When I see couples out in the world, loving each other freely without restriction, the knots in my heart begin to tighten knowing that love for me doesn’t come as easily. I’m not talking about finding love, but rather embracing it. I started dating when I was fairly young, stringing along long-term boyfriends that I was too immature to understand. But nevertheless, I discovered what being “in love” meant at a very young age. Though this experience was profound and exhilarating, it was a battlefield at home.
I had to hide every single relationship I had in my life because of my parents’ disapproval. Coming from a family that immigrated to the United States in the ‘90s as refugees was a struggle all on its own. They came to America with my two sisters and had to start their lives from scratch, but they made it. Losing cultural identity in America is easier than a lot of people assume. The American way of living forces immigrant families like mine to assimilate to a culture they had never known before or else they wouldn’t get by. It was, “learn English” or don’t get the job, don’t get the home, don’t get the “rite of passage.”. In the midst of having to adjust every other aspect of their life, they pressed for us kids to not lose our culture and language, and I respected that. I speak Bosnian almost as fluently as I speak English and I am grateful that my parents didn’t allow me to lose a part of me in the American crowd. However, sometimes their grip on not losing our cultural identity was a little too tight.
Growing up, I always heard my parents tell me that a Bosnian guy is the only right guy for me. That a Bosnian will get me, understand me, and love me better than any other man ever could. Until I met my first boyfriend, I stuck to that. I held onto the image that if he’s not Bosnian, it’s not going to happen. When I started dating, I started to stray away from this mentality and started to live on my own terms. At first, I thought it wouldn’t matter, but oh boy was I wrong. It mattered a whole lot. Disappointment, regret, and pity oozed from my parents’ pores at the thought of me being involved with anyone other than a Bosnian man. It broke my heart more than the end of any of these relationships ever could.
Though I managed to maintain my relationships for years on end, it was extremely difficult. The hiding, the lying, the hurt. It tore me to pieces knowing that my parents wouldn’t accept the guys I’ve loved, merely because of where they come from. Over the years, I’ve tried opening up more about my relationships, but the budging was hopeless. . .until a few days ago.
After weeks of anxiety and worry, I finally decided to open up to my mother about the most recent relationship I was involved it. It seems dramatic but expressing my feelings for a man who wasn’t Bosnian to my mother could make or break the relationship. To say she was unhappy was an understatement, but she didn’t reject it, which shocked me. It was not what I wanted it to be, but it was a hell of a lot better than I expected. The future of that relationship didn’t last long, but something did change because of it.
A few days ago, my mother and I sat in the car on the way from work, discussing how important staying true to our culture is and how teaching our children where we come from is a blessing. Sitting in the front seat, I began to zone out the chatter floating between my mom and dad until my mom made a comment that made my heart beat into my ribs. She told my father that at this point in life, she longer wants to tell me who to date or like, but rather to just let me be open about who I choose to bring into it. My dad laughed at her comment, but her stern face didn’t budge. She was serious. My dad went silent and said, “it doesn’t matter, as long as I don’t have to go after him one day.”
This moment has not left my mind since the second it happened. The heartbreaks I’ve endured, the pain that I have carried, the restrictions that have suffocated me felt translucent and free. I felt like a part of my soul was set free. To people who have never experienced this, I may seem over the top. But think of it this way. . . I wasn’t allowed to love who I wanted. I was constrained in this narrow box with airholes only big enough to keep my alive, but not enough to let me feel alive.
For people with parents with nothing but acceptance in their hearts, I have waited 19 years of my life to be where you are, and I’m not even close. I don’t think I’ll even get there fully, but I’m making my strides. It’s a shame that I had to sacrifice my relationships in the name of acceptance, and it hurts. It broke my heart more times than I can recall. But now. . .I feel weightless. I feel inspired. I want to love unconditionally, as I do. I want the next boy that I love to come with ease, because I feel no burden in hiding the truth. Love to me is about who brings out the best parts of myself, and though I wanted it to work so desperately in the past, I now understand why I needed them as steppingstones to get to where I am now. No more hiding. No more lies. Just love.
Mel's Vision 