from it. The more I see them using religion as a band aid for everything ("pray to Allah, he'll make everything alright"), the more frustrated I feel. On top of that, they don’t promote the religion as a forgiving, loving one. All I hear is everything I’m doing will cause me to burn in hell when I die. That doesn’t endear me to it at all.

My parents finding out about Alex

At the time I didn’t notice it but Alex was demanding when it came to time spent together. I remember him saying, “if I can’t see my girlfriend every weekend, there’s no point, is there?” I wasn’t to realise till much later Alex had few friends in London and wasn't confident in social situations. Instead, I tried to make him happy by spending every weekend with him, to the detriment of the relationship with my family as well as friends. I should have worked out a compromise with him, instead of giving into his whims, thinking it romantic he wanted to spend all his time with me.

I’d told my sisters about Alex and they’d been okay about it, probably thinking it was just some fun and eventually I’d do the right thing and get married to whoever my parents chose.

This continued for a year, my balancing seeing Alex, studying for my PhD which involved twelve hour days and visiting my family. I lied constantly to spend so much time with Alex and when I did visit my family, stayed for the minimal amount of time, usually to rush back and see him.

It was stupid really, I should have covered my tracks better, spending less time with Alex. But on the other hand, you could say my having a boyfriend or not wanting to spend all my time with my family should have been acceptable.

Due to my constant avoidance my parents decided to visit me unannounced one weekend at my flat. My landlord opened the door and said I’d gone out with my boyfriend. My father asked what colour my boyfriend was, to which he replied white. The landlord was a friend's father and she called to tell me. I remember getting the message on my phone and my heart literally sinking, panicking and thinking, what will I do? I couldn't even begin to anticipate their reaction. It was the worst thing which could ever happen to a girl like me, from a family like mine. It was my worst nightmare.

I had numerous messages on my phone, telling me to come home immediately. I had threats, Parveen saying, you don’t know what Dad or Mohammed are capable of, you should be scared. My mum crying, my father shouting and even my fifteen year old nephew begging me to come home. I avoided them, switching my phone off and deleting the messages. They didn't have Alex's address so couldn't find me (at least that's what I thought). I evetually changed my phone number so they couldn't contact me.

I avoided all contact with them for about six weeks. It was more avoidance because I had no idea what to do. Parveen and Sameena, who i'd supported when they'd gone through similar situations, albeit at a much younger age, were of no use. As far as they were concerned, i'd run off with the "gora" (white man) and that was that. Their memories were poor.

I finally decided to see them. Sameena had bumped into my friend Nazia's sister and had taken Nazia's number and kept calling her, asking her to ask me to go home. I had to stop them calling her, as Nazia had nothing to do with any of this.

Before going home I met Sameena as I was scared about the confrontation i'd have. She was really angry, but said don’t worry, everything will be okay. Her main objective was to persuade me to see my parents, regardless of anything else. She said come home, Dad’s not going to say anything to you. It’ll be alright.

But she was pissed off, her husband, Yousaf had been screaming and shouting, calling me all sorts of names in front of the children and my father had accused her and Parveen of not keeping better tabs on me and allowing me to go off the rails.

Ironic. Yousaf forgets he was seeing Sameena before they got married and picking me up from school was the excuse for them to meet. What kind of example was that to set for me, a child of seven or eight years?
And my father, blaming my sisters when his focus all his life has been making money and his "jedat" or inheritance in Pakistan, rather than his children. Oh, and praying. Let's not forget the religion obsession.

But it's easier to shift blame, as is common in my family.

Ignorant comment two

I have to post the most ignorant comment i've yet to hear from a family member.

It was after dinner and as Mohammed was yet again watching Peace TV, I went and got the book i'm reading to amuse myself until he'd leave the room and I could put the news on.

He spotted the title, which was 'Inside Hamas' by Zaki Chehab and asked what it was. I explained it's an account of Hamas, the Palestinian Islamist militant organisation and political party. He asked if the book said they were good or bad, I replied it's written by a Palestinian and I don't know yet as i'd just started reading it.
I mentioned the author's a journalist and Mohammed said, "You're not a journalist now, are you?" to which I replied no, i'm reading it because I like reading about such things. It reminded me how careful I have to be about this blog, if anyone finds out i'm writing it, I don't know what they'll do.

Then came the comments. He said, and I still can't believe he did, "Hamas is the best Muslim organisation in the world. The second is Osama-bin-Laden's (Al-Qaeda) and the third is the Taliban". I mumbled something in agreement and buried myself in my book.

This is an excellent example of the ignorant way in which my family follows our religion. As long as you're Muslim, you can do no wrong. Doesn't matter what you do, how many people you kill, if you're Muslim, you're doing it for the right reasons and everything will be forgiven or accepted when you die.

They don't see that some extremists use Islam as a means to their own ends, creating a negative image of the religion for people such as myself.

In their make believe world everything they and other Muslim's say and do is right, regardless of what nonsense it is. Anyone questioning any part of this, whether their authority, the religion or way of life is ostracised or needs to change the way they think.