textdating while muslim

now that i have a full head of hair again, my oldest is in college and my youngest can be home without a babysitter, i find my body longing for another person's touch. i miss the building anticipation of a date, the pleasure of the banter.

then i started reading bits of love, inshallah, an anthology about muslim women and love.

i'd been hesitant because i know how harshly we judge each other, how deep the scars from our childhood warnings, but i decided to be more open and date another muslim.

my last love story with a muslim man ended with me weeping into my goggles as i swam laps. he dumped me just as i was falling head over heels. and even before he dumped me, he was going on "arranged" dates with more suitable women. an ivy-educated young lawyer in his early thirties, he was arrogant and well-spoken and considered himself something of a catch. i was a fallen twice-married divorcee with three very young children. i had just separated, still raw and unsure of my prospects. i was convinced we would marry. he thought i was an easy fling.

it was over in a few months, but i fell hard off that bicycle. my heart and knees were still smarting from where they'd had all the skin scraped off. for years, i was terrified to try a second round.

but here it is, more than a decade later, and i meet a man who is a muslim "revert" as they are called. though his father was egyptian, he died when my man was just a boy. so he was brought up a christian somewhere in maryland and came to islam later in life.

my first bit of nervousness came from his online profile. he described his relationship with islam as "serious about it" and explained that he was going to stay "celibate until [he was] married." as much as i respected his decision and his wish to make it clear, i wondered if these were just the edge of the iceberg. i also wondered what he'd make of me and my muslimness.

we exchanged a few emails on the site and then he disappeared, his profile removed. a day later, he sent me an email from another profile. he told me he had to delete the last one because of "a stalker."

i've had my share of stalkers online so i didn't really think anything of it. in a strange series of coincidences, it turned out i was picking up a pair of glasses right across the street from his apartment. we met in the east village in a coffee shop i hadn't been to since 1987, when i used to stumble in to meet my best friend for a cappuccino after being out in clubs all night.

we had a pleasant conversation, not a crazy connection, but not a flat-out no way, either. he was bright and interesting and, like me, had lived multiple lives. he was a grown-up, polite, solvent, attractive, and liked dogs. i didn't want to leap across the table and jump him, but then he was waiting til he was married anyway.

what followed were a series of interesting conversations, a movie, dinner in a noisy restaurant, watching a basketball game. he seemed to be becoming increasingly interested in me. he was making future plans. i was being vague. he friended me on facebook and commented on my posts. sadly, my heart didn't skip a beat for him.

on valentine's day, i was thrilled to get texts and cards from several exes and flowers from my brother. i thought it would be polite to send him a text as well, so i sent, "happy valentine's day!"

he responded, "same to you... LOL"

the next day, i tried to work up my interest in him. he seemed like a good prospect, at least on paper, and i am making an effort not to be too hasty or critical. i sent him a text, "how was your day?"

he answered something vague, "time flies when you're having fun..."

i said, "what do you do all day?"

he answered, "whatever i want, that's the beauty of having my own business!"

me: "i'm self-employed, too. but i seem to spend all my time working. or stressing about money if i'm not working." i asked what he was really doing, not to be aggressive or provocative, but just because i was curious.

him: "curiosity killed the cat!"

then, since i was sitting around thinking about what i do all day, i sent a long text about going to the beach and swimming in the sunshine. i started thinking about what i would do if it was my last day on earth and i wrote that, too. it was still about going to the beach, but this time with my kids.

long, dreamy texts that wandered in and out of stories.

he didn't respond.

i didn't notice.

until this afternoon.

i sent him a text saying, "i'm sorry. i didn't mean to be adversarial. i'm just a writer. i like stories and i like to write them."

his text, "there is something wrong with you... i'm not a psychologist, i can't help you."

baffling.

just out of curiosity, i went on the dating site and discovered that he had taken down his profile. he had also unfriended me on facebook. god knows when since i don't check those things that often. maybe he had cut me off long before valentine's day?

one of my exes advised me i should always call, not text. there's too much room for misunderstanding. i know, i know.

my brother told me i wasn't respecting the guy's boundaries. maybe he was seeing other people and didn't want to lie - though he had told me he met women rarely because he spoke to so many "psychos." he told me he had a great sense of it and could cut them off the minute they started to go crazy on him.

phew. like me, i guess.

i'm a psycho. who knew?

my obsession

in december 1992, i was seven months' pregnant and obsessed with a man - the one i believed was the father of my child. he, in his own way, was teaching me a lesson about attachment to other human beings. in other words, he was interested in absolutely everything (and everyone) else but me.

since i was obsessed, i spent all my time thinking of ways to get him to realize that we were meant to be together. we were living in london, a wide, spread-out city, where one's friends are farflung. trains take ages to arrive and it's difficult to do anything on the spur of the moment. it's very easy to feel isolated. add to that that it really wasn't my turf. i was most at home on the grafitti-ed pavements of lower east side and tribeca in new york city. london was a dark, dreary place in winter.

so i wandered those long, winding underground tunnels, in a raggedy old barbour riding jacket and took myself and the baby sasha inside to shrinks, tarot card readers, psychics. i was addicted to astrology pages. i used to stop in the corner shop every time a new issue of patrick walker's columns came out. i even called one of those 5-pounds-a-minute hotlines. what should have made me laugh was that every single one of those people told me i needed to get my life together and move on. but i kept searching for the one who would tell me what i wanted to hear.

on a trip home, i went to the witches' market in mexico city and bought a magic spell, a talisman, that i had to bury in the back garden along with some silly things, to win the man over.

i'd never been so taken by anyone before. i shopped and cooked dinner for him every night, did his laundry, packed and unpacked his suitcases, cleaned his house and single-handedly moved his entire apartment into a new one. without movers. i went alone to my prenatal classes and to buy what little baby gear i could afford. i read a story once in which an accomplished woman said she was so in love with a man that if he'd asked her to lie down and be a doormat, she would have done so.

i was like that.

i liked to believe that he was in love with me as well, just not able to deal with his feelings. now, looking back at his actions over the years, maybe i was right, his obsession just simmered longer and more angrily. i wasn't angry, just broken. i somehow believed that my life hinged on his. that everything would be perfect if we could just fix that parallex error - his mistaken perception.

since he didn't care what i did at christmas, i found myself wandering around new york city with an exboyfriend who had become a close friend. we spent our time eating all the stuff i missed in london. fresh green arugula, rich olive oil, sun dried tomatoes; just-baked bagels and smoked fish, pizza with the mozzarella still bubbling from the oven. in those days, london was not about food or sensuality and my friend, who was half-jewish and half-italian, was ALL about it. i am still grateful to him. i think his girlfriend at the time couldn't figure out what i was doing.

one afternoon, visiting our old haunts, we walked down prince street and ran into a man on the sidewalk. peter introduced him, he was the brother of a common friend. he took one look at me and said, "why aren't you writing?"

i was shocked. i said, "sorry?"

he said, "you're a writer, aren't you?"

i said, "i guess..."

he said, "i look at you and i see books and books full of empty pages. you NEED to write. you've always needed to write."

of course, since my priority was the man, the most useful information i gleaned from this was that he was a psychic and i promptly made an appointment for a session that i couldn't possibly afford.

not surprisingly, he told me the same thing the others had - though rather more roughly as was his style. "you need to get away from him. he's just using you for what he needs and he doesn't care about you."

however, i was still pregnant. i had to go through a few more months of feeling like i was eating broken glass before i emerged, along with a thin pale baby girl, stronger and ready for a new start.

