I stayed at my friend Neelam's last night. I was comfortable and felt safe. Her house is like a Pakistani circus. There's always yelling in Erdu, and although I know that it isn't yelling in a negative way, it makes me cringe because any yelling takes me back to an abusive childhood. The house has huge vaulted ceilings and Neelam has a booming voice that echoes when she talks, so the amplification is doubled.
Neelam has three daughters and one son. The children are all amazing, but struggle through the cultural issues of being caught between our wasteland of a melting pot and their own Muslim heritage. I respect her husband's drive to keep their daughters' attire modest and faithful to the religion. I try to keep my daughter free from the nastiness that surrounds her everyday... It's tough in our country, but we have to make a concerted effort together.
I have known Neelam and her family for about 6 years and she has seen me through many tough and good times. When I was diagnosed with Celiac's, Neelam cooked chicken and rice for me so that I wouldn't starve. It was the first "real" food that I had eaten in a week. Sometimes, I think that she feels sorry for me because I am this skinny, too-big boobed, American girl with an abusive husband that doesn't love me. Or maybe that's just me feeling that way.
This is probably the worst that she's seen me. I have cried on her shoulder, but haven't ever had to live with her.
She and her husband say that I do do much for them, but they have done so much more for my daughter and I than I could ever repay. Just the fact that I have a friend is worth the world to me.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment