Weddings and Babies - I'm All Grown Up!

Last week i got all dressed up to go to a wedding. My friend Zahra and i were getting ready together, and we were endlessly picky about everything from shoes to makeup. It took us about an hour and a half to get completely ready, with lots of pouting and complaining about our makeup skills along the way. Before rushing off to the car, we checked ourselves in the mirror one last time to make sure we looked perfect. Why so fussy? Well, this wasn't just any wedding. It was our friend's.

It's weird to think that i'm finally part of the "marriable" generation. 18 was always my "marriage number". I remember always dreaming about it when i was younger. I thought that the second i turned 18, i would get myself married to some Prince Charming and go off into the sunset. (A French sunset, if you please.) The funny thing is, the closer i got to 18, the further back i pushed my "marriage number". At the moment, the label is stamped on 22, a snug 4 years away. You never know what'll happen, but that's how i'd plan it if it were in my hands.

Despite my thoughts on marriage numbers, there is an obvious consensus among the mothers of the Arab world on the number 18. Every Arab girl my age has experienced the extra-wide smiles and bubbly conversations with Arab mothers on the prowl for potential wives for their sons. Not that these women are evil or anything, they're sweet! A little too sweet, maybe. Saying "No" takes some effort. You don't want to hurt anyone's feelings. Despite the stickiness of these situations, it's always fun to talk about them later. Exchanging "khtoobeh" (engagement - or in this sense, potential engagement) stories is a favorite pastime of Arab girls. We tend to get a kick outta them. The stickier the story, the more it gets retold in times of boredom. Way to keep our ancestors' oral tradition of storytelling going.

But no, seriously. I realized that i'm getting old! Or at least older. All the guys i used to think were cute on the Disney Channel are suddenly too young for me. And about two weeks ago, my friend had a baby! Okay, she's 5 years older than me (putting her at around 23, i think), but still! I'm part of her generation! Ai. Where does the time go? I flashed through high school so fast...will college be like that? Weird to think.

Even with it's quirks, growing up is exciting. New places, new people, new experiences. New is good. But i can't let my childhood get too far away from me. Apparently, it's essential for an artist. Part of the Muse's balanced breakfast, i take it. And i didn't make that up. An old person told me.

“Arguably, no artist grows up: If he sheds the perceptions of childhood, he ceases being an artist.”
- Ned Rorem

See??