oh and i started writing again.

i was reading my horoscope yesterday, it comes out monthly and it was the first of the month. since i find myself again in an unstable situation, i rushed to read it.

the woman said, "think back to where you were in december 1992, as you are likely to be living though some of that eclipse again."

and all of a sudden, everything made sense.

while i've been obsessed with another man - though not him, actually, the person i imagined he was, maybe the person he once was - he's been obsessed with himself, taking brief breaks to cannabalize and torture me. it's surprising how, when a person who's felt weak comes into a position of power, he takes such pleasure in trying to squelch others.

what's even funnier, he believes he's a writer now. he talks about how "great it is to be in the zone." and how he's writing "without a pen."

i guess it should make me laugh.

yet again, i need to stop obsessing about a person who really doesn't care about me and listen to the psychics and all the messages of the universe. i need to go back to what i've known since i was seven.

my love affair with words and their magic. that's satisfaction of telling rich, sensual stories.

no more empty pages.

keeping the blade sheathed

love, lust and sexuality are so unclear for muslim women.

in our best portrayal, we are serenely beautiful and sexless as a vase. we are unconditionally loving as a madonna. a muslim woman is most honorably portrayed as a mother. echoes of catholicism…

i've always wondered why it seems like we hobble our women.

my disclaimer - of course, there are exceptions and i am one. in my mind, so many things are cultural, not a fault of the faith but of the humans who practice it.

we keep our women uneducated. we marry them off young, cover their faces so they can barely see on the street. we teach them that their job is to support a man, not support themselves. we don't equip them for speed and strength. we limit their sensual world, we keep them confined to the home or behind curtains, we cut off their clitorises and cover their hair.

i once stood up and marched my daughters out of an eid khutbah (sermon) because the man speaking (not an imam, thank God for small mercies) said there are more women than men in hell. women are seduced by the material world, they can't control themselves, so they lead men astray, he explained. as an example, he told us that his daughter wanted to celebrate new year’s eve – what a sacrilege!

i muttered something about his deserving to go himself to test out his theories.

but i wondered if i was missing the subtext.

more recently, as i was involved in the building of a muslim community center, i listened to a muslim woman talk about why she wanted a physical wall built between the parallel men's and women's sections of the prayerspace.

she didn't like sitting so close to a man. she said could feel the heat of his presence, the scent of his clothes, his breath if he sat beside her. it was distracting.

perhaps, muslim women are more finely-tuned. perhaps our sensuality is so knife-blade sharp and sensitive, that even beneath our layers of fabric and behind our walls, we tremble with sensation. perhaps, unlike an ordinary person, the simplest physical interaction - the brush of shoulders or breath on our ears - is enough to shoot sparks through our spines.

there was a "modern love" essay in the nytimes in 2007 called “close enough to touch was too far apart.”
a young muslim woman went on a date with a young muslim man. as they sat in the cinema together, his hand creeped towards hers, and they, for a brief second, held hands.

we all know that morning after feeling. when one regrets the breach of one's honor or dignity with a slight nausea and a hollow in the stomach. feeling thus, she broke off with the young man.

in thinking back, i wonder if we muslim women aren't so perceptive that the warmth of the hand, the heat of the blood surging through its veins, the heightened sensitivity of the fingertips was too breathtakingly intimate in itself. it's too easy to dismiss her as prissy and over cautious. perhaps instead of being oversensitive, she was hypersensitive. her ordinary reaction was an overreaction.

i think of lush novels like “the almond” by nedjma. or my sheltered pakistani cousins who were addicted to jacqueline susann and v.c. andrews, books with torrid shiny covers.

even as a small child, i was frustratingly sensual. on a spring day, i liked to lie face down on the lawn and inhale the scent of the damp earth, occasionally chewing stems of grass. i loved the heat and the slight salt of sweat on the edge of my lips. i liked my body and the sensation of my skin. i can't imagine keeping my hair covered because i love the feel of sun in it, its softness and lushness. shiny bald during chemo, i loved running my fingers across my scalp. i loved the feeling of water pouring down on it.

i was fascinated by watching my body transform as I swelled rosy with pregnancy and equally fascinated watching the flesh fall away when I had cancer. i marveled at my strange sexless shape, pale blue like a francis bacon painting. preadolescent, my cousins and i sneaked into my uncles’ stash of playboy magazines and even then, i was enthralled by the shapeshifting beauty of the human form.

my poor mother tried constantly to keep a check on my intoxication with sensual pleasure. she found me in the backseat of the volkswagen enjoying the feel of the warm plastic against my skin. she warned me that touching the wrong parts of my body could make me very sick. that desire could be so overwhelming that if i didn’t learn to keep myself under control, i would come to a sad end. and i would most certainly go to hell. today, when i lie down on the pilates equipment that uses that old black volkswagen upholstery as a cover, i am still transported to a sense of contradiction. isn’t the body sacred too? i learned to respect its temple as i recovered from meningitis, liver disease and then cancer.

years ago, i went on a date, i think it was my second or third so we were not yet close enough to touch. we walked through central park and briefly sat on a bench. a ladybug landed perfectly on my friend’s hand. I laughed and he put his hand near mine, so the bug could dance from his fingertips to mine. as we touched, ever so gingerly, it felt like electricity bolted through my entire body. I lost my voice. my mouth went dry.

i sometimes wonder if my fellow muslimahs are as receptive. if the reason for the harsh seclusion is that we pulse with sensorial awareness. in the same way that native americans have a low tolerance for alcohol, we are innate hedonists.

are the limitations on us a way to guard the strength of our sensitivity? is the edge kept razor sharp and ready by staying sheathed?

is it that, if unleashed and acknowledged, our desire would rock the world?

wouldn't letting us loose would be better? releasing us to own our experience, to meld the material with the spiritual. would't the blade be of more value in use? as women, we are the closest to the divine in bringing forth life as well as living.

in my mind, our ability to fully live the body is what can take us to the soul.

i'm in love again

though as usual, i seem to do it the hard way.

my mother likes to repeat this saying that she attributes to my brother, "if there's a road straight through, ameena likes to walk off into the brush. she will always take the most difficult route."

i find myself sliding into the curve of his back, wrapping my arm around his waist and somehow fitting perfectly as if there aren't almost twenty years between us. or looking into his brown eyes, as margaret atwood writes, "intricate and easily bruised," and feeling like i can sink right in. immerse myself as if in a lake at the end of the summer.

his kisses and teasing remind me that i exist in a body, still woman, still hungry for a touch, an embrace. his passion ignites mine.

then we have conversations and i feel the vast divide between us splitting open still wider. the differences of age, economic backgrounds, social positions, opportunities. his quick mind, his spongey, evolving spirit let him make herculean leaps. i am sometimes knocked breathless by the romantic lyricism of his emails and text messages. he is an unconscious writer, social commentator and photographer. he can be frighteningly astute and genuinely caring about others.

but he is also young - with the hard-edged black-and-white idealism of his age, as broke as i am, still searching for his career path and beset with health issues. he's not in a position to offer much help sorting through my drama. our connection is as volatile and unpredictable as the circumstances of our lives.

at the same time, the amazons (the three teenaged daughters i live with) are melting down, paying work isn't coming in fast enough, my exhusbands offer intermittant help - when they are not an active hindrance.

i am not capable of juggling people and emergencies at my previous speed. in fact, when i feel even slightly anxious, i can't comprehend the words around me - spoken or written.

and it is an enormous effort to look after anyone. even the simplest task feels daunting to me.

