written 12/15 on several unfortunate to-do list pages
Word Count: 1514

I never considered getting married. I had too much else to do; I had aspirations for a career. I had a future to plan, parents to take care of, and goals to meet that properly utilized my talents. I had a structure in place that relied solely on my capacity to meet milestones. And ever since I graduated high school, I've never once needed outside assistance for reaching those milestones. I made it through my bachelor's and master's degrees.

I remember attending an obligatory counseling session at the end of my undergrad's senior year. They were checking to see if students felt adequately prepped for the world outside of their academic spheres, where they would be asked to enter the workforce. Most of those questions centered on emotional preparedness, on planning for the future. Only one still come to mind anymore, the question being something like "where do you see yourself in five years?". It might've been ten. Regardless, I remember my answer clearly: I expected to be on track for a PhD in translational studies. I expected to have visited ten different countries and embarked on another language. I wanted to consult with philologists and start work on a collaborative project. I postulated about starting an online nonprofit that worked to evaluate the accuracy of translated books, texts, recordings and more. I wrote a world of possibilities.

None of them involved getting married.

Of the few times in my life where I considered it at all, I estimated any marriage would come from convenience. I had no qualms against this — marriage has been used in decades over as a political maneuver, or a means to buy better standing for a family, where love was less of a concern — but it was only a distant possibility. I liken it to briefly considering going outside in a hailstorm to check the mail. It's a thought, but never more than that. I would switch to business school before then, or pursue an undergrad degree in mathematics.

On the day I expected to be on a plane to Pakistan, I received a text to move it to another date for an urgent family matter: a matter that had my father flying in from Punjab on short notice. I expected to hear news of a death, or a newborn cousin, or a marriage, and in a sense, my expectation was correct. But I didn't imagine that I would be involved in a طولبة (tulba) so suddenly. I hadn't thought my mother's cheerful suggestion of a marriage partner was anything more than one of her passing fancies.

I agreed with the caveat that we would break part of the tradition. I wanted to know this man, not remain a stranger to him until the wedding day. He agreed, and while I had thought his mother would find this decision repugnant, she supported it -- as did the rest of our immediate families. Back then, Adel el-Kader was a name with a face. He was a nice man with an anthropology degree that would stay largely out of my way.

We've since put off the engagement (an aside: while the Egyptian khutubah and Saudi khetbah, or engagement, use different intonations, they share the same written خطوبة). We needed time to know each other. We fell into a routine with Adel calling me in the evenings, usually Wednesday nights and each weekend, where we catch up on inanity. I thought it was a waste of time at first, our lives don't change much on the day-to-day level, but I learned to get use out of it. We often discuss at length in Arabic now, and he will teach me the cultural origins to certain idioms or practices in Arab countries. He has a level of patience learned only by people with a certain level of wisdom, with which he tolerates my outbursts about my lazier students. And in return, I sometimes help him with identifying languages written on some of the new pieces that his museum inherits. At first I thought it domestic and docile. This was how people were expected to behave, how they were to interact with their significant others when love was secondary to their arrangement.

I haven't told my mother that I still don't know how to feel about this. She knows that I find Adel amicable and that we've been spending time together. I know she wants a date for the formal engagement to be declared and that Adel is waiting on me to give the final say on the matter. In fact, much of this arrangement has been deferred to me. Normally I would manage it straightforwardly — we both know we can get along without incident, and many of the customs to which his parents have grown accustomed have been altered sufficiently to modernize them — but I've had lingering doubt. Not in Adel, but perhaps about him.

I don't believe him to be a crook or a con-man. I've met a few both here in Destiny City and in other parts of the world, and he doesn't fit the type. He's been very honest about who he is and who his family is, and my father in his eternal vigilance checked out as much as he could from his station. But my concern about Adel comes from the other side of his coin. I've known him long enough to be aware that he's genuinely kind, genuinely interested in helping others, and always extending himself as far as possible for others' benefit. That is where my worry lies.

He deserves better than to die at the hands of a war that will forget him. Eager as he is to help people, I find that sentiment impractical when these services come at no benefit to himself. Since he discovered his other half, since I watched him learn of it, he's realized he has a very physical means of protecting our culture from an infringement that, in my opinion, is quite peripheral. But that infringement is mortally dangerous. He might die for the sake of someone who never knew his name, and that sacrifice could be moot a week later when that very person dies. Then the museum would lose one of its researching anthropologists, the community would lose a participatory member, and I would be widowed.

Widowed. Another possibility I hadn't considered.

Because of this, I've been realizing what we can truly offer each other. Beyond our contributions to each other's fields, in idiom origin or in language identification, we can balance each other. If Adel wants to make use of this second world and his heart tells him to help, he will need my prudence to overcome the situations that would crush him and to temper his sadness when his good intentions do not come to fruition. He may even need my attendance. And in exchange, maybe he can show me the practicality in invoking my other side. We may not need each other as most couples are wont to do, but that frees us to learn from each other out of choice instead of necessity. I think that creates a much more viable arrangement.

For as much as I can be cold, or blunt, or disinterested, I do enjoy Adel's company. I think he enjoys more than just my appearance. If he decides he wants a florid love affair full of romances and sweet whispers and sunset dinners, he has my leave to seek those needs from other women. In return, I expect he will give me the space I need when I need it. But this marriage is not just transactional.

My last concern, over these weeks, has been about him foremost. We were strangers until recently, and despite our shared secrets, much is still unknown between us. I'm concerned that I might hurt him, unknowingly, and that he'll realize this too late, or he won't recover from it, and while his well-being isn't my responsibility at this moment, it will be in the future. I will have to take responsibility for his emotional state and support him holistically — a responsibility that I don't resent — and I'm concerned that I may be worse for him in this way. Maybe this is too sentimental of me. But I worry, and I plan to address that with him. We ca make a plan of it. If we come to an impasse, we will break off the engagement. But if Adel makes an informed decision that he will accept the good and bad forthcoming with spending time in my company, then we will set a date for the engagement party.

Looking back on this entry, I realize my mind hasn't been on someone else for this long in quite some time. I take that to mean Adel is a good choice for me, and perhaps that I am a good choice for him. The only guarantee we have is that this engagement is a good choice for our families. Marriage is just a language I haven't learned yet.