Hussam and I were recently interviewed on our interracial marriage; he’s Palestinian and I’m South African. I’ll admit that I’ve always loved seeing interracial couples ever since watching Pocahontas as a young girl and as much as Hussam and I have in common, we also have many differences that we respect and admire about each other.
I’ll post the article once I receive the final version, but for now I thought I’d share with you the short and long of how we met.
Short version – I was 12, he was 14. He was new at school. I had a huge crush on him. I’m sure he had no idea who I was and after meeting me probably wished he still had no idea who I was. Because:
Long version – Everyone knew that I liked him, because I can be read like an open book with a font size of 20 and illustrated pictures. Meeting him was, in a word, traumatic which is probably why there are gaps in my memory concerning the day we met. But what I’ll never forget and what he’ll never stop teasing me about is the fact that when we were face to face, with his arm outstretched to shake my hand, I just stood there. Looking at his hand. He tilted his head and looked at me and that was when I snapped out of it and shook his hand, my face as red as a fire-truck, or so I’ve been told. I don’t recall what happened after that other than being crouched on the floor, feeling faint with butterflies fluttering in my stomach and chills all over my body. Apparently this is what they call love.
There are many other embarrassing details that I’ve purposefully left out because I’d like to at least seem semi-cool compared to my ultra cool husband, damnit.
It’s been almost a decade since I first saw him but all those embarrassing moments between then and now were well worth it. Here’s to six and a half years together and nine months of marriage.