as i said last week. let's see what happens next.

i only want what i can't have

i've seen it in myself.

the pain of those ego-based break-ups.

gradually allowing myself to fall in love with someone who initially i wouldn't have taken seriously. maybe someone who i would have walked away from immediately, someone whose dreams and aspirations seemed laughable to me, but circumstances, and possibly lust, dragged it out.

feeling like i was on safe, but much higher ground - he would never walk away from ME - i let myself sink into a relationship.

perhaps the lesson was in having a relationship and learning to appreciate someone unlikely, someone i might have just passed over if i hadn't been in a low moment. learning about a whole new perspective.

then comes the incredible painful shock. he drops ME. after all the sacrifices i made for him. all the humoring and patronizing and babying. i pretended to take all his stupid ideas seriously. i complimented his bad writing or out-of-shape body. i run it over and over in my head. i flail and grasp at straws. i try desperately to do everything to fix it. i'm sinking fast.

why do those rejections that hurt your ego hurt so much more?

i've been watching a friend go through the pain and contortions of being dumped by a girlfriend.

she was someone he'd had always been dismissive of. he'd entered into the relationship as if he was the "settler" and she was the "reacher." (as defined in "how i met your mother.")

when she dumped him, the tables turned.

suddenly, the power play that underlies most relationships as they ease out of the initial glow and into the day-to-day balance shifts drastically.

as a lawyer friend of mine says, the girlfriend's holding all the cards. he is just going to take whatever she offers. if she offers anything. and even if she doesn't, my friend is going to run around after her like an abused child. and then she will dump him again. because now she knows she can.

i know, i've done it before. sent my paramour emails and presents and flowers. showed up with chicken soup and tea when he was sick. bought him rich, chocolate-colored italian cashmere sweaters. interestingly, he returned everything i gave him when we split up. he left it (in one of the shopping bags i brought over) downstairs with the doorman.

it's like all the weight in the boat sliding to one side. the side you're on is filling up with water and you're bailing it out as fast as you can. there's a part of you that knows it was inevitable and a part of you who's sold yourself the dream.

at the moment, i am so glad it's my friend going through it and not me. not sure i am evolved enough to feel like i'm drowning and know i'm not.

when the storm is finally over, it all calms and you're stable again.

that's when the question should arise, am i capable of being with someone who's floating right alongside me?

bad date post-chemo

ok, i am really not ready for public consumption yet.

i got out of bed and reluctantly met a guy for a cup of tea this afternoon. someone i'd "met" on a social networking site.

back when i was pretty and actually resembled like the picture posted there.

ostensibly, it was a conversation about a project he was working on.

he looked totally taken aback when i arrived even though i was wearing a dress and had applied some kajal on my red-rimmed eyes and matching (but totally inappropriate for a saturday afternoon) bright red lipstick (on my lips).

our conversation therefore was all about me and my stupid health labyrinth rather than anything interesting to a normal, unrelated person.

tragically, i am still obsessed with the fact that i look like a 100 year-old turtle and my memory/brain still has huge lapses, so instead of making leaps in logic, i fall into the abyss. as he spoke, i had a chemo-induced hot flash that made my eyes and scalp burn and my face damp.

so he rushed off to meet someone he thought "sounded lovely" online and i dragged myself back home. i wasn't hurt, i wasn't feeling it either.

then i called a friend and went out to see "it's complicated" which made me laugh like crazy but felt a bit too much like my real life as a middle-aged, single mum with three teenaged kids, except of course, my exhusbands are not nearly as funny (or self-aware or articulate) as alec baldwin (the way the scriptwriter made him).

my current advice, don't suffer the dating world - or the critical gaze of a total stranger until you're really comfortable in your own skin. again. trying to give myself a break.

love and cancer, part 1

my favorite psychic asked me if i've met anyone, "you know, a man who's kind and a bit sexy?"

i started laughing and she did, too.

my answer: "i am bald, i have no eyelashes and very little eyebrows, i weigh about 104 pounds, i am perpetually nauseated and exhausted... i spend half my week in the hospital and the rest too tired to get out of bed, who do i meet apart from irish nurses brandishing chemo needles?"

i should add to that list of endearing qualities, i have 2 out-of-control teenaged daughters and a very clingy almost-11 year-old one.

my mental answer: how could anyone be interested in a repulsive and sexless bag of bones? even my ability to make intelligent conversation is hobbled by shrinking short-term memory. how could someone love me if i grossed myself out?

this particular blog is about dating across cultural and racial divides.

standing in the shower today, after the perpetual shock of seeing myself naked in the mirror, both muscles and fat reduced to stringy flesh and papery skin infused with the strange chemical fragrance of my chemo drugs, i am less a woman and more a feeble asexual alien.

race, religion and economic class are not the only insurmountable rifts that separate human beings - now that i have cancer - illness can be one of the biggest divides there is.

my cousin was on the arranged marriage circuit. he was briefly interested in a beautiful, eligible young woman who was also going blind. "is he crazy?" shouted his mother. "he'll have to drive her everywhere, look after her - what kind of life does he want? and on top of that, she's going bald." thus, no proposal was registered. the poor guy went back on the meeting track.

what shocks me is that it's perfectly reasonable and completely acceptable - and everyone seems to agree with his mum - to dismiss someone sick (god knows what other virtues and qualities she had) on the spot. in fact, there is no taboo at all in dropping someone because she or he is sick. which i am.

have i met anyone? i have vague flirtations online. i smile at people in shops and they often smile back. but am i or anyone else willing to the leap the abyss?

and if someone did cross over, what would be there?

a stick figure.

i find myself thinking i need to wear false eyelashes and make-up and push-up bras and bright colors. all those loud, overstatements of femininity. because there is so little else.

i wonder if i create a garish outer "woman," if the inner one will follow suit?

i used to be married to a man who was a cross-dresser. he longed to be a woman. when he dressed up, he said, "we can be sisters.." in a soft, simpering voice.

i used to be horrified by his over-the-top drag. the bright lipstick, the mascara, the earrings, the scarf, bra and "chicken cutlets" - even the hyper-feminine gestures and the voice - along with the sexy dress, hose and pumps. his costumes and act turned us women into caricatures. jokes.

my femininity was based on confidence. i didn't need frilly polyester underwear or blue eyeshadow or stilletto heels because my being a woman was undeniable. i was petite, pretty, i had breasts, glossy long hair, i could have babies. too many accoutrements would be overkill. like putting a huge painted sign HOUSE on the side of a house. if it wasn't obvious to you, you weren't very smart.

but now that - like my exhusband - i am trying desperately to conjure up my inner woman, that part of me who was pretty and fun and alluring, i wonder if i shouldn't go out and tart myself up. i am wondering if putting on the dog (pun intended, i suppose), wouldn't be part of my healing.

would making the effort to make myself pretty be part of being nice to myself?

the thing about being sick is, you do it alone.

i've been blown away by my family. my brother and my sister-in-law have been my constant companions in the hospital. my mother and father have been back and forth to new york city every other week for seven weeks. my friends have been visiting, holding my hand in hospital, bringing food, cooking food, bringing presents and flowers.

but in the end, they get up and walk out of the hospital and you are still there, hooked up to the i.v. and wearing a dead-ugly blue flower-printed gown and fuzzy socks and bedroom slippers.

they get to go back to real life. have a nap and feel almost normal again.

and you get to live there.

when you're in the midst of cancer treatment, you live there in a big way.

