Evil Eye

by Etaf Rum

Everything in her life had been a succession of things she hadn’t really wanted to do, expectations she felt obliged to follow: getting married just so she was able to leave her father’s house, moving to a small southern town because that’s where her husband worked, having children because that’s what the women in her life had all done, settling for a dull job because that was the practical thing to do for the kids’ schedules. All this for no other reason other than to prove herself to the world, or was it to herself? To prove that she could make something of herself without giving up on tradition. That she could have both freedom and family, that she didn’t have to sacrifice one for the other.

It was because all her life she’d learned to feel safer in obedience than to be free.

!!!!

She closed her eyes and lay there, focusing on her breathing and trying to calm her racing thoughts, until she experienced a moment of frightening clarity: there was more out there than the life she was living, she was sure of it. But what would that life look like? another voice countered. What if it was worse than this one?

Ashamed, she returned to the main grid. A collage of her life flashed before her: Mira’s and Jude’s rosy smiles as they tasted blueberries at the farmers market. Fadi’s arm around her shoulder at a Tar Heels game. All four of them huddled close on a park bench, a loving family. The perfection of everything she’d achieved was captured in tiny squares across the screen, in full color, precisely as she’d intended. So why did it all feel so false?

the fake world that is instagram

“‘Travel and tell no one, live a true love story and tell no one, live happily and tell no one. People ruin beautiful things.’”

Evil eye mentality

In a low voice, Yara asked, “Do you think it’s possible you were depressed, Mama?” “Ha!” Mama laughed, a sharp sound. “Was I angry and tired and sick of some things? Yes, but that’s not depression. Leave it to Americans to make a sickness out of being sad. Don’t they know that everyone in the world suffers?

Immigrants take on depression

“Displaying your blessings too proudly will only bring you hasad. You know how dangerous envy can be.”

Evil eye

standing at the kitchen sink, moving a sponge over a dish for what seemed like the hundredth time. She’d been sullen all week. Yara could not recall the last time Mama had sung to any of them. It seemed years since she’d danced around the house or shown any signs of happiness. “You have a beautiful voice,” Yara offered from the spot where she was drawing at the kitchen table. Mama looked up from the sink. “Thank you,” she said. “You could have been a famous singer, Mama.” Yara had been trying not to look too hard at Mama, but now she saw her mother frown. “That was my dream when I was your age.” “Really?” Yara said. “Why didn’t you?” Mama turned and stared at Yara then, a sudden coldness in her blue eyes. “My dreams died the day you were born.”

Omg

With Fadi’s business aspirations, she suspected he would continue to find an excuse to delay traveling. The girls would have to be in college before she could have the freedom to go anywhere. But hadn’t freedom been the reason she’d gotten married to begin with? She’d been so desperate to leave home and start anew with Fadi. She’d chosen this life. She wasn’t like Mama, stuck in a foreign country with no income or education, denied the luxury of self-determination. This was all her choice, her doing. Lately, she wondered, though: Had she decided on this particular path for herself, or had there been an invisible hand alongside her the whole time, steering her toward it?

“You know how much that man works to look after you and your children. Why are you giving him a hard time?” “I’m not. I just wanted his help with the girls, that’s all. They’re his kids, too.” “I know, yaaba. But you have to be reasonable. Is it fair for him to work so hard to pay the bills and help with your responsibilities, too? I’ve always known you to be a very sensible person, Yara. Deep down you know what I’m saying is true, don’t you?” Something came over her now, she didn’t know what it was, but she found herself sinking to the floor on her knees. She bit her lip hard, her mouth stinging. “Instead of making him feel guilty about his schedule,” Baba went on, “why don’t you try to be a source of comfort for him? Have a nice meal ready when he comes home, maybe put on something nice. Men are visual creatures. It doesn’t take much to make them happy.”

YOUR responsibility

She wondered if Fadi was aware of how often his eyes were on the screen instead of on hers. The entire world must be cursed, she thought, to spend so much of our days walking around with our eyes glued to a device that only left us feeling more alone.

I want to get better, I really do.” “So why don’t you?” She swallowed, pressing her fingers against her neck, then shook her head. “It feels like there’s something in the way.” “Like what?” “That’s the thing, I don’t really know.” “I don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head. “Why do you keep using your childhood as an excuse for your behavior? Some people still have to deal with their families as grown adults, you know. At least you got to move away.”

Oooooooof this man and blaming her for everything

“Allah yighdab aleki.” You say these words again and again, drawing them out like a dark melody. “May God curse you with a terrible life, a punishment for being a terrible, terrible daughter.”

She saw dismissive judgment in his expression and felt a swell of shame. “I know, but Esther said it might explain why I sometimes act the way I do when I—” “Come on, that’s not an excuse,” Fadi interrupted. “Do you really think you’re the only one with problems? My relationship with my father is bad enough to fill a psychology textbook, and I don’t go around losing my shit. You can’t just blame your parents when your life isn’t going the way you want it to.” She balled her hands in fists so tight her nails could’ve drawn blood. “But you never acknowledge the way I feel or what I’ve been through.” “See? That’s your problem. You think the whole world revolves around you. Your behavior has always been all over the place, Yara. That’s no one’s fault but your own.” “Stop it!” She could feel her jaw clenching. “I’m trying to get better, but you’re not making it easy.” “Seriously? So now it’s my fault?” “That’s not what I’m saying.”

I hate him

He said she’d regret it; of course he’d say that. But he was wrong. The pain of being alone could never compare to the loneliness she felt with him. She closed

“Our emotions are energy,” Yara continued. “Energy in motion. The point is to move the emotions through and out of your body. When you don’t express your emotions, when you keep your feelings inside, the energy gets trapped. So it’s important to feel emotions and talk about them, because when you keep them bottled in, you start to feel sad and down and heavy.” “Is that why you paint?” Jude asked. “To move the energy out?” “Yes,” Yara said, smiling. “I think it is.”

She reached for his hand across the table, held it. Yes, why not? To surrender to the vulnerability of love and allow ourselves to be loved by others—isn’t that the most courageous act of all?