Apparently I have reached the age where all concerned parties in my life (aka overly-caring relatives who are the reasons you avoid family gatherings) now feel, it's perfectly okay to question the sad state of my singlehood and the life-threatening perils of it. Like I actively CHOOSE to be single or something. Yes, Auntie j, I know if I don't settle for someone, anyone right now, I'll be left on the shelf like the sad, forgotten can of preserved Longans, coz people buy their fruits fresh from the market now, and I will be miserable and crotchety for the rest of my sad, sad life.
Of course I DON'T want to die without first experiencing the exquisite joy of motherhood, Auntie b nor the personal sense of accomplishment and satisfaction that can only be achieved through natural childbirth without the aid of hardcore drugs like the epidural. And so the unsolicited advice and questions came, from all corners, faster than I could dodge and duck, faster and more furious with each family get-together.
You're probably thinking that I'm being an ungrateful wretch for not appreciating their obvious care and concern. Well, I will have you know that I love my aunts to death but sometimes their unconscious cruelty can make even the most stoic of men cry. And this is the point I was getting to, IF you'd waited. See, if you hadn't jumped to the silly conclusion that it was another whine about naggy relatives, you wouldn't have to feel bad and sheepish now, would you?
My darling aunts reduced me to a quivering, blubbering lump of mush. Not saying that I can't easily accomplish that myself being the consummate crybaby that I am. BUT this was over something that has NEVER affected me before or thought would EVER affect me. So you can imagine what a pitiful state I was in. A baffled, horrified, very, very sad mess that's what.
So there I was, despite a mounting headache from the gaggle of screaming kids and babies, trying to remain placidly indifferent while my very pregnant cousin basked in the cooing and ahhing of our aunts and uncles who couldn't stop patting her ginormous tummy, when suddenly I heard my name.
Aunt C: Oi, Daphne, so when's your turn ah?
Me: (suddenly realising that there was more coke than whiskey in my W&C but knew this was not the time to bemoan a poorly mixed drink. I had to organize my thoughts and come up with a kick-ass retort) "Huh? My turn to what?", sputtered the lush that I am, so eloquently.
Aunt b: What happened to [name of any random ex]? I thought you were serious about him? Aiyoh, don't tell me you chased another one away again?* Look at Gina here, younger than you and already with her second child. What are you waiting for? You know the older you get, the harder it is for you to conceive and even if you manage by some miracle do, the baby can turn out spastic (yes she really said that, she's not very PC, so please excuse her) you know? Mongolian baby....aiyoh, very hard to take care of and next time you grow old already, what will happen to her? Not say I want to scare you or what. Just worried only. And also the birth itself will be very, very painful, more painful as you grow older, you know right?
(Uh, like I need further convincing about the fcuking PAIN, but thanks Aunt b!)
Me (diverting the issue as only the expert that I am can): Hahahhaha. No, god, no, uh, it was never serious and he drank too much anyway. Gets drunk every night. In fact, fella starts his breakfast with Guinness! (Note how I masterfully draw suspicion away from my own drinking habits).
Aunt J: (butting in as she's wont to do) Wah, stop being so fussy. Dunno why you all girls these days have such high standards. So fussy. Back in our time, if you meet a man with a good job and willing to eat your cooking, you just grab already. Whether he's got a hairy wart the size of a $0.20 or enjoys farting challenges with his kakis, aiyoh, all that not important and also, if there's no love at first, it's okay, love will grow. Trust me, auntie went through alot of experience, I won't teach you wrong one. Really. Better find one quick and get married. You're not getting any younger you know. (Hey, thanks for reminding me! For a moment there, I thought I was still 18. Pfft) You want to end up a spinster like Auntie Xiu Yan, is it? So sad that Xiu Yan...so poorthing....no husband, no children...wah, really sad...
All I could hear and feel was the weight of that dam.n word. Sad SAD SAD SAD SAD.
At this point, I could feel my headache turning into one of my monstrous, full-blown migraines and horrors of horrors, something resembling tears at the back of my throat. Something confusing and frightening came over me.I swear, I have NEVER, ever in my life felt that being alone, even if forever, was something to grieve over. So what the fcuk was this?
I chirpily announced that my bladder was bursting and fled to my room.
