I have been giving much thoughts on the subject of “marriage” lately. I will turn 22 in about few months. I might a get bachelor degree in about next year. I have hot temper but overall relaxing personalities. I am quite open though I cannot stand nosy questions. Alright, at least, let’s say I am physically mature for this thing called “marriage”. You might say it is early to get married at my age. I totally agree. It is just a subject among hundredth subjects out there designed to squeeze the heck of grey matter out of your brain. However, since “marriage” is a social practice that confine self-identity into “certainty” and doing so will require intense purge of bad attitudes. Especially if you are having bitchy problems, that ain’t easy.
For example, a wife should be graceful and humble. I am just not.
I am in love. I am not sure but I think I am in love. Really, I should be in love with that guy. I meant, I am. Let’s say I am in love. I want to marry him. Rather, I should. Rather, he said we should. He told me that unlike of what I had thought about marriage, marriage is the fruit of love, not the grave. Marriage is not an end but a beginning. Let’s say, I trust him and his assumption about “marriage”.
But sometimes, when I look at him, the thought of being with him forever gives my heart such grieving pain that tears pour out like madmen. Is that because the love in me detests the sight of dying in such a beautiful confinement?
I meant, we are happy. I look up and down, to my right and left, knowing that expectation is love killer. As much as being a dreamer, reality struck. He’s right about “marriage”. He’s just so right about everything that my brain is dully melted under his words.
Yet, sometimes, my rebellious spirit don’t just surrender.
Don’t tell me to bend over. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts really bad.
Don’t tame my limit. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts really bad.
Don’t test my poisonous mouth. If you die of my words, I will die, resurrect then die again, multiple times and more times after the end of this world ends.
After a while, fear subdues. I can already imagine myself crawling onto his body like a leech. So nope, I will not marry him. Part of my life is dedicated to drive him crazy, so crazy that he gives me such excruciating pain that I die gracefully in the most humble fashion.
Really, I guess I do love him.
Damn it, it hurts.
Lis.
Lis. 