It was easier when I was 5. Now, days pass. I grow older. And in the mind of the average Indian parent, that can only mean one thing: marriage – arranged marriage. It’s no different for my parents.

Years ago, when I was 10 or 11, I asked my parents if they would be OK if I married a non-Indian. Marriage was on the brain even then.

They ended up spewing out a list, in descending order. Top preference was an Indian of my caste. Least preferred was a Muslim. Everything in between went like this: Any Indian, other (White, Asian, Hispanic) and lastly, black. Prejudiced much?

Eventually I had to deal with this first-hand. First came the “marriage talk.” Naturally, this was a means to convince me that “It is time. As you grow older, you won’t look as you do now. You are in your prime.”

“Ouch” is the recurring thought. From what I can make of it, I’ll only get uglier as days pass. OK.

“Plus, you’ll be too set in your ways,” they said.

Personally, I think that’s a good thing. I’d be confident, strong and wouldn’t let anyone belittle me. Isn’t that supposed to be something we try to achieve? OK, next.

“We think you’ll have better luck if you marry someone from India,” they continued, “they are not as picky as here.”

I stifled a laugh.

Now, you may think that this is completely fine. And perhaps it is. But I am a girl born and raised in New Jersey. Indian in descent, yes. But am I truly Indian? No.

Despite my recent half-year excursion to India, I have no real connection with the country.

And the men? Well, let’s just say they’re not really my type. Though there are exceptions to this statement, this is generally true.

But for many, I am a pass to America. The expectation may be that I am homely. To you, this may mean plain.

But “homely” in the world of Indian arranged marriages basically means a housewife. For some, this works. For me, it doesn’t. Not at all.

So my parents ask the question: “Should we start accepting proposals?”

I look back and forth at my parents. Eager eyes and, I suspect, even more eager hearts.

“What do I have to lose?” I think.

So, I agree. Not out of respect or even out of love. But instead it was out of an undeniable amount of frustration. And I want to make my parents happy.

In the Indian world, happiness exists only if the parents are joyous and happy themselves. Supposedly.

I agreed! This realization overwhelms me.

I agreed to meet strangers to potentially agree to marry them. Love and attraction most likely won’t exist before taking the plunge. How awful. No butterflies, no excitement, no passion. I don’t know about this.

So as all good children do, I rebelled. I know that this is childish. But it is what it is.

I know now that all I want is to work on me and stay true to my personal values. Selfish? Maybe. But I think I’m OK with that.

My aunt said, “If you want change to happen, you have to challenge it.”

She is someone to look up to. She knows what she’s talking about. She married Indian but below our caste. Her sister married a non-Indian and was divorced and is now dating a Jew. Her brother married a Muslim.

I feel such pride in this moment.

Change, huh? Maybe all I have to do is break down some barriers.

To my Indian counterparts: maybe you should, too.