ana la atakellem al arabi

26Feb08

I once knew a professor who fell in love with me. It was quite a surprise and the way he broke it to me was incredibly inopportune. In the cafeteria of a library, somewhere in between the idafa’s and nunation’s of Arabic level 2, he asked me if my family followed dowry customs. He didn’t like the idea of a dowry. And yes, he was Arab. Egyptian, actually. And several years my senior. But none of that matters. I actually considered the proposal for a few days. I know it was very inappropriate of him to make such a move in the middle of an academic semester. And the pressure of it all should have made me turn him into the dean of whatever department he fell under, but I didn’t. And for seven days I thought it over. I wasn’t in a rush to marry nor was I unfulfilled. His social skills were rough around the edges and being polite was like playing a game of pretend. I think, it was his intensity. He was one of very few people, men or women, who read the world with all their senses. He was uniquely brilliant. A man learned in several arts and sciences and languages, though he passionately refused these titles and categories. I still remember, at the time, he was studying folklore. I don’t really know what made me think of him again. It may have been that after trying to speak simple Arabic with a friend, I realized that I didn’t learn a damn thing in his class. But, you would be happy to know that I did learn the meaning of la.