The quest for imperfectionism

It is a worry. It is an epidemic. It has become a social travesty, and things don’t seem to be looking hopeful. The question is “Where are all the good men….?”

You don’t need to be single to join in this conversation. Even your wifey friends are commenting on the lack of substance in the pool of available males (for you). In the community, outside the community, on this Earth. And while they quietly pray to God they have found their ‘one’, they too lament with you, because dammit, they want to see you happy with a fine man and making lots of happy babies.

Is this where I see myself anytime soon? I don’t think so.

I’m twenty-four, Indonesian, living at home with two siblings and parents, three cats, not-so-bad job and a car I’m still paying off. So, what do I have in common with you? I’m a Muslim woman living in Australia. And like all you ladies, I happen to be part of one helluva kick-ass group of people; we have brains, we have pride and we have guts.

Whether you believe in settling early, settling for nothing less, career-making, or match-making, apart from a few rare exceptions – and these women do exist and have every right to – we all imagine some time in the future to be waking up next to somebody. That one person who is the last thing you see before you sleep. The one who makes you stop looking.

Back to the question about the existence of these creatures, who are sounding more and more mythical as time passes – “Ahhhhh, yes my dear child…there was a time when the ‘wonderful, perfect man’ existed… Respectful, noble, generous, warm…some were even gentlemanly! They lived in abundance back then. Enough to share around even. What a fine time that was!!”

Look, I’m not delusional. I stopped dreaming about this ‘perfect’ man a long time ago. Somewhere in between the time I was told a five year old could “not really love” Travis, the twenty-something year old who couriered packages weekly to my uncle’s shop and the time Jude Law was allegedly admitted to cheating with … oh God knows which one.

What I do know exists is the man who is perfect for you. Ok, so he leaves the toilet seat up, and he still buys you plastic flowers because “they will last forever!!” even though you have hinted again and again that you prefer the fresh ones even if they die after a week. And he has to be reminded by phone, SMS, in person, and by phone again to buy milk on the way home. But he fits you. He is your complement. He strengthens your weaknesses, and he depends on you to make up for his.

Perfectly imperfect, one might say.

Let’s find out what men consider perfect. A Muslim male I work with, young enough guy, was quite shyly giving me the criteria for his future wife, of whom he was on a hard-earned search for.

“I’d like her to be practising, ummm, sense of humour, intelligent…”

“So you’d like her to have a brain…?”

“Oh yeah, I don’t want her to be a village girl or anything. She can’t be a sack of potatoes!!” (Quote, unquote).

His checklist was fair enough, I said. Ok then, so why not go for Heba…? A girl we both knew. Heba was clever, witty, gregarious, a funny girl and very, very gorgeous.

To this he replied with some difficulty, that he was (insert uncomfortable cough) looking for someone a bit more…traditional. Upon seeing the shock across my face, he then added, “Well, you know…how do I say this…? Er, more girly.”

I could not believe what I was hearing. If this guy thought someone like Heba, with her good (very feminine) looks, funky sense of dress – we all know young women like her, they wear a headscarf and look trendy enough to have walked out of a Sportsgirl catalogue – was not girly, God knows what men thought of me, a short-haired, runners-wearing, loud woman whose make-up regime consists of lip-balm and moisturiser.

Darling, I wanted to tell him, go out and find your sack of potatoes!! First, you’ll have more luck finding one for yourself, and secondly, you’ll find the vegetables a lot more accommodating.

I was reminded of my girlfriend whom, after exchanging more than one phone conversation had finally met the man with whom she had been ‘matched with’ according to the notorious community match-maker.

The meeting, with families present, went perfectly. He couldn’t have been more wonderful. Funny, good-looking, successful, but more importantly, said friend and potential hit it off instantly. Or so we all thought.

“What?!! He is NOT interested?!! What the hell happened on Sunday then?” Surely this could not be the same man whose glowing report I had heard about just days earlier.

Ah – but it was. My girlfriend WAS perfect, but dear matchmaker he had asked, could he possibly find someone like her but who came in a Size 8.

Truly infuriating.

These stories do make me wonder, what are other single women like me doing/acting/saying/behaving (circle whichever applicable) wrongly that might make it that bit harder for every Tom, Deen, and Haris.

And the answer was simple; nothing.

We weren’t freaks. We weren’t incapable, meek, playthings that waited in the corner until it was our turn to speak.

Sure we could play clueless, and act needy so men would possibly feel that their existence was worthy in our lives – but what a life that would be!

No, we were doing just fine. If our independence, stubborn streaks, voicing of women’s rights was too much for one man to handle, then Allahu-ahlam, we are going to go about our merry ways until that perfectly imperfect man is brave enough to spot a good woman when he sees one.

Until then, I have plenty of non-attached friends…we can all go live in a big house somewhere and be as non-girly as we like.

Ani