It has been two years and a half since we said our “I do’s” —well, technically he said I do while the ma’zoun (the person responsible for performing the religious marital ceremony) only just asked me who my wakil (the person I delegate to represent me in the ceremony) was, but you get the gist.

I have had all sorts of expectations about marriage, what married life is about and the companionship and promise of a partner sharing your every moment, for better or for worse, till death do you part.

That’s what it meant to me at least; of course, to many in our society, my expectations were nothing but naïve idealistic views of the world — something I refused to settle for and I will tell you why.

I imagine us growing old and wrinkled side by side, knowing each other’s fears and inner most insecurities by heart and sharing every dream, every downfall and every laugh and tear life threw at us.

I didn’t think marriage was all butterflies and rainbows, I knew it was a lot of work and I knew it was as realistically mundane as life is. But the notion of my sharing all the happiness and grief with the man I love was more than thrilling. Of course I wanted all the cheese and romance a marriage entails, but I also wanted the reality of it, the being conscious of your breath in the morning but still not bothering and kissing your husband good morning anyway. I wanted the simple standing in the kitchen chopping up onions and smelling awful but having your husband hug you and then make fun of your smell. I even yearned for the “your hair is clogging the drain” fights.

All the little joys and realities of married life are what make me now very aware of my belonging to another human being whose life is so intertwined with mine that we started to sound and smell a little alike. To me, a simple movie night, a good pillow talk about our dreams and waking up to the face I fell in love with every morning are the little joys of life that I wanted to get married for.

I grew up watching my parents share every decision, talk about life and politics and work, even blear music in the house and dance away for no apparent reason. I grew up knowing not only love, but also companionship and growing old as lovers and friends. I grew up to a mother who got mad at my father for sleeping too early because she misses his company when he does and to a father who consults my mother when it came to serious decisions in his life.

I should be most grateful to have a husband who trusts and respects me enough to share with me his hopes and dreams as well as nightmares and fears. I am grateful to have a husband who finds in me a companion, a friend and someone to talk to and consult.

I am not normally judgmental, nor do I mean to preach, but when I see that many guys would rather talk to their guy friends about issues bothering them than appear a tad bit insecure in front of their wives or girlfriends, I can’t help but wonder. When I see girls whisper to their friends at a dinner party how glad they are that their husbands are keeping busy playing PlayStation and leaving them to their own devices, I am simply alarmed. I wonder how some girls don’t find joy in the company of their husbands as much as they do in the company of their girlfriends.

I worry that in 30 years time, when the sex life has dwindled down, when they can’t go out and be around people all the time like they did in their 30s, that the marriage would be void. I worry that the relationship will grow numb and boring; if they never learned to talk when they’re young, if they never learned to communicate, how do they expect to find anything to chat about when they’re old, wrinkled, and talking is really all they could do?

If I don’t enjoy my husband’s company when I am 28, how do I expect to enjoy his company when I am 60? If he would rather hang with his friends all the time than chill with me, how do I expect him to stick around when gravity has taken its toll on me and my hair grows grey?

And of course, anyone married for over six months will understand this; very little interest seems to fall into how we find married life, how good or bad our relationship is or how well our careers are going. “When will we see your little bambinos?” or the oh-so-many “’o’bal weladko ba’a shedo helko” (we want to see your own children, so go ahead) seem to be the only questions we ever get.

Now don’t get me wrong, of course marriage, to me, meant sharing a human being that we both make together and guide through life the best way we know how. To me, to us, a baby would be something that would truly bring joy to an already joyful, secure and serene relationship. It would be the cherry on top, not the milk to the batter. We would be most grateful to be blessed with a baby that is our very own, but we also do not need a child to make our relationship work and answer our issues and insecurities.

Yes, I enjoy my husband’s company and miss him when he goes away. Yes, I think I should tell him absolutely everything and I will lend him an ear and support him through whatever he is going through. Yes, I know marriage is more than just romance and hearts and I love every little boring detail in the common every day life. And no, I refuse to settle for the “let him get a hobby to keep him off your hair” and the “Shh, my husband just walked in and I will talk to you later.”