Seema 1

(living in the shadows of others)

In wartime, the shortage of men compared to women is easy to explain. In peacetime, a little more difficult. After all, we start out equal at birth rates, so why? Many factors.
Consider driving, yes there are crazy women and sane men. Yet in any given year, more men will die gambling on the accelerator rather than brakes.
Or barroom stabbings.
Alcoholism, yes women are catching up, but men have a large lead.
Prison population.
Deaths in high-risk, high-wage industries.
Or social acceptance of adventure. Should a young man choose to hitchhike from Morocco to India, taking a year, smoking dope all the way, it is viewed as simply part of growing up. Not so for a woman. A certain fraction of these men will die enroute or become so enamored of the life that they simply never get around to coming back.
Gaydom - some commentators claim there are more gays than lesbians. Yet others assert numbers are about equal, but gaydom is hardwired into a man's brain, whereas lesbianism involves a number of complex issues.
I decline to further bore you with sociology. You do get the picture and that is for mainstream (ie white) people.
Should you happen to be a western Afghan raised in a traditional manner, the variables become a little more stark.
Son is off and running as he pleases, with little scrutiny and a large mathematical chance he will end up with a white girl.
Daughter is so over-protected she is viewed as more hassle than she is worth.
If you are more attractive than average, you may well defy the law of gravity.
If you're as unattractive as myself, well good luck.
Imagine a parental regime where you are only permitted out of the house after supper on weekdays when accompanying parents or going to the house of your older brother and his family. Same rules on weekends, so daytime Saturday and Sunday is your only chance to wander alone.
Oh yes, you think, she now speaks of Junior High years, of being grounded for some sin.
No, I'm a uni grad, fulltime employed, living with parents. It's routine life, not a punishment.
At first it was easy to tell myself that my job with the federal government involved a year of probation. Soon, that excuse wore thin. I started to get good feedback at work. As well, I saw considerably less energetic people routinely pass probation.
So, what is the main issue? Do I wish to rent an apartment and pick up guys? No, simply a Declaration of Independence, recognition that I really am an adult. I can and do vote, am a junior officer of the government. Surely I deserve a little more leeway.
However, I am western, view myself as an individual, the concept having been around the western world since the Renaissance. Parents view themselves as members of a clan. Scope for compromise is rather limited with views that far apart.
Any probing for more independence, gets me a deaf ear. They will not make the parental regime more user friendly. Yet at the same time, they would be hugely offended (and feel they had lost face) if I simply left and rented an apartment.
Don't count on promotion solving the problem, think five years of wait and then most likely the promotion in the same city.
Why not a lateral to another city? Easy to arrange if I pay moving costs. Too transparent, they would be just as angry. Only way they would buy that, if it involves a lateral to a function with more opportunity for development. But then, don't hold your breath, more qualified people would be getting those.
As I ponder these issues, brother raises the temperature. He's married to a white, has two children, forty pounds overweight, drinks, plays endless computer games and demands she do all the work.
Why does she put up with this? Maybe he's good in bed or maybe just the overall shortage of men.
I had been doing babysitting and for free. It comes as a rude shock when he informs me I talk "too Afghan" to the children. Henceforth, I will use only mainstream cultural references.
I tell him to stick it in his ear. Each of himself and his wife have lots higher salaries than myself. Should he wish a white babysitter, he can easily afford to hire one.
It felt nice saying that, but my world closed in further. After, only reason I went to his house was when parents went and took me.
It all hit the fan at the dinner celebrating his fifth anniversary. Parents had not really been scrutinizing him, more watching their jobs, portfolios and me. It came as a huge eye-opener to them seeing how western he was, and how little culture he was transmitting to the children.
Whether they challenged him later or not, I would not know. But now the microscope was more firmly focused upon me. I would be married, soon, to someone proper and I would not be like him.
Yet seeing him, would I wish to marry such? No.
The workplace lunchroom has several six foot high dividers, separating the easy chair area from the tables and chairs. I settle in with a copy of Chatelaine from the reading rack.
On the other side, two young men arrive, one Afghan, one East Indian. I don't see them, but recognize their distinctive voices. Both are part of the swinging gay bathhouse set.
Afghan asks, "so how'd the big showdown go with the parents?"
East Indian laughs, "they haven't a clue where all my time goes, think I'm out howling with women."
Both laugh wickedly.
East Indian continues, "you've met that silly Lata the parents are pushing?"
"Yeah."
"It is time, I must must must get married. And they're pushing her."
Afghan replies, "hold out for someone better looking."
"I'm actually thinking of marrying her."
Afghan gives a loud gasp.
"See anyone that ugly has no rights. No ability to leave, find another. **** her once in a while so she doesn't go totally berserk, but never when she would get pregnant. Resta the time, we-ell ..."
Both laugh wickedly.
East Indian continues, "if it works, I'll tell you how it's done. You get that silly Seema, she's up for grabs."
Afghan groans loudly, "the cure is worse than the disease, rather just have parental pressure. That thing is so ugly, I'd rather **** a camel."
Cheekily, "male or female?"
"Either, both, whatever it takes. But not something that ugly."
My coffee break over, I exit through the far door, so they can't see me.
I realize self-esteem is view of oneself. Good self-esteem can still be had even when the world says otherwise. But it is harder, lots harder and usually the world has been less rude than that.