I went to Marbles with my school friends last Saturday to watch our friends gig and at the same time, have drinks and catch up after not seeing each other since class ended. It was just me and Bob who took summer classes, so we pretty much missed each other.
The highlight of that night besides all of us scraping cash from our near-empty wallets after confidently ordering tons of drinks was when G announced she was getting married. I wasn’t allowed to post her name because it was going to be a secret affair. After our shock [it was more like heart-wrenching terror] subsided, we finally gave her our blessings. It actually took us 30 minutes before we could hug and congratulate her because we had to shoo our shock out of our systems before we could talk coherently. We even tried changing her mind because it was very sudden. They’ve only been together a couple of weeks, and they’re planning to tie the knot next week on their first month together! Though I was happy for her, changing her mind made me feel funny. Finding out she was getting married forced me to realize that I will never have that privilege.
Getting married has always been one of my dreams. Tying the knot with the man I love in a big church is probably one of my biggest fantasies. I always imagined myself married, living together in a humble flat somewhere in Rockwell with a daughter who has a penchant for high heels and mink coats. Sadly, certain circumstances prevent me from wearing a futuristic ball gown by John Galliano and shoes from Christian Loboutin. Not that being male prevents me from strutting like one of Betsey Johnson’s models. My body is just not built to wear a backless dress.
Kidding aside, it just makes me sad. Frankly, I got a little jealous when G was telling me about her plans. For me, marriage is the clincher to a fairy tale. I know I’m pretty young to even think about it, but I already want to settle down. Bff Arvin even told me that I am the only person he knows who is excited about getting married. Come to think of it, it’s true. Most 19 year olds are still afraid of commitment, much more having a baby or a 24-carat diamond ring tying them down. I’d like to believe that I’ve already experienced everything I’m supposed to experience before getting tired of this cat-and-mouse game. And I am tired. I also believe that a guy asking me to marry him is the biggest sign of security. That I would be loved and taken care of forever. It doesn’t necessarily have to end that way because I’m realistic enough to know that the chances of that happening is one in a million.
On my way home, I was still thinking about marriage. Not G’s, but mine. Yes, I will never have the privilege of getting married [not in this country, anyway], but then I thought to myself, I don’t need to have a ceremony to prove my love for someone. Having a priest legally announce us man and husband won’t make our relationship better. Just because we’re not married doesn’t mean our love won’t be as real. Thinking about it, the ceremony is just a formality. I don’t need to wear a Galliano couture masterpiece to live happily ever after.
Though it would help. Owning a John Galliano piece would definitely make me happy. Deliriously happy. Having those Loboutin shoes wouldn’t hurt either.