It's been 'interesting'. Some awesome, some horrid mixed up into the familial pot. Stir in a couple of cups of laughter, a tablespoon of turmoil, a pound (or two) of gossip (inter-generational gossip no-less), a spoonful of painful recriminations and a pinch of tears. Add in one-on-one bonding sessions (over body-treatments, sheesha, coffee or something disgustingly calorific) to taste - and you have yourself a recipe for this two-week extravaganza.
As expected, I have been asked - in different ways - why I remain persistently un-wed. From a bald-faced, 'Zainab! I haven't seen you in so long, I expected you to have found someone for yourself a long time ago' to a speculative 'So, aren't there any men in Islamabad you can marry?' to a wistful 'I hope that soon we will all be hearing good-news from your end!' the reminders come in droves.
And with them come all the uncertainties and the always-pesky-wondering, perhaps I was wrong about never-saying-yes? Perhaps I should have taken the plunge a long time ago. Perhaps what I'm waiting for was never really out there to begin with. And now, perhaps I have burned my bridges, taken an axe to my boat, refused all the life-jackets and have no one else to blame when I slowly-slowly drown. Into a sea of 'forever-alone-ness' punctuated (every so now and then) with the odd transient relationship that I always wish would mean more than it actually does.