I was talking with my mother just a few minutes ago. We were having our usual conversation on a myriad of topics from the latest gossip about whoever and the whatnots on cooking a certain dish, when all of a sudden, she mentioned this guy.
She said his name is Anthony. She said the name over 5 times in the span of 4 sentences. Not a good sign. She told me that Anthony is a friend of a friend (or rather her boyfriend) Good looking, shy, silent type, white American. Anthony is good-looking, she said. She met him one night during a poker game they had.
Anthony is good-looking she said yet again (as if it made a difference in me) Anthony is such a quiet person and good-looking too. She reiterated. Oh great! She thinks he's quite a catch - A good-looking, shy, silent type white American... and lo and behold! He gambles too!
My silence wasn't enough. I opted to watch TV as she babbled time and again about Anthony. Same old adjectives used, same old reaction from me. Playing cupid is beyond pathetic. What makes it worse is when one picks a certain someone but totally overlooks the fact that, preference wise, it just won't work.
I know it must be hard for her to accept that I'm a lesbian. She's somehow hoping that this is but a phase and that I'd eventually snap out of it like a very very bad dream. But pushing someone down my throat with a shallow character build-up won't make me budge a millimeter as to who I prefer to have a relationship with. It's like mating a donkey with a dinosaur. How can one even try something that is simply non-existent anymore?!
I know I am the ultimate femme, I am the perfect candidate to wear a bridal gown and walk down the aisle with much glamor and finesse. I however, am not the perfect candidate to walk down the aisle for a man.
Why do I need to follow the norm and be married to someone whose face I won't even remember before I close my eyes to sleep. Or to pattern my so-called happiness to what they perceive to be the only way to achieve true happiness in life. Or that the image above reminds me so much of my dysfunctional family. I am not entirely happy with the reality that I may not be the only wife to a philandering husband.
My life. My marriage. My happiness. No one else can make me choose who I want to spend the rest of my life with but me.
And when that time comes, I will wear that dress, walk down the aisle, and reach for the hand of my beloved wife-to-be.