even if i dressed up as a woman, i don't think i could take it on the road.

all the time, i'd be thinking of the tragic moment when i peeled off those false eyelashes and the wig, when the push-up bar came off and the acrid perfume of chemicals seeped through the flowery deodorant, when my the lipstick clung in pieces to my chapped lips and i turned back into a stick figure.

can you fall in love when you have cancer? yes. yes, i'm sure you can. you could fall desperately in love with someone who stood by you. someone who loved and cared for you all along. your wife or husband or long-term partner.

but if you're on your own, "meeting someone" while you're in treatment, while you still believe you're sick, is impossible.

this is the moment to learn to love yourself. all bald, scrawny 100 pounds of you.

i ate lunch alone in a japanese restaurant the other day and, like a teenaged girl, i marveled at how i had become a woman (again). my voice is melodious, my fingers are long and poised, i move gracefully. i was pleased with my company.

my date with myself was a success. i found myself charming. i might even try for a second one.

squandered sperm

ok, for you men out there - this post is after a discussion with my sister-in-law about who is responsible for a child.

her theory: if a woman gets pregnant, it's her own fault. if she decides to have the baby - and the guy doesn't want it and wants her to have an abortion - she takes the responsibility herself and can't hit the father up for financial/emotional help afterwards.

my theory: guys make a decision the minute they have sex without birth control. actually, in some cases, the minute they have penetrative intercourse. let's face it, women - and all human beings in general, except for your own self - are wild cards. you never know what deep-seated memories are triggered by which events.

so you, the guy, may hop into bed with someone thinking that it's a done (footloose and free-loving deal) and she may get pregnant and suddenly all her thoughts of motherhood and her own childhood and the bizarre behaviour kicked in by hormones and who know WHAT she will do.

basically, you just handed her a loaded gun - that you loaded, btw - and now, if you didn't take precautions earlier (and sometimes even if you did). you are going to have to deal with the consequences.

even if the consequences are that she falls madly in love with you (a la fatal attraction) or you fall madly in love with her (and she's not interested).

sex is a complicated and emotionally-fraught act.

do it without thinking and you could end up dealing with the offspring (and the mother or father) for a good 18 years.

mercury retrograde

the clock changed and i'm trying to move forwards not back.

briefly, this summer, i fell back in love with an old boyfriend. probably because i've been in a rapidly accelerating crisis situation and i longed for something safe, tested, worn-in and comfortable.

he showed me, through innumerable signs exactly how unsuitable he was. when i needed help moving, he said he'd come and instead called me 5 hours after it was all over. no explanation. in fact, he showed up late to absolutely every meeting, even when he chose the time. over the years, he'd borrowed money from me, and now - despite my panicked financial moment - he still didn't offer to help or to even buy my kid a box of popcorn when he met us in the movie theater. he just ignored her hints.

still i could feel the sexual tension between us and the longing in the way he left the apartment. i could feel my kids' pleasure in his presence.

and after a pathetic last-ditch effort to re-connect, the illusion suddenly crashed to the floor. he was the same person i had walked away from. he was his same sweet, loving, irresponsible and self-centered self.

back to internet dating and all its related irritations.

like first of all, why do people simply ignore your qualifications? i am not interested in white men over 40. i even put it in the first line of my description. not because i am racist, just because i did that already.

probably the same reason i fell back in love. because you see what you want to see. because you project all those qualities you dream of on thin structure of the person you know.

there is something so 2-dimensional and impossible about meeting people that way. no one ever seems to look like their picture. almost inevitably, they look worse and are 2 inches shorter. no one can spell or write comprehensible sentences. or if they can, they are total disasters off the page. how can you meet everyone? and how can you possibly narrow your choices from a tiny profile?

ah. off to the acupuncturist to ponder further.

motherhood

i seem to fall in love with men who are - to a man - children.

they are incapable of seeing other people as anything other than extensions of their egos.

laughing even as i type this. my current paramour, more than 15 years my junior seems to be more patient, wise and able to put others first than any of the men nearly hitting 60.

so what's the reason for my arrested development?

my desire to be a "superwoman" to look after everyone?

here's a warning sign. when you find you are looking after a man - an adult - and he's requiring more attention than the actual under-18 members of your household and helping even less, then you probably need to question your motives.

you can't re-make your messed-up childhood, or re-make his, no matter how hard you try.

past lives

woke up yesterday morning in the midst of a dream of an ex-boyfriend.

he was so close to my face - i haven't seen him in years - i could feel his breath on my skin, see every pore and sense the muscles tensing in his cheeks. what's funny is that, without that dream, i could barely have remembered what he looked like.

in my dream, i was sitting in a sidewalk cafe and i saw a man riding around past us on a bicycle, shooting the street through a movie camera that he wore on his face like binoculars.

i was fascinated by the project. then he got off the bicycle and walked towards me. i recognized him and called out his name. the friend i was with in the cafe, dashed off to chase her child. i was thrilled to see him and he got closer and closer.

suddenly, he was inches from my face, about to give me a kiss. and i saw that 20 year-old smile so clearly. looking at him, i thrashed myself through consciousness to wake up - late for my ramadan pre-sunrise breakfast.

still in the afterglow of my dream, i made some eggs and pondered it.

i realized that the guy i saw in my dream couldn't have been my ex-boyfriend. not ever, in waking life. i saw him for what i'd dreamed him to be. a filmmaker with a handmade camera - because he'd always had a unique point of view. in real life, he is probably a manager of a business or a contractor. something safe and content.

let's call him joe. joe had a difficult childhood because his parents weren't helpful, his siblings weren't interested and no one else had been either. he was abandoned early on.

and somehow i could look at him and see his potential. all the possibilities of what he might have been if he'd had wider exposure, if he'd had more support, if he'd had the advantages of an upper middleclass childhood.

but the truth is, i could never be the person who would help him overcome that. and, in reality, he never would.

and i thought of a recent ex and realized how often i see someone's untapped potential and see them for that - perhaps dream that for them - while they might never reach it. they might not even see it themselves. they might not even want to.

and it made me wonder how often one is in relationships where you see only the best in someone while they see only their obstacles. and that maybe understanding your partner's setbacks and insurmountable barriers can do you both more good that envisioning where they could be without them.

my old man pt 2

so lately i've gone a handful of dates with 20-somethings.

and while i don't know if they saw me as a haggard old crone (it was just my 45th birthday), i felt a bit empty afterwards.

what i love about younger guys is their enthusiasm, excitement, energy and optimism.

but i walked away wondering what we talked about.

maybe i was intimidating. maybe they were shy. but somehow the conversations lacked depth. they felt like missed trains.

i'm not interested in cynicism, excessive analytics or psychological digs, but isn't there a middle ground?

love in a headscarf

met a women at the MLT conference today called Shelina Zahra Janmohamed who's written a book called, LOVE IN A HEADSCARF about her search for love - both romantic and divine.

she also has a blog www.spirit21.co.uk

wondering about dating/falling in love with a woman in a hijab? compelling? or does it freak you out?

read her book and her blog which gained her the title, one of britain's 50 most powerful women, for tips and information.

she showed up at the event with her husband - a muslim and a south asian - so i guess the search is over.

but i'm really interested in how it played out...

age old or the sweetness of spring

raise your hands if you read, "Your Old Man" in the sunday, ny times magazine, with a smug sense of i-told-you-so.

i shop the juniors section myself. can't help it.

the article, by lisa belkin, was about the male biological clock and the fact that sperm ages too. so if, like tony randall, you father a child at 60 or so (even after 39, guys), your kid is more likely to be schizophrenic, autistic, bipolar, less intelligent, etc.

just realized she was scooped emily nussbaum, "this old sperm," in new york magazine (p11, march 23, 2009). yes, the smartest kids are the combination of older mothers and younger fathers! (nussbaum suggests 45 year-old career women inseminated by their 21 year-old personal trainers). rock on, career women.

did i learn that intuitively?

was talking to my friend satyajit the other day (he's 39 or 40) about a woman friend who was regretting never getting married and/or having kids (as we all have momentary regrets about one or another life-altering choice we make).

s: how old is she?

me: she's about the same age as you.

s: oh my god! and she's never been married?

me: neither have you. what time warp do you live in?

he said, i'm a GUY. and what about her biological clock?


let me tell you a bit more about earlier in the conversation -

s: all my friends were asking about you at that party, they said she's so beautiful! she must have been dynamite!

me: flattered but wondering why they used the past tense.

s: heh-heh, you know men only care about women in their 20s.

