Dragged without my consent, I was pushed all the way to a wedding. Went in, greeted everyone I knew and dragged myself to a table all the way at the end of the hall. Sitting there on my phone waiting for 11 o‘clock to come so that I can leave, the bride and groom come walking in. With grins stretched on their faces and the horrible music playing as loud as possible, I slouch down as to not be noticed by the cameramen.
The bride dressed in white because supposedly it’s the happiest day of her life. But then why is the groom dressed in black? Their family dancing happily around them, their parents approaching them with tears in their eyes and kisses awaiting their cheeks. The music slowly changing to a slower passed beat. Here we go again. Here they go again.
As they swing to their chosen song, all I could think was “Why do we have to watch this?”. Why do they always have to dance together on their wedding day, what exactly does it show? People staring in awe. Others cooing at the so called heart filled moment. He says something to her and she giggles in the most extravagant way. And subconsciously, my eyes take their 180° leap and return to their central position. Two more hours to go.
The song ends with its last piano note and people start to rumble. Everyone returns to their original position and the music shifts to a more upbeat song. I could feel my abdomen shake as the music started to run up the stairs. The groom went all out with his friends; dancing like his life depended on it and his wife-to-be swinging shyly from side to side. Everyone with smiles spreading across their faces and me just sitting there dreading what I know will happen next.
“Inti bit *insert mothers name*?!?!” (Are you *insert mothers name*’s daughter?!?). “Bitashbaheeha shabah 5oraaaffeee” (You look soo much like her). “Bita3rafy titkalamy 3araby?” ( Do you know how to speak Arabic?). They had approached me dragging their thoughts behind them. Dragging all the questions they had prepared to torture me with. Their eyebrows knitting into a million knots as they use their so called brains to dig up more pathetic questions. They speak all their letters soo painfully clearly and all their words soo extremly loud. Question after question and I answer with all the Arabic I can summon from the depths of my heart. I do know Arabic and just because I wasn’t brought up here doesn’t make me an idiot.
I press the home button on my phone looking for a saviour, only 30 more minutes to go. I look up and see my grandma conversing with some old woman as she gestures with too much enthusiasm for me to come closer. I force myself up and start my journey to yet another interrogation. “7alatik ya bit *insert mother’s name*” (Oh how cute you are *insert mother’s name*’s daughter). I force a smile upon my face, and stare right at my grandma. You might think it was telepathy but really it was just the bags under my eyes that explained it all.
Yet another wedding survived, I wonder how many to go.