As the daughter of two Pakistani immigrants, I’m very familiar with the idea of arranged marriage — a third party connecting two people in matrimony. In its most traditional form, the bride and groom, although providing consent, have very little, if any, interaction prior to their wedding night. Communication is done through their families.
My parents’ marriage was an arranged one. Their first meeting was to confirm the engagement that their family members had suggested. They married and moved in together three months later. The roles they assumed in their home were traditional, with my mother handling the majority of childcare and housekeeping and my father being the sole provider. I was their fourth and last child, born sixteen years after their wedding and fourteen years after my oldest brother. For me, my parents handled their distinct responsibilities as a team. They communicated and compromised, shared goals, and helped each other succeed in their roles. After thirty-eight years of marriage, their partnership is still strong, and their friendship is undeniable.
Inshallah, we will grow old together is a tribute to the sixteen years my parents spent building their lives before me. It is my admittance that the parents that raised me are not the same as the parents that raised my older brothers. It is my endeavor to honor the effort and growth it took so that I was born to a team who are very much in love.