YES! justification!

since i split up with my decade-or-more older exhusband, i've found that men over the age of 40 (sometimes they last til 43) are not appealing as romantic partners. (though they can be entertaining friends).

generally, for guys, 26-32 is the sweet spot.

why?

younger guys are energetic, optimistic, enthusiastic about anything new. they approach relationships with sweetness and light. they have fun with my kids. they fall in love.

on an even more superficial level, their eyes sparkle, their skin is smooth, their abs are swoon-inspiring.

the older men complain about their exes and how bad/uninteresting/idiotic music, film, art, dance, journalism, literature has become. they bemoan the demise of the "good old days." they lay down absolutes about child discipline. they are often sarcastic, cynical and so self-protective that they can't be vulnerable or truly intimate.

(my experience btw)

ok. if you are a woman and thinking of dating up or down - here are some thoughts on the male operating system.

after a man reaches age 40-45, there is good old E.D. (look that up). this is shockingly common and it just gets worse.

a whole host of physiological and psychological factors can keep an older man from maintaining an erection (stress, depression, prostate issues, smoking, drinking alcohol, lack of sleep) and/or the ability to ejaculate.

next - what you see is what you get.

as women, we've been freaking out about our bodies since we were 10. we exercise. we eat healthy food. we scrub exfoliate and moisturize. we depilate and do crunches.

most men have not and do not do this. (unless they are gay, but that's not useful for the purposes of my research).

they generally don't realize that flesh-and-bones case that carries their souls requires maintenance.

worse, if they are successful, they wear their hairy-sprouting ears and portly bellies with pride, even in a bathing suit at a resort. (can you imagine a woman doing that?)

let's say you get past the thrill of dating and on to a marriage. things get worse.

having had kids with guys who are much older than myself (unless you have a TON of money) it's a big drag. they do not have the energy deal with a squalling infant or toddler. on daddy-duty, they put the kid "down for a nap" - which means daddy falls asleep and baby crawls out of the room and off to put barbie shoes into the dvd player or peanut butter in the electric sockets - while you are trying to do some rushed grocery shopping...

a ton of money would mean they could hire someone to do the job for them. so at least, you'd get time off. again, i am in my 40s so i know how hard it is to be round-the-clock parent, but i didn't START in my 40s.

last of all, if you've just realized you forgot to have a family (desperate to get pregnant) - your chances increase dramatically with a younger guy - if nothing else, frequency of ejaculation increases the probability of conception.

my suggestion - rob the cradle now so you can fill your own.

even grouchy old guys can be entertaining friends and great company - and i'm sure there are exceptions to the previous descriptions, but they are exceptions.

old sages can be wise. be you can be wiser. don't bring them home with you.

dating across the age barrier

i am pleased to say i recently went on a date with the cutest 29 year-old with big brown eyes and long, long lashes that would make butterflies weep.

we met online and started a flip-flirtation on ichat.

much as i enjoyed his playful nature, i couldn't help myself from pointing out, "this is fun but really you should be calling me auntie."

to which he kindly responded, "DUDE, i read your profile thoroughly! i know you've got three kids and i know how old you are."

anyway, we met up for brunch.

brunch? as you get older your wrinkles get worse as they day progresses. in the morning, just after a shower, i look fresh and rosy. and morning sunlight is so sweet and optimistic.

also, with 3 teenagers who all require picking up and dropping off on weekend evenings it is almost impossible for me to go out in the evening. the last time i tried to do something, james told sasha (then-15 and in a miniskirt) to take a cab home from a party on the westside highway and 27th st because he was already getting into bed.

then again, semi-darkness can hide a multitude of flaws especially with some good concealer...

needless to say, you've got to have an exceptional spark to do the legwork (i know, at my tired old age) to make it work across the age borders - and we didn't set off fireworks - though i was thrilled to discover he was a lovely, caring person.

reading the signs

another hard lesson.

oh maybe not, because it's something i've tried to do before and i didn't learn then.

the difficulties of trying to do business with an ex. or a current.

i read an article somewhere about the effects of love/sex on the female brain. and women trust men they sleep with - or are romantically involved with.

and even years later, it can be hard to separate what you want to believe "seeing the best in a person" and what the rest of the world is telling you.

so, yet again, i tried to collaborate with a once-romantic partner.

and one after the other, every project i put him on to collapsed. and one after the other, clients didn't like him, found him too tightly-wound, too aggressive and too confrontational.

or they simply disappeared.

and i kept putting it down to the changing economy, his learning a new paradigm - working in the beauty/fashion industry - rather than the boy-power world of business.

and then - as the economy got worse - he turned his gaze on me

and started blaming my communication style for breakdowns, my informal work style as disrespectful and the main obstacle to our success.

it is true that i have the attention span of a flea, very little patience and a sudden and short temper. though my miniscule attention span means that i've forgotten it pretty fast too.

the fact that i am generally operating as a creative or a strategist in an industry that requires immediate and complete immersion one minute and a 360 change of direction the next, my sprinter's style works well.

he comes from a world of suits, long-drawn-out power negotiations, conference calls, and constant meetings. his work is less the business of "making things" and more that of creating a setting.

in any case, cross-cultural misfire.

and - i've seen it again and again - husband-and-wife start-ups, boyfriend-and-girlfriend fashion lines, girlfriend-and-girlfriend handbags collections. they all almost all fall apart.

(with a few exceptions - inez and vinoodh, my brother's friends james and nora lee ... can't think of more off the top of my head. except for gay men. they seem to have seamlessly pulled off the dissolution of the relationship without the dissolution of the business. maybe it's a guy thing. haven't learned it)

so my advice - if you insist on trying to work with a romantic partner or spouse - or an ex:

draw up a legal document. this may be more important than a pre-nup.

figure out what you expect from each other.
how much you are each investing and what qualifies as an investment.
what your responsibilites are
how you will dissolve the partnership

you should do this while you are still jolly and excited about the possibilities. then you tend to be more open to each other's points of view. and more generous.

i suppose the writing should have been on the wall when my "friend" became completely angry and defensive and refused to even consider such a thing...

anyway, in this case, your ethnicity only matters in that, as "good" asian women, we're willing to take the blame.

that may be the case for almost all women who've been brought up to be "nice" at the expense of all else...

rules of the game or sexercises

i'm breaking this up because this is important.

i don't want you to just skip over this stuff.

BEFORE you leap into bed with your new ethnic hottie -


1. be honest with yourself – what’s your secret, private view of the “other” person. what is exciting about it? what is weird? do you hate uncircumsized penises? do piercings make you squeamish?

