Wearing white to darken up the rest of your life?
Is it really that dreadful? Such a noble and virtuous link in this earth, the whole wold celebrate it, from modest family gatherings to extravagant weddings, written in every holy book, sacred by every single religion, marriage.
A logic continuity of life for some, a choice for others, an obligation for the less fortunate,a complete nonsense for the rebellious, a dream for young girls.
I am expected to get married, if not right away, some time in my life, before a certain age that can vary from a region to another, it is a sequence of my existence, a woman's circle of life, a no-brainer almost.
But the more I meet married women, the more I get confused.
From all the complaint, the desolation, the despair, the hatred I hear on these women's lips while talking about their marriage, I get carried away in a maze of thoughts, so intense, rotating around one core simple question: Why on earth should I get married?
If marriage only brings out the worst in people, why is it celebrated? why is it even wanted if it puts the individuals in a constant war? Who wants to live like that?
All these women certainly had heard other complaints, other failed marriage stories, or even witnessed or experienced being the consequence of a wrecked house hold, yet they decided with their own will to get married and follow their ancestors pathway. Only to find themselves trapped in the same mistakes their grandmothers and mothers made.
So what is the secret of a successful marriage? It can't be that cynical for everyone, there must be a formula, an equation for pre-married to solve, the key to the marital heavens.
"Marry a rich guy" is a sentence I've heard in many "female only" family gatherings, "A man is only flawed by his wallet, get you a man who will provide anything that can come on the tip of your tongue, you don't need a man who will only drag you down into his poverty, and restricted means"
But I don't need that exactly, there's a plenty of ways to gain money without committing myself in such a strong sacred bond, or does my family want to reduce me to a beggar living under my husband's mercy...
I dream of love, my soul craves affection, and there is nothing wrong with it. In my imagination, I go to bed happy, smiling from ear to ear, thanking my lucky star for making me fulfilled. In my imagination, I am satisfied with everything God have put on my table. In my imagination, I am loved with passion, with gratitude, with respect. In my imagination, I am madly unapologetically in love with a person I call my half, my all, my companion in this journey, whom I will be so proud to call husband.
Why is it so complicated to understand? Who should I blame here? Myself, for being out of the ordinary, a black sheep?
Well, I am that black sheep.
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