Single-Minded

A thirty-something, single friend of mine had a bad night. She was going home late from the office but she had to make an emegency run to the hospital because of a sudden stomach upset. So she consulted a doctor, and what’s the first question he asked her?

“Any chance you might be pregnant?”

That’s a logical question. But funny, nonetheless. At least to us, who have been single for so long we can’t even imagine ourselves being pregnant.  At my age now, I’m more than ready to become a mother. When I was younger, I used to believe that I’ll marry by 24 at the latest. My mother married at 28 and I thought that was way too late. Like there’s already this insurmountable generation gap between us. I fancy seeing movies where the mother-child tandem acts like they’re just “barkadas”, the best of friends. I would have chosen that for myself. But then life, apparently, has other plans for me.

Just recently, my high school classmates set up a mini-reunion. One of them is pregnant with her second child, and she wanted to meet us before she goes back to the U.S., where she lives with her husband. I knew right away that I couldn’t make it, but I lurked around our online group just to snoop on who’s coming and who’s bringing who. Rather expectedly, the main question for everyone is “Sino pa nga ba ang walang asawa?” (Who’s still single?). What do I know, I may be the only one. A pity, when I believe I was the first one among my childhood friends ever to know the meaning of the word “crush.” When I was 6 years old, and at kindergarten, I had a  great time practicing for a dance presentation because I thought my partner was cute. I remember that to this age because that was probably the moment when I realized how the boys are different from the girls. When they smile at you, it doesn’t quite mean the same.

I think maybe the people I grew up with ruined it for me. Becoming a teenager, there were people who would tease me nonstop about waiting for me to grow up a little more so they can marry me off to their sons. Old women love me. I was always the meek one. The silent, obedient type who would make a great “manugang” (daughter in-law). Oh, well, they’re probably right, but I hated their malicious smiles. I would always run away from these people thinking, “They don’t even want to ask me if I find their sons acceptable!” Add to it the fact that I was really shy and hated all forms of attention, my growing up years was a really tight affair. Looking back now, I wish I could’ve at least loosened up and maybe even joined in the fun. Well, at least some people find me desirable! That’s a good thing, right?

I didn’t have the chance to form real friendships with guy friends. Once, I was walking home from school with this guy “barkada,” and someone I know saw me.  When I got home, everybody was jostling me to admit that it was someone who’s making “ligaw” (a suitor). He wasn’t, but this guy could have been a great friend to me but because of such teasing, I never walked home with him again. When I was in college, there was this guy who came to our home with one of his friends. He was carrying this big bag of junk foods, wanting to have “a little chat.” It wasn’t even something excitable to me because (1) it felt so contrived; (2) my parents will never give me the privacy to talk with suitors without them in the same room; (3) I thought his Chippy was cheap, and he also creeps me out. One time, in my later years at college, I served as an usherette  in a wedding. We were wearing this Chinese-inspired costume, which maybe shows off whatever figure I have back then as a just-budding young lady. I guess it worked charms to some guys, because right after the wedding one friend of mine told me that there was someone there, a “good catch”, who wants to meet me. I didn’t say a word but my insides were laughing so hard, it actually, physically hurt. I guess I really hated these contrived situations where people would set you up with other people and they would be expecting you to go over your head happy about it. Those things never flattered me. I guess I’m pretty stubborn. A good two weeks after that wedding, I got a call from another family friend, saying that there is someone she wants me to meet who’s looking for a wife. She said, “He’s a bit older (35? to my 19), but he’s got a stable job. He has a store selling “timba” (water containers) at the province. Hindi ka magugutom sa kanya.” That was one big blow. Was that what my life is about? To find someone capable of feeding me? What about connection? What about the meeting of the minds? I used to love reading romantic novels; I loved the spontaneity and the fun by which the characters meet and fall in love. And here I was, being treated like a commodity by the very people who are supposed to let me discover the joys of growing up and being myself. It has always been a bit of a let down for me. But now, I know better. That’s just who they are. That was looking at life through their lens. I never really allowed them to see through mine. My father didn’t like me to read those romance novels. He told me, those were trash. It will only give me wrong notions about relationships and what real people should do with one. He was right. But I was just having fun. I’ve always wanted to be a writer. I know even then when what i’m reading makes sense and when it is just loads of crap (I don’t mind reading crap so long as I know it for what it is). But maybe it did have an effect on me. An overdose of stories about different kinds of guys and how they deal with different kinds of girls somehow allowed me to form a standard of what I’d expect of someone I can potentially spend the rest of my life with.

I have a number of spinster aunts from both sides of the family. Some of them have been nagging me about my “state.” I say for people who profess to be happy with their single-blessedness, they are pretty much panicking for me right now. I wonder why. The saving thing is this - and this is one good stuff i learned in college - it is not genetic. Falling in love, settling down, and starting a family is not encoded in the  genes. It’s a life choice. But waiting for the right person to do those with is another story.