2. more honesty: what are you willing to do? what stereotypes are you willing to give up?

3. talk about it. not about how hot and sexy you are or someone else is. not about how desperate you are to have sex with someone. but honestly, with your partner. it usually is easier to do when you are not about to have sex. talk about it when you are both in the car and can look out the window when it’s too awkward to catch each other’s gaze.

this is also a good moment to talk about stds. especially the incurable and/or fatal variety.

and while you're here, you might as well get the condom question out in the open.

even if this is your wedding night.

4. NEXT - talk about it with your close friends if it doesn’t embarass you to death. get a sense of how human you are. trade some stories. this is not an opportunity to make stuff up to impress your homies. this is a chance to connect in a safe space.

5. also essential - exercise. eat healthy food. get enough sleep. don’t smoke. your body really is your temple. live in it. be good to your body and it will be good to you. and to others.

sex is always better when you are healthier.

(not convinced? they say women who do pilates and yoga have better orgasms. just a thought.)

high-risk activity or sexploitation

a couple of years ago, i worked for a woman called nancy jarecki branding, strategizing and creating a product called, "BETTY: color for the hair down there." it was an instant sensation - though i'm not sure it's not a one-off product. a cute novelty but not a mainstay.

so last night i was hanging out with a friend and she was saying, "you know, i'm getting some gray hairs on my cooch and i was wondering about that product."

what's so funny about that is that betty's biggest and most reliable consumerbase are women with graying "hair down there." older women are still in the dating market these days and if they are not doing brazilians, they are noticing that all your hair ages together.

so i told her what i told nancy and her husband andrew.

that is just silly.

because if, in the throes of procreation, you are worried about your new pal taking note of your gray hairs, you have a lot more to be worried about.

like the way society sees older women and sexuality. and the way we approach aging in general. and that is another story all together.

anyway, on to intimacy.

let me explain what i mean by “sex” here. i’m going wide. i mean intimacy in all its variations. i am not using the bill clinton definition. there are plenty of people who don’t believe in sex before marriage or at least until they feel really committed to someone.

and there are others to who see it as a prerequisite to a second date.

i'm not making any judgement on your choices in those matters, not least because people who live in glass houses shouldn’t cast the first stone - or any stones...

sex can be a first kiss, a make-out session, a grope. or the whole bang. and since it is a driving force for most animal life, it is rife with misconceptions and preconceptions – and this even before you consider the conception aspect.

admit it, you have heard all the stories about african-american guys being hung like horses, asian women being submissive, catholic girls being out of control, jewish guys analyzing everything.

first volatile situation.

it’s not what you expected. never is.

having dated all over the world – and had tons of friends unload their war stories – the sexpectations are half the battle. and also when things start to get a little weird.

for lots of second-generation asians, east and south (koreans, chinese, japanese, filipino, indians, pakistanis, bangladeshis, sri lankans – you know i mean YOU), we grew up with so much pressure to marry our own kind that the thought of dating one is just too intense.

so you see the euro-guy or girl as the sex object and the asian counterpart as the person you marry and have kids with.

or, you see the euro-type as the hottie, just like all the movies, and the asian version is your brother or sister or cousin-brother or cousin-sister and even envisioning sex with them feels like incest.

so for all the sisters who are fed up with their banana or coconut brothers – or all the asian guys who feel like they will never get the girl – don’t take it personally.

and for all those muslim girls who are still single because they believe they can only hook up with muslim guys - and muslim guys have the pick of christians, jews AND muslims so they are not showing up to "muslim dating events" - here's your opportunity.

get out there and realize that you will not be excommunicated if you don't win the aunty-lottery by marrying a nice pakistani banker. there ARE really great guys out there if you are willing to cross over.

and you don't have to dump the guy just 'cause he wants to hold hands in the movie theater (did you all read that article in the ny times sunday styles of the times?)

sex isn't bad and evil. it's a way to show love and affection.

and there are tons and tons of human beings out there who may be from an unexpected cultures, races, religions and age groups who may support you in whatever religious practice you choose as well as being worth falling in love with.

so don't give into the pressure!

on that note.

i have a cousin (abcd arif) who dated the daughter of one of his mom’s closest friends. they were both educated, uppermiddle class indian muslims who’d grown up in the u.s. and europe. they were also both very attractive and eligible.

so after about two dates, their moms were constantly on the phone with each other about the wedding. and any time the guy and girl had a fight, their moms would get in the middle and start trying to get them back together.

anyway, the pressure was so crushing that the relationship exploded. (the happy ending? the woman married a nice french guy, arif married a lovely british-dutch woman.)

this situation is not limited to second-generation asian-americans. we all saw “my big fat greek wedding,”right? being from an immigrant family, no matter what your economic or educational level, complicates the love story.

back to the sex. sleeping with the enemy is where it really gets exciting. if you are an indian muslim, or even more complicated, a pakistani, the indian hindu guy or girl might give you a frisson. you’ve heard that the girls are really wild.

and the guys – come on, it IS the birthplace of the kama sutra.

if you’re an indian woman, you’ve probably heard that pakistani guys tote big sticks. hindu guys think christian or anglo-indian girls are fast and easy, and muslim girls are fair flowers waiting to be plucked.

if you’re an arab guy, you think israeli girls have hot army-buff bodies. if you’re an israeli guy, you think the best thing about american girls is the blow job.

i have a tall, blond friend in berlin who tells me he has the body of an adonis and says that germans are secretly obsessed with dark- skinned women. (the horror the horror)

once a sikh cabdriver asked an indian-american guy friend – his passenger – whether it was really true about american women, “all that sucking and f--ing”? he wanted advice on how to convince his wife to experiment.

oral sex is a big divisive issue. for most of the world, certain parts of the body – like the peepee – are unclean. you do not put them anywhere near your mouth.

for the most part, you love it or you wouldn’t go near it with a ten-foot pole (assuming you have one).

let’s say you feel like it is fun and essential and your partner is going nowhere south - how do you deal?

or let’s say there’s ANYTHING that your partner isn’t doing that you would like him or her to. or the way you would like it.

step one, and this is surprisingly hard, you talk about it.

(AUGH! who doesn't tell you to do this?)

you say, “i’d love it if you could do this.” or you say, “i feel like i’m missing something...” the key is that you don’t make your partner feel bad about his/her taste, instead you allow him or her to rise to the situation.

step two: nothing doing. it freaks him or her out. now it’s time for tough love.

decide what you want and what you’re willing to put into it. maybe you see some potential in your partner as a long-term love. and people are willing to sacrifice a lot for love. (especially in the beginning when it is intensified by euphoria and lust).

maybe you can’t live without cetrain pleasures of the flesh. in which case, you walk.

my own feeling is, there are some things turn my stomach and try as i might, i will never be able to enjoy them.

as a muslim, i grew up not eating pig in any form.

to this day, i cannot bring myself to eat it.

it's like monkey brains or something.

even bits of bacon in singapore rice or whatever, i just see them and it grosses me out. i could be madly in love with an american southerner who lives for fried pork rinds, but i would throw up before i ate them myself.

and no chance that i would kiss him after he chowed down on a bag.

on the other hand, there are loads of muslims and jews who happily make the change. there are hindus and buddhists who grew up never letting beef pass their lips and now partake joyfully of in-and-out burger.

it’s up to you to feel the sense of possibility.

