Honor Aside

Chapter 1

Before we left for Pakistan, I had tried to find out the address of the Canadian embassy in Pakistan should I somehow also need to escape a forced-marriage situation. It was overwhelming trying to plan out how I might flee that situation. I would stick out as an outsider and present a target to thieves, human traffickers, and religious types. Regardless, I had my passport and papers kept separately. A few times, I hinted to my sister about possibly escaping. She was trying to be resigned to her fate, so I did not explicitly ask her if she wanted to run. I had to protect myself too, because she would likely have joked about such an offer to our mom, and then I'd have more derision aimed at me.

The only concession our dad made was that my sister could meet the guy before they were officially married. Three days before the first day of the two-day wedding, our extended family gathered in my paternal uncle's home for the ceremony. We met the groom and his family for the first time. It felt surreal to see him in the flesh, the subject of endless discussion. Our entire family is stubbornly "traditional," which is an interesting way to say that they don't respect when people, mostly women, say no. They pride themselves on it. As a woman in that family, you earn your clout by having someone or multiple persons mistreat you for years, severely restrict your autonomy, having sex with someone you don't care for who is likely also your abuser, and having multiple children. After 20 or so years, you look pious to others because your daughters have been forced to marry and they have never dared to date.

My sister had never spoken with the groom, not even over the phone, because our dad said it was unrespectable. The new generation had very little advantages over the previous one. My sister sat in our uncle's house with our mom and aunt, trying to talk to the guy. She couldn't ask questions, but she could reply to his whenever our mom stopped nervously rambling for a moment. Our mom was, as ever, concerned with saving face while harbouring a deep-seated conviction that she and her children could never measure up. Our dad wanted to save face and harboured a deep-seated conviction that he should be firmly in control so that we wouldn't bring shame upon our very, very, believe me, very respectable family.

We were so respectable that my sister was herded into a room after the farce of a dialogue our parents set up. I don't know exactly what was said, but she, our parents, and our uncle were there. The uncle kept repeating to our dad to just get it over with and to marry her off. He never once looked her in the eyes. He only repeated that it was a great match and my sister wouldn't get anything better. The oppressive males tend to force their daughters to marry other "traditional" males from within that family. I can imagine our dad listing off the reasons why my sister should just say yes. "He's smart, good-looking, his height is good, he's educated and he's a doctor - what more do you want? You'll never get anything better. Stop using the fact that he is from the family as an excuse. Get past it, okay," he'd declare. He would shake his head a little and narrow his eyes just enough to convey his belief that the other person was a disgraceful idiot. Just say yes - the game is rigged, but they have to hear that word so they can remind you later, if you complain, that you said yes. He would stare at you with his serpent-green eyes and his jaw set until you gave in. If you didn't, he would start the process of tearing you down all over again. Discussions with him are circular. He circles back to the same topic, the same reasons, over and over again until you agree. It took me about 24 years to understand his tricks. Fucking asshole took everything from me.

For months leading up to the wedding, I had asked my sister if she was okay. On that day, I had nothing comforting to say. I think I only commiserated with her about not having a fair shot at talking to the groom. My sister came out of that room and the ceremony proceeded. She sat with us women while our dad, in a room with the men, agreed to the marriage when asked by the imam. Fucking asshole agreed and I swallowed sweet things to soothe myself in my oldest way. The first day of the wedding was fucked. We picked up my sister from the beauty parlour on our way to the venue. A fat old ex-military guard carrying a rifle held open the glass door as she walked out, resplendent in her peachy-pink dress. She hadn't chosen the dress or the colour. I couldn't recognize her because of the heavy makeup. She was unusually quiet as we traveled. At the venue, our brother and I waited with her in a side room. I asked her how she felt. "Fine," she replied, her glassy eyes giving away nothing and everything. My heart sank. "Fine," as if she was stubbornly saying she wouldn't complain anymore because it was no use. You try seeing your childhood companion, your oldest friend, suppress themselves until you don't recognize them and see if it doesn't haunt you forever and ever and ever. FUCK.

However, no one held a gun to her head, so she couldn't have been forced, right? I've dealt with that argument many times, because life is apparently complicated until you get to the really big things, and then your choices become binary: either you do the big thing and knowingly accept the results, or you don't and deal with the converse consequences. It's not as if she was the eldest child from an unhappy family founded upon a miserable excuse of a marriage (marriage is between two entities, and our dad consumed everything around him so it doesn't count). It's not as if she was abused, made to feel like the least favourite child by our mother, and by our dad like she had been made in his image. She was emotionally manipulated and coerced, told to pray her unease away until she couldn't see a life for herself outside of what our parents said was The Only Acceptable Way (also known as The Only Way). Imagine being born into this - it devastates you. People on the outside might say that you've clearly made choices, so you need to own up to them. And now you have another thing to hate about yourself, because you are clearly so weak and easily swayed.