"I can heartily and sincerely say that I truly love Islam, the beautiful faith that I was born into, but the behavior of my fellow Muslims completely disgusts me sometimes," I said to my reflection as I got ready for my midweek date with my fiancΓ© Bruno "Ismail" Ishmael Dorvil, the young Haitian Muslim gentleman I consider to be the love of my life. I looked at myself in the mirror, and a five-foot-seven, curvaceous young woman with long black hair and dark bronze skin looked back at me with misty brown eyes.
So much has happened to me in recent times. I graduated from the University of Ottawa with a bachelor's degree in Journalism. I began a job with the Canadian Imperial Bank of Commerce as a call center operator. Oh, and I fell in love with the most wonderful man, and my family cast me out, purely out of spite over my romantic choices. As if you can help who you fall in love with...
"Hey babe, hope you're ready, I'm downstairs," read the text on my cellphone, and I smiled as my 'boo' Bruno sent me a smiley face. I replied, and then finished putting on my makeup, took a last look in the mirror, and then promptly exited our apartment. I found Bruno outside, checking his watch. That's the thing with my favorite Caribbean stud, he's got many fine qualities but patience definitely isn't one of them.
"Well, would you look at our leading lady," Bruno said by way of greeting as he gave me a quick peck on the lips, then took a step back and looked me up and down. A wicked smile spread across Bruno's handsome face, and he licked his lips appreciatively. That's the Bruno I know and love, ladies and gentlemen. Always checking me out, even though we've been together for a while...
"That's right, I'm fine, and don't you dare forget it," I said, and Bruno pulled me close, and embraced me passionately. It felt nice, to stand there in my building parking lot, hugging my man. Six feet two inches and two hundred and twenty pounds of Caribbean masculinity hugged me tight. After all that we've been through, it's almost a miracle that we're still together. Lesser people would have been broken by the hell we were forced to endure.
"Aneesa, let's go," Bruno said, and I nodded, and then got in the car. We drove away from our apartment in the neighborhood of Gloucester, and headed to the Silver City movie theater. They're showing the epic movie Batman V. Superman on just about every screen, but I've seen it twice, once by myself and the other time with Bruno. The movie was alright, though I found Ben Affleck's interpretation of the vigilante Batman a bit too scary. Bruno is super nerdy and drags me to all of the superhero flicks. The only one I liked was Deadpool. Tonight, I was in the mood for something lighter.
"Let's check out My Big Fat Greek Wedding 2," I said, and made a pouty face when Bruno hesitated and stroked his bearded chin. Bruno sighed, and then nodded, and I smiled victoriously. With this dude I always get my way, I swear. Hand in hand, Bruno and I lined up at the box office, and as we made our way there, quite a few people stared at us.
Once, those stares would have bothered me. Not anymore. In the eyes of the mundane world, I, Aneesa Basharat, am just another pretty young Pakistani woman living in the Capital of Canada. I'm proud of the Pakistani-Canadian community in which I was born, but I refuse to let the boundaries of culture and tradition stop me from living my life my way.
I was born in the City of Sargodha, Pakistan, on October 30, 1992. My parents, Bashir and Naima Basharat moved from Pakistan to the City of Ottawa, Ontario, in 1996. I honestly haven't left Canada since. I've been here practically my whole life and speak English and French fluently, with no discernible accents. I am proudly Canadian, which doesn't mean that I've overlooked my Islamic faith or Pakistani heritage. Far from it. Indeed, I walk a fine line, ladies and gentlemen.
I led a fairly sheltered life, thanks to my overprotective parents. My Baba ( father ) is an engineer who works for Hydro Ottawa, and my mother is a computer systems engineer working for the Avaya Corporation. My older brother Faisal is studying law at the University of Toronto. We led comfortable lives in the Ottawa suburb of Barrhaven, my family and I, until I fell in love with someone from a very different background, and got one hell of a reality check.
"You get the tickets, babe, I got the grub," I said to Bruno, who smiled and nodded. A little over a year ago, Bruno and I met at an Islamic Society of South Ottawa meeting. Bruno was a recent graduate of the civil engineering programme at Carleton University and a newcomer to Islam. This brave young man took the podium and shared the tale of how his Haitian immigrant family, proud Catholics one and all, rejected him after he embraced Islam.
I wasn't the only one in the audience, made up of reverts as well as born Muslims, who felt moved by the tall, handsome and well-dressed young Haitian's powerful testimony. I didn't even know Bruno yet, but I felt that he was an exceptional young man. How many people would have the courage to stick with their faith if their mother, father and sister basically disowned them for it? Not many, that's for damn sure.
"You got this," Bruno said, and I flashed him my naughtiest grin, and then playfully slapped him on the ass. A few seconds later, I ducked away under the cord barring the box office lineup from the movie theater's busy main hall. I went over to the food counter and got two slices of pizza and bottled juices, and frowned as the cashier, a pimply and chubby white chick, rang the order.
"I'll pay with my MBNA Mastercard," I said with a bit of a grimace, and Pimple Gal looked me up and down, and placed the pizzas and drinks on the counter in front of me. The total came out to twelve dollars. Sheesh. I frigging hate movie theaters and how they overcharge for food and drinks. I live within walking distance of a restaurant called One for One Pizza, and let me tell you, at that place you can get a full meal for what these movie theater bozos charge for a couple of slices.
"Got the tickets, babe, here's yours," Bruno said to me, and he handed me my ticket. We walked down a long and rather poorly lit hallway, and gave the tickets to the tall, bored-looking young black dude standing at the podium. Dude sliced our tickets in half and gave us the stubs, then gestured to theater room number seven. Bruno and I went in, and lucky for us, they were still showing the previews.
"Let's go sit upfront," I said, gesturing toward the four sets of seats closest to the theater screen. People, I wear contacts for a reason and without them, I can't see shit, excuse my Pakistani. Bruno grumbled something and I smiled and linked my free arm with his. We sat on the very last row, straight in the middle, and at last, I allowed myself to relax. Alright, so I'm a bit of a control freak and like to fuss over the details. Don't like it? Sue me.
As the previews ended and some annoying voice reminded us to turn off our cell phones, I leaned my head against Bruno's shoulder. My man put his arm around me and I sighed happily, inhaling the sharp scent of his too-strong cologne, which I bought him. I closed my eyes for a moment, and willed myself not to think about recent events which pain me, such as my disowning by my parents.
"You're no daughter of mine, if you would choose to share your life with one of these damn African buffoons," those words came from my mother, Naima Basharat, the woman who bore me. Those were the last words that we exchanged, Mother and I. You see, in Muslim communities, there is a strong prejudice against people of African descent. That's just the way it is. By defying my parents, I was breaking a great social taboo, and marking myself as an outcast.
Peoples from the South Asian communities will call me a liar, but one of the reasons why the British were able to conquer us is because of our self-hatred and our fondness for division rather than unity. The darker-skinned peoples of South Asia are hated and seen as low-class by various others, and even though the days of colonialism are over and the vast South Asian nations of India, Pakistan and Bangladesh are independent, hatred based on skin color, religion and sectarianism are all too evident in our societies.