an indian woman friend, nilima, told me about this young jewish guy she was dating who was a terrible kisser. david would just grab her face and slobber all over it. it all felt very violent and unpleasant and she’d just about had enough.

nilima decided to break up with him and they were sitting around the kitchen chatting while in the back of her mind, she was weighing phrases like, “you’re great, but this isn’t really working,” etc.

and instead, out of her mouth popped, “what’s the deal with the kissing?”

and, even more shockingly, david said, “it’s terrible, isn’t it? what should i do?”

they launched into a big discussion of his romantic history (you have to learn how to kiss somewhere) and they finished by overhauling the entire interaction.

eventually, they had the happiest sex life you could possibly imagine. this is not to say they didn’t break up sooner or later, but they navigated a huge hurdle successfully. (one).

however, in their case, the big cultural divide was all about age requirements.

most people as they get older want to get serious. most younger people are so excited by the all the new toys that they still want to get out and play.

an instance where talk works. both players are self-aware and open to change. however, there is no rule.

remember the old proverbs, you can take a horse to water but you can’t teach him new tricks.

this is my big weakness.

i get totally irritated if my partner doesn't see my point of view. i might even make him feel like a total loser (not consciously, but that's one of the things i will burn in hell for).

learning and practicing the idea that you are not always right is a very useful skill. it's only just coming to me. and not all the time.

so - no matter how sexy and wild your intended seems to be - you don’t start a relationship hoping to civilize or enlighten someone.

because stuff changes, but the stuff you set out to change never does. (and, to be honest, if you could turn anyone into the ideal mate you’ve envisaged, you’d be so bored you’d dump him/her anyway.)

i’m not going to make any judgements on anyone’s choices and levels of discomfort. just be prepared that no one is completely a stereotype. (darn)

a list of assumptions i've heard:

french guy, laurent: “i’ve heard is that red-haired women smell like sour butter.”

australian shelley: “i would never even consider dating an aboriginal, they just live in a different world.”

british rebecca: “never, ever a pakistani boy. pakistanis were smelly, stank of curry and spices.”

sri lankan shanti: “white skin smells like raw meat.”

african-american judy: “vietnamese guys have angel hair down there!”


research in the field proves these assumptions false.

HA! you are about to find out the real deal.

HA again! stereotypes are based on some sort of reality. that latin guy may really be sensual and seductive beyond belief. your israeli girlfriend may really be a serious player, be careful.

on the other hand, no one is a cliche, no matter how hard they try. your new playmate is a three (or four, depending on how evolved they are) dimensional human being. there are some aspects that fit your preconceived notions and others that don’t.

the further sex advice: try to see the whole picture. if it pleases you to imagine your new asian girlfriend as a geisha girl or a gaugin painting, go for it, but don’t fool yourself that your vision is the reality.

if you get too stuck on the stereotype, you’re likely to freak out the other person.

a little objectification can be fun, too much feels psycho.

your woman might be willing to dress up like pocahontas or your guy do ricky martin, but probably not at your first romantic encounter.

and probably not at EVERY intimate encounter. in fact, he or she is likely to get insulted if you ask.

you might be thinking, “wait one minute, I AM the one who is getting treated like a cliche.” how do you get your partner to open his/her eyes? first of all, this assumes that there is some potential there and it’s worth the effort. you like him or her and you can see that once he or she gets past the “i dream of jeannie” thing, you could actually be friends.

again: TALK.

another friend of mine, a pakistani-american akbar, said that, in bed, his hindu girlfriend wanted him to recite urdu poetry and kept calling him, "my mughal prince." since akbar grew up in sacramento, his knowledge of urdu was sketchy at best, he hated bollywood movies as well as chick flicks, so the role play got old very fast.

(need i highlight the fact that they are both from relatively similar cultural backgrounds? or so it seems...)

in akbar’s case, he didn’t think it was worth the effort. that’s ok, too. he moved on and married an egyptian woman. i have no idea how they treat each other but he had actually lived in egypt.

if you do decide to put the time into it, you start by reminding your partner that you are just a normal person after all.

a gentle prompt in the direction of the fourth wall can help him or her see that you still have to put your pants on one leg at a time...

above all, don’t fall apart laughing when he or she says something ridiculous.

remember, people are very fragile when it comes to sexuality, be careful not to mortally wound the ego. (oh man, this is what i need to remember)

obviously, sticking with any sterotype limits the scope of the relationship. as in the case of the pakistani-american and the indian, it cost them the entire thing.

don’t forget that the real goal is human-to-human contact and love. you may not find your platonic ideal here, but if you’re lucky, this could be an instant of connecting your souls.

and isn’t that what it’s all about? (yes, and that fireworks explosion of nerve endings and muscle spasms).

ethnic ethics - some advice from the other side

ok, your first date.

your heart's racing. your face is flushed. the air is humming with electricity.

not the moment to search post-colonial history for the reason why that blond dutch boy knocks the wind out of you.

or why you, a young german guy, is attracted to a divorced jewish single mother.

you're just feeling it.

a crosscultural relationship sheds a bright light on your own identity and how you live with it, but when you're in the initial throes of lust, don't get all intellectual.

it will freak him/her out.

enjoy the sparks.

be careful making jokes. (but all weird and prissy and pc either as that can be equally off-putting.)

as the person in the match who is generally "the other" - the exotic indian pixie in the sea of big-boned rinso white girls - i have to beg you, please don’t use this as your chance to show how down you are with the people.

be who you are (unless you’re a recovering racist or bigot or something).

otherwise, it gets all weird and squirmy and if you are me, you just want to get out of there.

two real life complaints:

francesca (half-african-american and half-jewish-american who grew up in the manicured suburbs of connecticut), “why do white guys feel like they have to talk to me in ebonics? i’m fixin’ to buy me some chips – hello? you had an education and so did i.”

yasmine (jordanian), “i swear, if one more guy makes a joke about me coming out without my veil or getting a dowry of camels or buying me for an arranged marriage, i will throw my drink down his shirt.”

this might be an opportunity, if you ask nicely, to clear up your ridiculous cultural assumptions and ethnic confusion - but in my mind, that's still throwing up a wall between you and your intended.

this is the moment you realize how connected you are to someone who seems so far away.

body language

a statistic: men consistently read more (flirting and come-hither looks) into women’s facial and body language than women intend.

so guys - err on the side of caution, especially in the beginning. it may seem glaringly obvious that she wants to jump your bones while she might just be friendly.

or worse, just polite and not into you at all.

