I love my family. Alhamdulillah, I’m blessed to be surrounded by such great people of all cultures and faiths, united together by their affection for each other. That being said, my family has its crazy, hilarious moments - which just makes me love them more! I’m starting a series of blogs dedicated to my big family. The cast of characters: Ameir (my husband), Maryam, Aishah, Lema, Batoul (his sisters), Mama and Abbu (my parents), Mom (Ameir’s mom), ‘Ammo and Fatimah (Ameir’s dad and stepmom). They make up My Big, Fat Pakistani Syrian life. Enjoy!

He sat behind me in AP English, senior year at Athens Drive High School. Ms. Overby assigned us to three group projects together. But no big deal. I was Power Muslim Woman (PMW), so he didn’t get to me. He was just another guy.

I’m not sure how it started. But one day, a few years later, I found myself thinking, “I want to marry that man.” Ameir was mysterious. Tall, dark, handsome, with a rakish smile that threw me off balance. Kind, gentle, poetic, and made me laugh from the bottom of my heart.

Oh, and he’s Syrian, with a touch of Irish and German. And I’m Pakistani.

He asked me to marry him in the traditional way, telling me of his intention to marry me and asking my permission to speak to my father. I happily agreed, and thusly I entered into a life of a beautiful blending of cultures (and ensuing hilarity).

I didn’t eat for two days before they came for the classic “rishta” dinner, where a man officially comes to ask for a woman’s hand in marriage - Ameir, his father, and Maryam, my friend and future sister-in-law. PMW turned into a nervous, blushing teen. I could say that as soon as I saw him, as soon as we locked eyes, my heart was calm and everything was fine. No, we were both nervous. He blushed like a tomato.

We had dinner, sneaking glances at each other the whole night. Maryam kept kicking Ameir under the table because he was bouncing his leg nervously. I was staring at him while his dad was talking to my dad, and I dropped a grape into my lap instead of into my open mouth. His mouth convulsed as he tried to cover his laughter.

We moved over to the family room to have tea. I served the tea, the ultimate rishta dinner test. I demurely poured a cup for Ameir’s father, the guest of honor, and asked him how much sugar he’d like.

“Just stir your finger in it,” he replied.

I panicked.

Thoughts: Oh my god. My future father in law wants me to stir my finger in his tea. Oh my god. It’s hot….it’ll burn. But it’s my future father in law. What do I do? How long do I keep it in there?

Maryam, who had been my friend for years, came to my rescue. She whispered in my ear. “Just put one spoon. ‘Stir your finger in it’ is a Syrian compliment that means ‘You’re so sweet, the tea will become sweet if you stir your finger in it.’”

And then my dad dropped the bomb. “Ameir, why do you want to marry Taiyyaba?” “Uhh…I…uhh.” said Ameir. “Because Sister Taiyyaba….”

“SISTER?” Maryam and I laughed out loud. “Why are you calling me Sister?” We all laughed, Ameir turned red. He answered something which I found sweet and romantic at the time, but I can’t remember exactly what it was, because then Ameir’s dad asked “Well, why do you want to marry Ameir?” “Uhh…I….uhh.” I answered with something equally sweet and loving.

A week later, we had our official engagement party. Pakistanis call it the “mangni” - the asking. Syrians call it the Fatiha - the opening, the beginning. It’s named after the first chapter of the Quraan, Surat al-Fatiha. Thus, among our family and closest friends, we began our life together. A beautiful, loving, mix n’ match life - and I’m so happy that it’s mine, Alhamdulillah!

In the next installment, a hydro tries to spell urdu, the Imam of our masjid makes everyone laugh, and a brownie pan is used as a daf.

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