Dear Readers,
I’m excited to share excerpts from the final draft of my memoir as part of my month-long series exploring conflict and pushback. Today, we explore boundaries: how they can both protect and limit us. As you read, I invite you to consider the boundaries in your life, how you respond to them, or how they have changed over the years.
This chapter covers what may be the most memorable moment of my first weeks in Bahrain: the first time I visited a souk and came face to face with the conservative culture I had just moved into.
Even now, more than twenty years later, I can still see the bright colors of the textiles and smell the grilled meats wafting through the air. But the heart of the chapter goes deeper than a market, or even the anxiety of making sure my shoulders were covered. I watch a woman navigate the souk in a full burqa, trailing a few steps behind a man I assumed as her husband. So many questions. Was the veil her choice? What did it protect her from? What might she be wondering about me?
She was trading her freedom for security and cultural acceptance, or at least that is what I imagined. I also suspect she looked at me and thought: she is trading her honor for freedom.
I separated from my group and ended up in a segregated coffee shop; men near the entrance, women with their families toward the back. I remember thinking, even as I resisted it: I can see how walls like this work. How people rely on them to buffer their lives or stay in their proper lanes. I could keep to my lane, stay in the lines, right?
Twenty-some years later, I’m writing this chapter into a memoir and sitting with the version of myself who was already scoping the alleys for bars before she’d even finished her coffee.
Twenty years and a memoir later, I’m not sure I have the answers now either. Somewhere along the way, I learned that questions are just part of paying attention, not a problem to solve.
Enjoy the reading! I will include a longer excerpt next week, along with deeper insights into the craft, and specific ways to amp up the conflict in your stories. Find the links to previous chapters and related content below.
Chapter 2: Various Levels of Coverage (excerpt)
I turned my attention to the window, where the soft afterglow of sunset exposed my new life—it was shockingly different. Instead of the lush landscapes of Quito, I viewed scrub-like desert, not even the pretty shifting sands I had imagined, and nondescript buildings, which blended in different shades of brown.
Sweat beaded on my upper lip; panic and regret arrested my breath. What had I done? I scanned the landscape—just a splash of color would feel hopeful. Then, as we turned a corner, the sea came into full view, calm blue blending into the soft hues of the fading twilight. The Arabian Sea, which cradled this tiny island, was never too far from view. I cast my gaze out like a fishing line and anchored it on the horizon for the rest of the ride to the souk…
It was completely dark now, but the fluorescent lights bounced off brightly colored scarves and seemed to spotlight the vendors offering Arabic coffee, inviting us to sit and chat on their plush Persian rugs. The locals were easy to pick out in their pressed robes and head coverings, gesturing and calling out to passersby, luring us into their shops…
I noted the variety of women around me and their levels of coverage. As foreigners, we dressed modestly, covering our shoulders and knees as advised, even in this oven. Some women wore long skirts and blouses with full-body coverage; many had headscarves that matched their outfits, making the hijab feel more like an accessory.
Others dressed in black abayas, the long, robe-like garments worn over clothing, with hijabs tucked neatly in place. And then there were the women like the one trailing a few steps behind her husband, wrapped entirely in a black burka. Even with her veiled face, she navigated the sidewalk but stayed within his shadow.
I had so many questions. Was the veil her choice? What did it conceal, and what did it protect her from? What was she spared by wearing it? But just as I wondered about her, she might have wondered about me. Why is she exposing herself to the world? Does she feel the men’s stares? Wouldn’t she want to be free of them?
I examined the coffee shop, noting the men and women partitioned away from one another. The boundaries here were stricter than anything I had ever experienced, but I could see how they functioned, how people relied on them to buffer interactions. In theory, boundaries could work for me, too. If I could stop myself from bashing right through them.
But even as the thought formed, another voice intruded: You won’t. You never do.
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Tell me about your boundaries? Or your thoughts on this chapter? Or just say hello! I read, respond to, and deeply appreciate all comments.
Read the prologue and the last few posts about the first test passed, and the chapter that took the most tries.
All the best,
Michelle