I am no Elizabeth Taylor despite being much married. I don't have the beauty nor the wealth that Liz has. I wrote this using my pseudonym Zizi Machushla because I just love the name. It's not that I am proud of what I have gone through but I have often been misconstrued by people. There is much more to this story but don't try to read too much into the line because it might not be true.
Marriage-go-round
Byline: ZIZI MACHUSHLA
I'D ALWAYS dreamt of being a modern-day Cinderella, swept off my feet by a prince at the stroke of midnight, to a proverbial fairytale happy-ever-after. Instead I got married five times before I was 24! My marriages and children by different fathers have naturally made me a target for gossip. My first marriage was arranged. My parents were as conservative as they come.
I would even say that much of my rebellious streak is a reaction against their starchy ways. My father even followed me for what passed as first `date'. Under the pretext of returning a book, I met Rudy beside a cherry tree, near my house. It was the swiftest `thank you' and `bye' gestures because nothing else would have been possible under the watchful eyes of my father.
From then on, my parents made sure there were no more dates, no illicit romances, no boyfriends; but secretly I wrote lots of love letters to friends and admirers.
When my father knew I had several paramours - from the mail which he monitored secretly - he thought nothing of marrying me off. He was more adamant after learning that I'd walked away during my chemistry paper. I was game for marriage because I couldn't stand the grip they had over my life.
So, there I was an innocent bride to Joshua, a 26-year-old bank officer. Then came the exam results. They were fairly good - good enough for me to gain entry to university.
This led to fresh plans for me by my domineering father, even though I was already a married woman with a life of my own. Without my knowledge, he had enrolled me in a local university.
Soon, I was a student again, a part-time wife and halfway to motherhood. It sounds too good to be true. And it was.
A call from a woman who claimed she was Joshua's wife burst the bubble.My father was shattered. A bitter confrontation was followed by a temporary separation and then a divorce. At 18, after nine months of married life and pregnant, I was a divorcee.
When Ezra, my firstborn was one-year-old, I befriended a physics lecturer, Isaac, again under the hawk-eyed scrutiny of my father. As usual, there was no time for courtship and dating rituals.
So in less than two months, I married Isaac in a grand wedding. But the preparation lasted just a bit longer than the marriage: we were husband and wife for just one week.
When Isaac's parents learnt that he had just married a divorcee, they insisted that he deserved a better deal. So, there I was again, divorced and alone.
Husband Number 3 was my lecturer in my finals. He was very much older than I was. The union was an unhappy one as I discovered, after marriage, that he was abusive, possessive, cruel and regarded me like an object more than his wife. It was a turbulent marriage which lasted almost eight months. Secretly, I hoped and prayed this marriage would work. It was like hoping for a miracle. And there was none this time either. And once again, I found myself alone and pregnant.
At 21, I was thrice divorced. This was the blackest phase of my life since I had to seek refuge in another state from my abusive ex who was hassling me for a reconciliation.
People around me tried to be helpful. But there was no comfort. The more I looked at my two kids, the more desolate I felt. All I could think of was how to keep going and stay busy to keep my sanity. I needed my solitude badly.
A job transfer to Kuantan seemed the only solution. The office wanted someone for a PR job, responsible for the administration and welfare of the students and 40-odd staff - that sort of thing.
When they finally chose me, I felt a small current of hope as I thought of a new place, a new job and a new start.
I liked it. I found the whole new setting absolutely therapeutic. I don't remember having so much fun in life. For the first time, away from my father's watchful eyes, I could date the men of my choice. I was wooed by many men but was not interested in looking for another husband.
After a few months, I fell for Zack, who was gentle and - more importantly - unattached. I was 23 years-old. Zack insisted I quit my job. Like a fool I obeyed. That's when I discovered we were `squatters' in his cousin's house.
Zack also began to disappear, using his work as an excuse. My jewellery went missing, and my savings ran out fast.
When Zack went missing again for weeks - something that had become predictable - stories filtered back to me about his shady lifestyle.
When I confronted Zack after he finally showed up, he was so smooth that I just wanted to believe him. But deep in my heart, I knew it was over.
The day I discovered I had morning sickness, totally broke, I felt my humiliation was complete. I couldn't bear to face anyone. In my search for a fairytale, it never occurred to me that reality and men could be so heartless and cruel. It just shows how people's inner needs can cloud their judgement. My loneliness and fantasy had made me a target.
Just as I was about to give up, an old friend referred me to his superior, Larry.
A distinguished-looking man in his late 40s, Larry was a highranking law enforcement officer with the wellbred air of someone to the manner born.
There's something about mature men that sends shivers down my spine. Maybe I had seen too many movies and read too many romance paperbacks. Whatever it was, when I met Larry, all the others seemed to fade away. The snag: he was still very much married.
After learning about my marriage fiasco, Larry swiftly took me under his wing, and confronted Zack. The face-off seemed a wakeup call for Zack. It drove him mad with jealousy and he was "yours faithfully" for a while.
Then Zack's ex-wife, Sara, who had a hairtrigger temper and a madwoman's disposition, badgered Zack to leave me, and that he did.
But I had no time to wallow in self-pity because Larry was waiting for me the day I packed my things.
He lost no time making up for all the pain of my four failed marriages. He clothed me in designer suits, we travelled extensively, dined in the most exclusive places and wrote each other cards and letters.
Once, when I was in my parents house, Larry sent a telegram. My poor father almost had heart palpitations when he saw the message: `'Z, my one and only love. I miss you." On my 24th birthday, Larry gave me seven watches, eleven cards and a huge bouquet.
His concern for my unborn child was real and moving. The minute labour began, Larry was by my bedside. He was there for me and my baby, something which no previous husband had done.
We were married for 14 years, got divorced twice and had four kids. Larry wanted more children with me because he said he was different from all the other jerks I had married.
But all good things come to an end, some sooner than others. A heart attack struck two years ago. Larry collapsed one evening suddenly. Panic-stricken, all I could do was to let his face rest on my lap as he clutched my hands until the ambulance came.
I can still remember how his head lolled over, slumped and rested on my body that day; how I cradled him protectively.
When they wrested him from my grasp and loaded his still form into the vehicle and strapped him down, I knew I had lost him.
He was declared brain-dead on arrival at the hospital. When I signed the pile of papers the hospital gave me, that was one of the loneliest moments of my life.
When they lowered him into the ground, dropping handfuls of earth on his covered body as the priest said the final goodbye, I went numb. After everyone had left, I stood by his grave, silently talking to my dear husband.
I floated in and out of reality for a week. Every day after fixing food for my children, I would stare at the ceiling or into space until I was able to fall asleep. I was eaten by memories of Larry.
It is not easy to be a divorcee or widow in a conservative society. She must now, of course, live her life in a manner befitting her enforced single status.
To be a divorcee several times, like myself, is a virtual kiss of death.
But I refuse to follow the road usually travelled by people in my situation. A woman has the right to bail out of a bad relationship, but that should not stop her from trying again and again until she finds the right one.
I may be divorced several times, but that doesn't mean I don't believe in romance and marriage.
But I will never walk into a relationship without being sure he is the right man for me and my children.
