Cross Cultural Unbinding

“Just make sure you won’t be a cliche.”

This was the famous advice from well meaning friends when I told them I would based in the Middle East temporarily for work.

What they meant was, don’t be involved with an Arab man because it’s common knowledge that they may date foreign women, but they will never take them seriously. I dismissed their concerns. I am not a naive girl. This wasn’t the first time I would be assigned overseas for work, and I know how the expat social scene operated.

I expertly packed my bags and left for Qatar for yet another year long work assignment.

Although romance was the farthest thing in my mind when I arrived in the capital Doha, what did make quite an impression to me was the weather. I arrived in December, and I didn’t realize it could get quite chilly in the desert. Day time was nice, and the air was brisk, while the evenings required jackets. Qatar, like most Gulf countries, was always sunny except for the short transition between cool weather to summer. Even though most people back in the Philippines hide from the sun because of the fear of getting dark skin, I loved sunny days. Suffice to say, the unexpected nice weather felt like a pleasant welcome to Doha.

When I met my teammates in the project, H did not really stand out. He stood out literally for being the second tallest person in the group, but aside of that, there was nothing special in our first meeting. Nor the second, nor the third. If I would make I guess, it may have been the fourth meeting when I found the interest to talk to him casually. He wasn’t the most forthcoming or talkative guy, and I am also not a very sociable person, so it was no wonder we barely spoke to each other outside work.

I think we finally had a real conversation when we realized that we could trust each other professionally. I knew by then that he was a responsible teammate, and that he was good at his job, and he realized the same thing about me. We were not going to be a headache in the project, so we could finally relax while we work.

Months past, we got to know each other more, and soon it became evident that we really liked each other as more than just esteemed colleagues. “My friends are going to be disappointed when they find out,” was a regular thought that would pop in my head. The path to romance seemed inevitable. But he was Arab, and as much as he would assure me that he was brought up in a progressive family, I knew there would be limits to their liberalism. That limit would be a woman who came from a different race, culture, and belief. However, my lifelong cautious, and guarded personality was slowly being shed at that point, so I took the leap of faith and began my relationship with H. If we met a few years earlier, I would have said no. It wouldn’t work. But my beloved mother passed away just a year before I met H. Her loss made me realize how important it was not to let moments of happiness pass you by because of the fear of getting hurt. No pain would hurt as much as losing my mother anyway, so what was there to be afraid of?

Fast forward to five years later, and I was sitting alone in my living room in Canada, thousands of miles away from H. There were no tears, but my chest felt hollow as I spoke to him on Skype. We were breaking up. His life and family are still in the Middle East, while I was forging a new one in Canada. My hopes of him moving to the West to join me was officially over. In all our years together, sharing so many memories in many parts of the world where we lived and travelled, he never introduced me to his family. He’s met mine twice even though they live far away in the U.S. I hated to admit it, and I long denied it, but my friends were right. I did become a cliche. It was a painful admission.

A year after we broke up, I found out he got married. To me, it felt the tragic ending to a classic tale, and I played the role that no woman wanted. An Arab man will date a foreign girl, even have a committed long term relationship with her, but in the end, he will marry someone from the same culture and background.

When in pain, I move, meet with people who care about me, and read. I started reading a lot again. One night I was reading a book by Turkish author Elif Shafak, and I knew it was going to be a long night because I could not put the book down. The story was set in Istanbul, a city that hold many lovely memories for me personally. As I read the book, I could see the streets, the busy Taksim Square, the smell of Turkish coffee, the fresh pomegranate juice sold in the streets when they are in season, and the hectic Istanbul traffic. It was one of the cities H and I visited. Elif Shafak, was also one of the authors he introduced to me when he recommended one of her books. As a matter of fact, he introduced me to some famous Arab/Middle Eastern authors and singers, and I still read and listen to them in Canada. I still struggle to remember the character names in the fictions of Egyptian Pulitzer winner Naguib Mahfouz, while marveling at the history and stories that seemed so foreign to me as a kid. I have come to understand the adoration of the Arab world to legendary Egyptian singer Umm Kulthum. H told me families across Egypt would sit engrossed beside their radios, listening to her weekly concerts that could run for fives hours and songs that would run for 60 minutes each. Nothing could quiet a city such as Cairo, but Umm Kulthum’s voice, as she sings complex Arabic poetry, comes the closest.

Through H’s cooking, and our fondness for searching new restaurants in the city, I also discovered the gift of cumin, a spice that is not used in Filipino dishes, but popular in Middle Eastern cuisine. The warm, rich flavor of cumin, and its earthy smell always bring me back to the Middle East. When I start craving for Middle Eastern food, I would go to the corner restaurant near my place. I would chat with one of the employees, Ahmed, while I wait for my order. He said he was surprised that I could pronounce his name right. The comment felt bittersweet. I may not have learned Arabic from H, but I can pronounce the sounds correctly.

At night, when it’s hard to sleep because my mind is racing, or I just watched too many episodes in Netflix, I would find myself still awake at 3am. In my culture, 3am is considered an ungodly hour. Filipinos don’t want be awake and alone at 3am. Now, that cultural conditioning has been completely erased. Being with a Muslim, and living in an Islamic country has flipped the 3 am superstition in its head. I often heard the call to prayer from a nearby Mosque a little past 3am. This became a sacred time of prayer, instead of a time of irrational fear of the supernatural.

When I left the Middle East, my feelings were complicated, and polarized. H and I had a good life, but I knew that the real potential for our growth as a couple could only happen outside the region. There would be less societal pressure on the issues of culture, religion, and race. But he chose to stay.

So it may look like I ended up being another statistic in the “traditional culture trumps over love” situation. But outside this viewpoint, my world has expanded, and all my five senses have been enriched. The challenges of a cross cultural relationship has taught me to always put the effort to understand polarizing beliefs, and ideas that are new to me. To be respectful even if we do not agree, or believe in the same thing. This continues to serve me well in all aspects of my life.

Love does not always conquer all, and that is the truth. But there is an undeniable virtue that lives within people when love is present, and that is true as well. And even when it ends, and the hurt has lessened or disappeared, you will never be the same again. Let that changed person be a better one, more knowledgeable, and much wiser.