Thursday August 30, 2007

M’sian love story

A WRITER'S LIFE
By DINA ZAMAN

We live in a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic country but when it comes to unions of he heart, it's a different story

WE OFTEN bump into each other at one of the numerous events KL hosts almost every other night.

He’s lost so much weight, as well as the sparkle in his eyes. I almost walk past him as I hurry to meet my friends when he taps me on my shoulder, and blurts out: “I love her so very much, Dina.”

“Give me a few minutes to say hello,” I say, nodding towards my friends.

We meet outside, at the balcony.

“Has she made up her mind?” I ask.

He shakes his head. The lovelorn man is Chinese, and the love of his life is a Malay woman. From the little interaction we have had, she seems to be a merry soul.

A nice girl who has committed a mortal sin in the eyes of her family. Falling in love with a non-Muslim. Actually, a non-Malay.

We sit on the stairs and look at the sky. I don’t know what to say, because if I say A, I may be blamed for saying the wrong thing; if I say B, I may be considered an idiot. So I keep quiet while he sighs and sighs.

Falling in love is such a lovely feeling. And let me tell you this: love is not easy to find in KL. There are many guises of love, all veiled of course, and lacking honesty and sincerity.

And when one finds true love, no matter what the challenges are, it’s really hard to give it up, come hell or high water.

But I’m a romantic. I love being in love, with the right man of course.

But this essay is not about me. It is about my friend and his Malay girlfriend, as well as the countless inter-racial couples who are dating as we speak.

My friend has been attending Islamic forums and talks.

He always goes alone. I don’t know why his Malay girlfriend does not accompany him, and I don’t ask. He reads about my faith, Islam, and he asks and asks. He plans to convert to Islam, to marry his love.

I bite my lip. This is not going to be pretty.

“You’re converting because you want to be a Muslim, or you’re converting to marry her?” I ask.

“To marry her.”

“Erk.”

“I’ll learn more about the religion when we’re married.”

I drum my nails on my knees. How do I say this?

“Is she going to go against her family to marry you?”

“That’s what she says.”

“I need a yes or no.”

He’s silent.

“Okay. Let me play the Devil’s Advocate here, ya?” I say. “You convert prior to the marriage. As a Muslim, I am happy to receive a new brother.

“But let’s just say you have become a Muslim, and your girlfriend bails out on you because she’s so scared of her parents, what the hell are you going to do?”

He looks at me. God, he has not even thought of this yet.

“All right,” I continue (while mentally slapping my head 'Oh no, Oh no'), “you guys don’t marry, and you’re stuck. You’re already a Muslim. She goes and marries a Malay man.

“You may realise that the decision to convert was a wrong decision for you. You do know you can’t just hop in and out of our faith? When you become a Muslim, you stay one for the rest of your life.

“If you want to leave (the religion), you’ll have to attend a three-month counselling course with the religious authorities.

“What are you going to say? 'Oh, Encik, saya nak keluar dari ugama Islam kerana girlfriend Melayu saya tak jadi nak nikah dengan saya'?”

He looks down.

“This is not a ping-pong match you know?” I stand up.

“But I love her. Isn’t that what matters?”

“You’re willing to give up your culture, your religion and your family to convert and marry this girl?”

“Yes.”

“But is this girl willing to give up everything for you?”

I sit down again. Bloody hell, the older you get, the harder it is to love, because you always have to be practical.

“What do I do, Dina?” he pleads.

“Er, if I were you, I wouldn’t convert just yet.” Maybe it’s the wrong thing to say, but I can already see the emotional carnage in front of them.

He asks: “Isn’t love about loving a person for who they are, and what they mean in the other person’s life, and that love blurs the lines of race and religion?

“We were taught that we live in a multi-cultural, multi-ethnic country (and world), but how come when it comes to unions of the heart, it’s a whole different story altogether?”

“This is Malaysia,” I reply.

My heart breaks because it’s so hard to find true love, and these two really deserve each other.

Maybe he should convert, however unsettling his reasons are for converting, and who knows, he’ll be guided by someone to become a good Muslim. Who’s to know, right?

“Dina? What do you think of love in general?”

“I’d rather love and have lost because I don’t view heartbreak as a loss,” I reply. “When you love a wonderful person, how can you say it’s crap? If it doesn’t work out, at least you’ve loved.

“But you know me-lah, heart first, head later, which is why every time I fall in love I am an utter wreck ... because I really, really believe in love.

“But don’t you go around telling people I’m a diehard romantic. I have a reputation for being a surly writer to uphold.”

We laugh.

“I just think you better think this through. This is not just about love. You may be stepping into a minefield, which will affect everyone around you, including you. When it comes to religion, you better use your head.”

We sit for a long time outside. Then the launch is over and everyone’s getting ready to leave.

“I’m going now.” He pats my shoulder. I nod.

“Dina? I have great faith that we will be married one day. I have no choice but to have faith.”

The writer lives in KL. Happy Merdeka?

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