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And, I’d get married when I was old, maybe when I was 28. One late night during Ramadan as I binge scrolled through my Facebook feed, I saw a picture of my Ex.
As far as I was concerned, I would only marry a white guy – if I was to get married at all.
| Tags: class, culture, dating, interracial dating, love, Love Insh Allah, Muslim dating, Muslim love, Muslim men, Muslim relationships, Muslim women, racism, radical love, relationships, Salaam Love, Tanzila Ahmed, white privilege, white supremacy “I have some questions about things you’ve written about,” John asked last week. ” “Dating in Los Angeles is harder than other cities I’ve lived in. Though, when it comes to choice, which is what online dating is all about – that’s what I would prefer. He’s in a suit with a flower on his lapel, standing happily next to his beautiful bride.
We were chatting during happy hour at the annual conference where we meet and catch up. Her white veil cascades over her off-shoulder wedding dress.
The thing was, as a child of immigrants in the 80s, the good Bangladeshi Muslim boys in my age range were few and far between.
I was going to be looking at him the rest of my life.” Whenever I asked her who was I supposed to marry, she’d always say it’d be an arranged marriage like hers – to a good Bangladeshi Muslim boy.
He embodied privilege: white privilege, class privilege, gender privilege, education privilege. How you do yoga at home, but fail to mention that it’s because Indophile yogis in Silverlake studios annoy you.
Most importantly, my career was about training and educating people on social justice issues. Talk about how your parents own their house, but don’t talk about how it was almost taken away, or how you the roof leaks now and there’s no money to fix it.
The last thing I wanted to do was come home to a space where I had to continue to educate. When they ask, pretend you don’t have credit cards for ethical reasons, not because you wouldn’t be approved for one.
When we broke up ten years ago, we made bets on who would get married first. He reached out a couple of times a year to see how I was doing. He wasn’t the first guy I was in love with, but he was first in many other ways – first boyfriend, first Thanksgiving, first parental unit meeting, first living together. His grandmother made aloo gobi for me at Thanksgiving.
We met when were both in our early twenties working as community organizers in Washington, D. He grew up in a well-to-do family in an idyllic community just outside of D. They had oil paintings on the wall, candlesticks on the dining table, and ordered steak through the mail. I helped unwrap heirloom ornaments for their Christmas tree.
I shift uncomfortably, choosing my words carefully. I would later learn about internalized racism and conditioning and how this shapes our preferences and self-worth.