Much Ado

 

I’ll be turning 25 this November. Unfortunately. And an invisible force is shoving me to embrace every excruciating fact of what they call the Quarter-life Crisis. Shit.

 

At seven in the morning I was still wide awake in bed, when I should be sound asleep. My aunt called, and I heard every bit of familiar conversation of her with my mom. The topic? Marriage. Ugh. I was screaming “not again” in my mind. Fortunately, it wasn’t mine. Thank God. But I’ve been through this, and the casual tête-à-tête at Délifrance in a mall was hell. Talk about suffocating pressure and arranged marriages in the presence of my mom, aunt, and cousins while overlooking at a table of an affluent happy Chinese couple with the contented grandparents and their five bratty boys, each tagging along a nanny. It’s just ridiculous. Too fucking ridiculous. And it doesn’t stop there.

 

Marriage makes me cringe, and I feel like some kind of a wealthy and worldly bachelor who’s trying to escape every means of it. Except that I'm not wealthy nor worldly in any way. Hehehe. Nevertheless, it’s a huge word, and the thoughts that come with it make it even larger than life. True, its ideal and harsh realities are inevitable no matter how you push it aside. We’re all gonna go there sooner or later. So what’s the fuss all about?

 

What if it doesn’t come along your way? What if it’s not intended for all? Time is ticking. Now, that’s paranoia. Double shit.

 

Of course, I’m gonna get married, and I will get married. I have to get married. But not now. Not just yet. I still have to look for my wealthy and slightly worldly bachelor.