2nd - take note of the social bubble.

social bubble = how physically close you get the another person.

like a stranger giving you directions on the street in sao paolo, will get closer to you than a pal in arizona might.

a middle eastern guy might touch your shoulder when he passes you, might lean in closer or look you straight in the eyes. he might take up more space on the dinner table.

this doesn’t always mean he is about to propose.

on the flip side, a korean or a japanese might keep his or her things carefully away from yours, might never touch your hand or gaze longingly into your eyes. in the far east, people stand farther apart when talking. touch is a sign of deep intimacy.

the average american social bubble is about a foot, sometimes more in physically generous areas like california and new mexico. or in more in less demonstrative places like new england. it’s easy to misread physical distance for distaste.

in some cultures, looking someone in the eye is defiant, a sign of disrespect. in others, not looking the person in the eye is a sign of dishonesty.

while there is definitely a degree of universality in body language, your first impression might be misleading. take it slow, but enjoy the ride.

moving forwards - next obstacle – the pda.

public display of affection ranges from a touch on the hand to a lap-sitting snog. in a lot of the world, the pda is not looked well-upon.

in pakistan and india (where i was dating in my 20s), even a married couple wouldn’t kiss in public. in most of asia, kissing is a private act - not for a public space.

on this side of the world, the momentous kiss in the open (and on camera) is a crucial part of the american love story.

watch a bollywood film and it’s all about the hug.

in latin and african american cultures, physical expressions of affection are a sign of warmth and even a grandmother might give her husband a big kiss or a squeeze at a family gathering.

as an indian and a muslim (yes, there are exceptions), i feel uncomfortable holding hands with someone when i walk down the street. or making out in public - even when i was a teenager when it was all so exciting.

and sitting on anyone’s lap (including santa claus) makes me feel disrepected as well as exposed.

i've been married twice and i would never give my husband more than a peck in front of my parents. i'd certainly never kiss anyone i WASN'T married to.

so, if you lean in to kiss the person on the cheek when you meet and she or he steps back, or you offer your cheek and he or she doesn’t respond, don’t assume you have really bad breath.
on the other hand, if she or he kisses you immediately, or asks for a kiss – it doesn’t mean you’re in. she's just french.

the pivotal moment of the first date – or the first encounter, bumping into the person in barnes & noble or at a friend’s house – is the epiphany.

this is the moment when you realize you're lost.

before you do (oh, it’s probably too late, if you’re reading this), you should know that the road ahead is littered with landmines. first of all, sex - ha! you thought that would be the easy part!

introducing yourself to crosscultural dating exercises:

1. check out the online dating scene. not just one or two sites, but look at a whole bunch. browse the profiles, notice which people only want to meet people of their own ethnic group. notice who doesn’t.

2. tell your friends of different ethnicities or races to set you up. tell them you’ll go wide. talk to them about the real stuff you’re interested (someone who will go windsurfing with you). if you don’t have friends of another group, ask yourself why.

3. go to cultural events of another culture. the diwali celebration at a public space. an african-american history event. a chinese new year street fair in chinatown. even a friend’s niece’s bat mitzvah. pay attention to the fact that we all do the same stuff when we get together. pay attention to all the cool stuff that YOU never do. try some different kinds of foods, talk to people – if you're the only white guy at an indian wedding - they’ll all be interested in you just because you’re there.

4. go to ethnic movies. notice that iranian children are quite a lot like japanese children are quite a lot like french children. bring a friend who can explain cultural idioms. or better still, ask someone in the audience – it’s great conversation starter and they are already on comfortable ground.

5. post your profile on an online site or two but say that you want “activity partners” or “friends,” so there isn’t any pressure to hook up. check out unlikely places like jdate.com, shaadi.com and frenchfriendfinders.com.

6. be open.

7. have fun.

the end of the line or the discreet (muslim) divorce.

had coffee with a new friend - a muslim woman - who's been separated from her husband for the past few months.

she was ebullient, "i am so excited to meet you! i googled you about 10 months ago!"

me pleased: "why?"

she, "because you're the only muslim woman who's spoken about getting divorced online. and i really needed a support group!"

i was both surprised and horrified.
though i guess i shouldn't have been either.

how insane is that? islam was the first major religion to give women the right to divorce. we can demand that our husbands support us financially, take responsibility for their kids, please us in bed - or we can demand a divorce.
now we are pretending it doesn't happen?
or that it's dishonorable?

come on, catholics called us heathens, hindus called us barbarians - people CONVERTED TO ISLAM solely to have the right to dump their wives (sick as that is) - why can't we talk about it? it's a painful and unhappy situation and we have to pretend that we are not suffering.

muslim, indian, pakistani, arab women - apart from a handful of noisy ones: asra nomani, irshad manji, wafa sultan - are pretty discreet about those things. in fact, it's generally accepted that you DO NOT talk about the fact that you are divorced or separated or in the process in polite society.

when i told my mum that james and i were splitting up, her first reaction was, "oh no. what will i tell everyone?"

my mum was at an egyptian friend's house for dinner recently when a young woman came up to her and said, "you are so kind. you are such a kind mother."

and my mum said, "thanks so much, but what do you mean?"

and the woman said,"if i had been like your daughter, getting divorced twice, with three children from two husbands, my parents would have never let me back in the door! my father would have beaten me within an inch of my life."

all this was said with a laugh, but the stab-in-the-back and the implications are tragic.

my mum and dad still - when james (my exhusband) is at their house at christmas or thanksgiving or during the summer - introduce him to people as MY HUSBAND.

and when my brother and sister-in-law were getting married, we pretended we were still together until after the wedding to avoid upsetting all the relations.

and when i go to desi/south asian events, everyone still asks me, "what does your husband do?" before they ask what i do.

for a while, when i was still all mad about it, my answer was, "he does nothing for me. . . but he is a painter."

these days i see no reason in alienating the aunties, so i say," i don't have a husband. but i did."

anyway, it's about time muslim and south asian women (hindu, muslim, christian, buddhist jewish) start talking about stuff.

you lost your job, your husband/wife is having an affair, your son is addicted to heroin, your daughter's pregnant or she just didn't get into an ivy-college... you're getting divorced. tell people.

i mean, don't bore people at the buffet table or on the bus with depressing whining and complaining. but don't act like a right-wing christian about birth control.

it's real.

it's hard. it's sad.
it can be really difficult for your kids so make an effort to listen to them and let them talk if they want to.

but don't act like it's not there.

because then you isolate yourself and everyone else who could benefit from what you're learning.

n.b. if you are married to a muslim woman/man and you are not one - you may find this baffling. my suggestion would be to read a victorian novel in which appearances are everything.

you might suggest your soon-to-be ex-partner stop pretending. (this does NOT mean throwing scenes at parties). if you can - and quite often when one is getting divorced or splitting up, you can't - be gentle. this is almost impossible. especially when you've had enough of your in-laws.

i have to admit that james was fabulous with the pretending part of the ride. but he's english. discretion - or secrecy - comes naturally. he gets a medal for that.

if you are a muslim woman and you are "being discreet" because "it's not nice to talk about those things," you need to get over it and start TALKING! because it matters. and it matters to everyone.

aasiya khan, a bright,educated, young muslim woman and mother who worked for bridges tv was decapitated by her psychotic husband who had a history of abuse.

if there were other muslim/pakistani/indian women talking about it, she might have felt she had a voice. if she was talking to other people, they might have been able to get her some protection or get her husband locked up.

if you're a muslim woman in a strained relationship and you are not telling others about it - don't risk your children's or your own life - but remember that you are responsible for a lot of other people as well.

the saddest thing for me about it, on a purely selfish note, is that i read it and said, thank god, i didn't marry a muslim. or a pakistani.

this man's insane behaviour is being attributed to islam/arabs/south asians when it is purely psychotic. and inexcusable.

so start talking.

and sorry for getting all new-agey but

1. there are NO failures.

life is a learning experience. you fell in love with someone. it may not have worked forever - but it worked for a while. and wasn't it great while it did? you learned how to live with someone else.

and the detangling experience is a learning opportunity itself - what part of your relationship are you taking responsibility for? (remember you CHOSE it) how kind can you be when you are totally irritated? how do you learn to forgive someone?

oh wait - these questions are all for your shrink to work through with you!

2. we are ALL in this TOGETHER.

this doesn't just mean climate change. or the economy. it means ourselves as interconnected pieces of the human condition. the more we open up and allow other people to connect on an emotional level, the easier it is for everyone.

when you speak up, you are giving a gift to another human being.

look how thrilled my new friend was to find me!