Look at Me One More Time

The Embassy

I stopped tweeting my updates on Twitter and Facebook. Things were getting too hectic and I found it hard to keep up with trivial online activities.

Most of the time I spent online was just to stay in touch with my employer by submitting my write ups, while explaining why I had to extend my days off work.

My stories with Ben were put on hold, and I received many messages via Twitter from my readers asking where have I disappeared to since my last update regarding Ben asking me to marry him.

I was getting nervous all the time with the situation and I didn’t like it.

“Intan Suryani,” my name was called from the officer. That embassy was quite empty but they had a few people waiting before us.

“That’s me,” I said, and got up together with Ben. We entered that room and there was a Malay man in his mid 30s waiting for us with a smile.

He asked whether he could help with something.

I told him everything. How my dad suggested us to be married abroad, and why I thought it would be wiser to be married to Ben without having him converting to Islam.

“But he’s still bound to follow Malaysian laws,” the man said, implying that it was not possible to be done.

“But how about Portuguese laws, then?” Ben asked, firmly. “Doesn’t Portugal has its own laws for a Malaysian to follow too?”

“It just won’t work,” he said. “Either you become a Muslim, or you just don’t be married to a Muslim. It’s as simple as that.”

“No, it’s not that simple!” I was getting upset. “It will change our lives wholly and we won’t have the power to change the lives of our kids too. How can forcing a person to be a Muslim is a 'simple' thing for you? Imagine someone makes you convert to Christianity, would you like that?”

There was a hint of red on that man’s face as he found what I said, probably made sense, but somewhat unpleasant to hear. He refused to comment further. He repeatedly said he couldn’t help unless we provide the certificate from Malaysia to confirm Ben’s conversion, which in the first place was hard to be done, requiring him to stay more than his visa duration, and we would need a sponsor to help him extend that visa with around RM2000 of deposit.

And fly back here? And fly again back to Malaysia for such a shitty procedure? Money money money. Are we all supposed to go back to school, in this case, Islamic school just to be married? Aren’t we all adults and aware of what we’re about to do in our adult lives? Don’t we have to go back to work? How can this doesn’t sound like a bullshit to you?

I had so many more insulting questions to ask but I walked out of there in anger, leaving Ben behind trying to talk some sense into that man’s head. I knew it was pointless. So pointless because common sense or logic does not work in a religion. If they had brains to think they wouldn’t be reading and believing the fairy tales from an ancient book.

“Well, he said,” Ben started to sound a little bit upset too as we sat out there drinking some coffee. “He said I shouldn’t have picked you.”

“Oh yeah?” I lighted up my cigarette.

“Should have picked either a non Muslim Malaysian girl, or just picked a local. Apparently, getting married to a person we want to spend the rest of our lives with is like picking one good cherry from the whole box of them. It’s not for love. It’s about raising good generations of Muslims.”

“Welcome to Islam,” I smirked.

“And he said,” Ben added. “To look at you. A good Malay lady shouldn’t be wearing a short skirt. It’s impolite. I was like, she wasn’t wearing a short skirt, it’s a normal below the knee skirt. Pencil skirt. Or whatever skirt. Not a bikini.”

“Pfft! They want me to be wearing some kind of Islamic fashion I guess,” I started raising my voice. “Fine fine fine.”

“There is a way though,” he said. “If I can get to know an Islamic leader here, or what, imam? He can verify that I’m a Muslim so we can do it from here, no need to do it in Malaysia.”

“Gosh Ben, you still don’t get it. I don't fucking want us to be Muslims, for fuck's sake. Enough with this loser talk as if we have to give in just like that.”

Ben went silent for a while. We both did. I might have sounded harsh but I needed to make my point. No matter how hopeless romantic he is, willing to give the world to me, I look more into little details that can crumble our lives in future.

No one, I repeat, NO ONE has any rights to enforce a religious belief on any human being. It’s similar to making you submit yourself to some kind of an organization you don’t agree with. Like making a non-vegan turn vegan.

“I better fly back to Italy, hun,” I said. “I really need to work. I can’t keep postponing things..”

“I know, baby.. just go.”

“I promise I will find help meanwhile. This bullshit is not getting us anywhere no matter where we go.”

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

Ben came closer to give me a kiss. “I love you. For all I care, we can even build a family without being married. Just live together and that’s it.”

“And having illegitimate kids which is what, totally against your belief?”

“But they will just be our kids, legally. Who the fuck cares anymore, babe.. we’re in Europe. I don’t care, do you?”

No, as long as I get to be with you. It sounded more promising than listening to a useless helpful advice from a consul of an embassy.

The last night before the day of my flight to Milan, we made love and hoped that we could see each other again whenever he could find some free time and financially okay for flying.

He removed that apartment from the Airbnb site, as he decided after Dores leaves, he wouldn’t be renting out the rooms anymore. The whole apartment would be just for us, for me to come home anytime I want.