I was terrified not just coz I might start bawling in front of an already very concerned horde of relatives but also at my new-found tender feelings. I needed time alone to figure out what they represented.
I've always had a rather laissez-faire, devil-may-care attitude towards marriage (that is not to say I take relationships lightly, quite the opposite), maybe because the whole idea of marriage just scares the shite out of me, (with all the frightful responsibilites and grown-upness AND housework that it entails) so, feeling anything different is extremely alarming. I never felt likeI was prepared to be a wife yet.
And I definitely wouldn't make a good wife. A very ill-equipped one at best. And what use is a wife like that, I thought and still think.
A few pertinent Reasons Why I would make a sucky Wife:
-I have never cooked an entire meal without some outside help (usually the bf) in my life. And I highly doubt that ordering KFC and then arranging everything out on nice dinnerware counts, even if I did handle the whole affair on my own.
-I have never spring cleaned my room without some outside help (usually the bf) before. I can't change the bedsheet on my own coz the mattress is too dam.n heavy. What about the long periods of time when I didn't have anyone, you ask? Like now, perhaps? Oh, don't be silly. My dad helps me of course. Duh.
-I don't know how to use a washing machine. Uhm...what?
-I don't know how to mend socks or stitch a button on. Yes, I happen to still adhere to old-fashioned notions of sock-mending and button-sewing. Waste not, want not. BUT, having beliefs and having skills are totally unrelated, hello???
I could go on but I don't see how talking at length about my obvious flaws and lack of wifely potential is going to benefit any of us.
The issue at hand is not whether I'll make a good wife, but the revelation that feelings, annoying feelings of panic and despondency actually exist in me. And no, I don't know where they're coming from. Pay attention, people. The crux of the matter is that they are sprouting in me. In me!! The same me who eats cereal out of the box for dinner coz my mom's too busy to cook, the same me whose idea of doing laundry is to load, add 2 heaped spoons of soap powder and wait for someone to start it up, the same me who's never had a checking account or owned credit cards (dad's card doesn't count right?), the same me who'd rather spend all day in bed with a book then go to Ikea (which all girls seem to like ALOT) or the Home & Decor Exhibition that is always right next to the Beautiful Brides Expo that all my girlfriends LOVE traipsing down to, with bfs/fiances/hubbies in tow.
The me who has always eschewed the idea of marriage and babies (eek!) and housework, suddenly experiencing burgeoning feelings of....what? Wanting to settle down? Or wanting, no, needing a love that is so real, so complete, so all-consuming that creating a family together is but a by-product and not an end result; that the alternative to NOT being together would mean the end of life itself?
[Pregnant pause]**
What? You think I don't know what you're thinking? Nothing good for sure, knowing you lot. And anyway, I never expect anything optimistic to come out of a pregnant pause.
Eww.....enough already with all this sickeningly mushy talk, I hear you say. I KNOW. You think I'm not creeped out as well? You think I enjoy being all melancholic and sad and that those poignant strains of Barber's Adagio For Strings floating around me are playing of my own accord? Believe me when I say that I am mortified and beside myself.
In my defense, let me say that loneliness is an insidious bastid that creeps up when you're not bloody looking, so it's not like I intended to go on the way I did, OKAY? And y'all know too that my mind is only capable of non-sequiters and disjointed digressions so I don't see what you're all grumbling about really. You didn't step into this with your eyes closed, you knew it was going to morph into a long-ass and possibly simpering post, so shut up and help me out here, will you? I NEED foolproof solutions to banish these non-me feelings and if you've been through this before and have successfully eradicated such feelings, through some means or another and am now back to your former blissful self, then what the heck are you waiting FOR??
I'm counting on you. Please don't let me down, not in my most dire time of need.
P.S Suggestions of alcohol-usage/abuse are redundant. Because obviously I turned to booze before I looked to you for help.
Footnote
*(My aunts love to joke ALL the freakin' time about how I manage to *chase away* all the guys in my life. Like there is no such thing as a mutual break-up or that they could have chased me away instead? You know, because of their asinine assness? Or that love sometimes becomes just a shadow of what it used to be, but I don't want to think about that right now coz my eyes are fresh out of tears)
**(which I feel is the yuckiest pause of all; it just brings to mind all kinds of vile god-knows-what breeding inside)
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