Victories: How the Fight For Gay Marriage Will Change Me

It was a specific night I remember when I think of my parents and their marriage being doomed from the beginning. I must have been eight years old because my sister was old enough to talk and walk but not old enough to be in school.

The argument started in our small Queens, New York apartment. They were fighting over money. When it got physical in the hallway, I intervened, my little 8-year-old self swinging as hard as I could. I got taken out with one hit.

My mother wouldn't let me miss school. My mom and sister had spent the night in my twin bed with me and all three of us cried, couldn't sleep. But they got to stay home. I had to put on my maroon Catholic school uniform and spend the day with harsh nuns and multiplication tables.

I told them they needed to divorce. It must have sounded ridiculous coming from an 8-year-old, but I don't remember feeling that young. All I knew was parents could divorce and live apart and the children could go from house to house depending on the weekend and it was fine. People did this--it was a thing. And I wanted it.

"Divorce is American."

My parents laughed at me. Divorce isn't something we as Bangladeshis did. That was SILLY. It was a Westernized, white, absurd thing to do and they wouldn't do it.

"We're fine. Amra bhalo."

Bangladesh: my parents and me, 1984.

We moved to Texas soon after and things were supposed to get better as we became less poor. But they didn't. Even with the new houses, new cars, new everything, their marriage, the only relationship I got to see from the inside out, was certainly NOT fine.

At 16, on a trip to Washington, DC with my family because I won a national writing award, my parents fought the entire time. And I cried while listening to Laura Bush tell the award winners how amazing we were because the magic of that moment was gone. My parents had ruined it all for me.

On a trip to Florida when I was 18, they fought openly in a restaurant. With the embarrassed wait staff looking at us, I wanted to hide under the table. The expensive resorts, free massages, delicious food--everything was ruined.

And then I decided to go to college out of state--way out of state, in fact. I went to the only out-of-state college that offered scholarships and financial aid, the only one that assured me over the phone that even if my parents didn't want to support me, I would be able to go. So I sent in my paperwork, despite my parents saying I was abandoning them.

One last incident though before I left, complete with a police visit and I knew I had to go.


But the damage was done.

I was gone for a while, over 7 years in fact. I grew up, had my own relationships, fights, break ups. But none of those awful relationships in college and law school ever broke my heart like my parents did.

On my visits home I realized things had not gotten better. And very few people outside the family would even see how bad it was--the facade of a nice house, family portraits, etc. were convincing. But my heart hurt every time I was home. And on the plane ride back up to New England, I'd be sad, teary--but most of all relieved.

That was until I had to move back home when school was done and the economy was terrible. Being in the same house as them again, seeing them in separate rooms, my father constantly trying to hold a conversation and my mother's cold stares--my heart was breaking all over again. It was like I was an 8-year-old again wanting it to just stop. I wanted it to end, this terrible relationship. I did not understand marriage, one so terrible it was killing everyone involved.

"Why would you want to stay single?" an aunt asked (and still asks me) once everyone realized I was single and way too concerned about my career (heaven forbid a 25-year-old Bengali girl do so!) "Get married first! Why wouldn't you want to get married?"

Remembering my parents once telling me separately how the other had ruined their lives, I shrugged, unable to tell her how undesirable the idea of marriage was to me.

Or I should say FOR me. 

Through all this I had grown to find marriage disgusting FOR myself, but didn't find marriage itself completely terrible. Other people who seemed to want it and knew they wanted it--well, I never thought they shouldn't go for it. I have been in 5 weddings and I cried at each one, knowing the two people I was supporting were lucky.

If two people (regardless of gender), loved each other enough and wanted that commitment and was ready, stable, and smart enough to make that commitment, then who was I to judge? (Oh, but just so you don't think I'm completely like a character only Meg Ryan or Katherine Heigel would play, let me tell you: I will always judge immature, rebellious, and dumb 18-year-olds and tweeting celebs who want to jump into marriage and get each other's names tattooed on their butts. That I will disapprove of).

California's Proposition 8, Glenn Beck's awful rants, and the fight to keep DOMA around (something that came about even before I went through puberty) have all always hurt my heart. In all my education, in all my years learning about the world and people and the law, I never found a logical, fact-based reason why a group of people would fight so vehemently to take away someone's right to love and commit to that love. What the hell was it to them? How were gay people getting married affecting THEM?

When recently New York (finally) saw the light and joined the other 5 smart states and two of my friends from college posted pics of one proposing to the other in their Brooklyn apartment on Flickr, I was--quite honestly--jealous. For all those people this NY decision affected, for all those people who for years had been signing petitions, picketing, waiting to exchange rings with their partners, marriage was the ultimate, final, beautiful peak of their relationship with someone. They knew that they do (or eventually will) want to make a decision to stay with someone for the rest of their lives and knew this desire was worth fighting for. I fought for their right to do so also, shouting on the steps of Government Center in Boston or the mall in DC several times over the years. But I myself was confused.

I am still jealous of anyone that sees marriage as something lovely and wonderful, something they can see themselves doing. I've been thinking about it a lot recently with more of my parents' drama driving me crazy and the NY decision. From a legal perspective, marriage makes sense. Economically, I understand it. From my heart, it still scares the s*** out of me.


On a phone call with my father who after years of fighting with my mother cannot stand to see her go because he, in his words, has "never loved another woman," I told him the same thing I told him at eight years old--"Get. A. Divorce."

"Divorce is American. We have to stay together."
"Miserable?" I asked him. "You want to stay together and hate each other?"
"Yes." He didn't even hesitate.

Wow, I thought, another person fighting for marriage, though for what to me seems like the most nonsensical marriage on the face of this planet.

"You two," I screamed. "Have ruined my faith in marriage and love in my own life!!!!"

My own life.

For over a year and a half now I have been with a guy that has somehow took cold, logical, rational me and turned me into one of those girls who daydreams about her boyfriend's smile in line at Starbucks and forgets where she is. He's strong enough to handle my freak outs over my body, my family, and money. He survived me taking the bar not once but TWICE. And he just loves me, simply and with all of him. I never question that.

I also never question how much I love him, how much I want to spend the rest of my life with him. I see us old together still laughing at completely inappropriate things and getting crazy sushi cravings on a Sunday night when everything seems to be closed.

So marriage shouldn't be a hard decision, right?

Wrong.

The fear of turning into my parents (or frankly, any of those people who end up together on the Bachelor/Bachelorette) and the fear of ruining this awesome thing that we have makes me shake my head with a definite "NOPE" when I think of the ring and the white dress. My heart actually stops in fear every time.

I can argue for hours with someone on the legal, economic, and cultural benefits of allowing everyone to have government-recognized civil unions or marriages. I can give you statistics, cases, and studies proving that by giving everyone this right, our country can only become better. I can show you that gay rights are in fact human rights, that the right to love and commit to someone should be given to all humans, period.

But for the life of me, no matter how hard I try, I can't give you one reason why I would ever want to marry the love of my life. And since he's in no rush to ever marry me, I find myself even more jealous of all these couples where they both know they want something so beautiful. I want to want it. I want to have faith in it all. So why can't I?

Yet every time another state lets gay people get married and I look at pictures of the celebration and the happy couples, I soften a little. I find myself wondering what that commitment must feel like. They don't make it look that bad. 

So convince me, you lovely people in NY and all over the world. The fight--and more importantly the victories of gay marriage may renew all the faith I've lost in that institution.

Keep fighting. And no worries--despite my enormous amount of baggage, I'm right next to you, fighting too.