To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god
– Jorge Luis Borges, (1899-1986), Argentine short-story writer, essayist and poet.
Respectfully, while I identify as Christian, my commitment to the faith is primarily in name only. Somehow, this raised concerns for Gregori, a respected Bahá’í spiritual leader and potentially my future father-in-law, regarding my plan to spend the rest of my life with his daughter, Jillian.
“What if he exerts his Christian manhood on you?” Gregori asked Jillian.
When Jillian told me about her father’s remark, I thought, “I barely have manhood. How do I get Christian manhood?”
I had been dating Jillian since Form Six and our relationship continued to blossom over the years. Things took an exciting turn when we were accepted into universities in the United States (US). As she entered her final year, Jillian was transferred to Columbia University Irving Hospital in New York for residency.
Were things so bad? Hepatology residency, among the most rigorous and demanding of all medical specialities training, had surely put a strain on our relationship.
There were so many nights when we came home late from work, and collapsed on the living room floor together, exhausted, and so many mornings when I left for work in the early dark at 3 am, before she’d awoken.
Yet, we’d survived the most difficult part of our journey. It was in these moments on Valentine’s Day that I thought I could do this for the rest of my life.
So, yes, I could see the trains colliding from the moment I brought up the idea of matching together. Before even thinking of getting our families involved, I needed to think solely about my relationship with Jillian and whether we were compatible for the long haul.
Coming from a conservative family, I was told countless stories of marriages falling apart when a Christian married someone from a different faith. Both of my two younger siblings had married within the faith after all.
They were concerned that Jillian and I were too different. Instead of providing the vote of confidence I so desperately sought, they urged caution.
Then I sought advice from my childhood friends and relatives, who also warned me about marrying outside my faith and tradition. Still, when I looked at our relationship outside the constraint of religion, I felt comfortable. We laughed a lot and understood each other’s jokes. Jillian and I were from the same economic background, which I valued because I had read articles suggesting that money issues often lead to divorce.
Since neither she nor I had much money growing up, we were in major debt from paying for studies and were similarly committed to living within our means. I didn’t want to throw away what Jillian and I had together simply because our religious beliefs differed.
I didn’t want to be religiously rigid either. Jillian and I went on many walks around the city, talking about how we would raise our children and how she would support my faith, but she was not going to convert.
Being a proud liberal and an agnostic, I knew that I couldn’t ask Jillian to convert for me. I decided to evolve away from the old thinking that I needed to marry someone of the same faith.
Again, she and I had similar values — that’s what was going to make us work. Convincing our parents that our relationship would work would take a lot of effort.
Jillian met my parents for the first time when she came to our apartment on Christmas. I was pleasantly surprised that my parents didn’t show any signs of discomfort despite knowing she didn’t share their Christian beliefs. Of course, I was excited about that, but as we left, Jillian looked distraught.
During dinner, my mother had said, “Two educated persons won’t budge? How will you have more kids?”
After we had finished, my father said to Jillian, “You can marry my eldest when you become Christian.”
As we walked back to the hospital, Jillian said, “I can’t become Christian just to marry you.”
“What?” I said. “That’s ridiculous, you won’t have to.”
She asked, “But how?”
It was the first time my parents had met her, but I knew if they got to know her, they couldn’t reasonably object to our getting married. They would see in her what I saw: a kind, caring and talented woman.
Eventually, by spending more time with my siblings and cooking with my mother in the kitchen, Jillian won their approval.
Jillian’s father was a different story. When she told him of her intention to marry me, he said, “You’re making a giant mistake.”
Just to clarify, Gregori didn’t participate in any of our families’ early meetings. My mother and Jillian’s mother, Janet got along because she was genuinely interested in other people and liked talking to my family members.
When Jillian and I were planning to register our marriage at the National Registration Department (NRD), Gregori reached out, wanting to discuss some concerns he had. We decided to meet at the Hong Kong Noodle House restaurant in Wisma Saberkas. We ordered food and he wasted no time delving into the conversation.
He harboured fears that his daughter might be marrying someone who would pressure her into doing things she didn’t truly want. I imagined that he was afraid I was going to make her wear a cross necklace or disown her family. I could tell he was doing his version of looking out for his youngest daughter.
I tried to address Gregori’s concerns methodically, putting my ego aside, but it’s hard and awkward to try to disprove someone’s negative perceptions of you. I assured him that in the house where I grew up, my mother was the glue that held our family together. Jillian would be the same.
Despite my assurances, he wasn’t convinced, and I could tell that I wasn’t going to be able to convince him. And that was OK.
Once she completed her residency, we tied the knot in a straightforward ceremony. Only eight of us were in attendance, which included our children Bella and Hayek, Janet and Jillian’s sister. Gregori and all my family members, however, did not attend.
Five years had passed, yet there she was again, beside me when I woke up this morning. We didn’t have any time for breakfast because we now have three kids to shuttle off to school before we rush off to work.
But sometimes, as I watch my wife and our children pile into the car, I worry, and it’s a worry that can keep me up at night: Will someone, someday, tell our children that they are not acceptable individuals to love?
The views expressed here are those of the columnist and do not necessarily represent the views of New Sarawak Tribune.
