I remember sitting on the bed, watching my mother break down. She never cried, even when my father and she fought. She made herself tough through anything, like a tiger. She was my bold and beautiful heroine, so seeing her cry made me feel overwhelmed with helplessness. I was confused. She wanted this, so why was she so upset?  I didn’t dare to ask for fear of the unknown. I was scared of the unknown. The lump in my throat blocked my voice, and so I cried because she cried. I sat and cried with her. We held each other for what seemed like hours. 

I wanted to ask her, why was she ok with sending me away to another land? Why was she ok with marrying me off this young, and why was she ok with giving me away to a stranger and his family? Her sobbing told me she wasn’t entirely satisfied with her decision. Then why was she releasing me into the wild when all my life she sheltered and protected me like a tiger protects her cub? Except I didn’t grow up to be a tiger, I was nothing like her. I was a young, naive, vulnerable, innocent teen. 

I was being ushered out of the nucleus to start a life with someone I barely knew. I would leave the two people who lovingly brought me into this world. My role as a daughter, sister, niece, cousin, and friend would somewhat cease. I was given a new part in another play without a script. I had a performance but no training, no practice, no guarantee, no rights even and there was no return. 

I wanted to gather every tear that fell from her tender face and give them back to her. It was too late now, the decision was made, and she was now carelessly regretting her steps of that very decision she supported. She was going to feel the absence of her firstborn because that absence would leave a void only a mother can feel. It happened to her, and so it would happen to me. I don’t blame my parents; they didn’t know better, they were doing justice by their culture and tradition. My parents knew very well, I’d be the gold that brought wealth to the family that was waiting. They knew without the slightest hesitation that I’d do as I was told. I always made my parents proud because I did as I was told. But they overlooked the part where my absence would haunt them. It would tear them apart when they would give their little girl away to a stranger.

My feelings didn’t seem to matter much; it was in my best interest and in the best interest of the families involved. My emotions were set aside like the suitcase that lay neatly packed for my departure. My new life will bring me happiness, and I can do whatever I want after I get married, they told me. How could they be so certain? How can one human not only decide but also predict another human’s fate? 

I didn’t understand the complexity of it all, the arranged marriage. I was told, ultimately it was my choice, but is it a choice when you know that if you don’t abide, you would become a reject. If I had said no, I would have been hurled back to the drawing board once again because I was born a girl. I came with an expiration date. It’s that submissiveness that girls of my generation and culture can relate to.  In the end, it is your choice, they told me. But then why did it feel like a demand that didn’t permit a refusal? Declining the offer would make me feel like I insulted their integrity. I trusted them with my life. So I decided for everyone involved except me. I made a sacrifice, one of many I made on this journey I was about to embark on.

It is an arranged marriage that predicts the fate of a girl. It’s an arrangement between two families that think they know what’s best for a young child. It’s the parents who decide for her, right from wrong. It’s a society, culture, religion, even, that dictates an alignment of values for an innocent being. None of these people will walk in my shoes. None of them will compromise, live, or suffer with me. 

My wedding was a small affair in a foreign land where I knew no one.  I had no say in anything. I was dressed to play a role. I sat silently and did what I was told. I barely knew my future husband for barely a few months; he seemed nice, but my shy, introverted, innocent self had no experience in courting. They would expect me to morph from a girl to a woman overnight, from a teen to a wife. They expected me to be content with my new life as they handed me over to someone they themselves didn’t know.

Now and again, my eyes would search through the many strangers that stood amongst me for that one familiar face.  On my wedding day, I constantly searched for the face that I would no longer see every day. Who would I turn to in my time of need? Who would I trust?  My mother would glance back. Her glistening eyes and the fake smile would turn away instantly because only we knew that the next tear that would fall would be the one that reminded her that she chose to give me away.

I won’t lie, there was some excitement in starting over in a different country, but it left a distaste, feelings similar to those of an abandoned cub. I would carve my future, but at the cost of another authority controlling it. I would discover the secrets of a predetermined union and unravel the myths of a so-called happily arranged marriage. The price I paid for that moment’s decision was dear to say the least. It was a gamble of sorts, but when reality began to sink in, it became a rollercoaster of saga, misbeliefs, and at times punishment. 

It took me years to come to terms with destiny. You try your hardest to live blissfully. We all become comfortable in our lives, some of us have no idea in which direction we’re headed, because someone decided to write out our fate for us. We gladly accepted the challenge because fighting it would mean we would be chastised for committing a crime.