Thoughts on Marriage (Why? and why not!)
I am in 30s now. Ten years ago, a thought was unimaginable to cross my mind. Now, this unimaginable thought is able to penetrate my radar of thoughts. It becomes real. And it demands serious thinking. I will have to settle down and find a partner in life. After flying and roaming around, the idea of settling down becomes a reasonable option. In short, marriage is a looming and emerging reality thought for me.
What is marriage for a man in his 30s? It brings clarity to what he wants in life. It is companionship in the tumultous journey of self-fulfillment and maturity. It is a rite of passage from a free-spirited man to a responsible husband. And more importantly, it is a decision to be with someone for the rest of his life.
Yes, I am in 30s. By this time, I was told, that I should have known what I wanted to become and I should be on my way of becoming what I wanted. The distractions of being single do not help in clearing and simplifying what I wanted. Most of my friends are now married and few are planning to get married soon. In gatherings such as class reunions, family get-togethers, church and organization meetings, one common question I frequently encounter is, “Are you married?” It is a question that I could easily dismiss and answer, “No!” But now the thought of marriage is more real than the question asked and the answer given.
Being in 30s carries a bundle of considerations before making the decision. One of which is my friends. If I get married, I will spend less time with them. I remember the time when my mother invited me to go with her to go shopping. I declined to go with her. My mother noticed that I was spending less time with her. Well, I did not notice that. I thought it was part of growing up. So probably, marriage too is part of growing up since i will be spending less time with my friends. Another consideration is my dream. I wanted to write a book. I believe that I have saved enough materials in my mind to begin writing it. The materials have even started to wake me in the middle of the nights and come to life to disturb my consciousness. I have doubts if a woman out there can share that dream with me and understand my passion for sharing my ideas and experiences through writing.
The thought has so far brought me here and now. They say that I am not getting any younger anymore. I admit that the thought has made me thinking. I believe that the true measure of a man is to translate this thought into action and reality. Allow me to think about that.
Look up, look far, look beyond
Look up!
When I was a kid, I learned to pay respect by extending my hand to hold the person’s hand and knocking that hand on my forehead while bowing. In my culture, the gesture is called “bisa†in Bikol  or “mano†in Tagalog. It is customary to bow and say “po†to the elders.
Bowing in many cultures is a sign of respect to elders. Then, colonialism bastarded the meaning of bowing as submission and sign of inferiority, regardless of age. So it was common sight to see local elders bowing to young foreign colonizers. Another notion on bowing is that it is being connected to humility (I am no worthy, plus bow! as popularized in a certain movie). It is exemplified when one is praised for doing excellently (magaling or maorag in Bikol), and usually that person will bow and denounce the praise as untrue (hindi naman o tsamba lang). I say this is not humility, nor respect. If we truly respect our skills, ourselves, and capabilities, we will not bow; instead we will look up and say, “thank you.†That is humility. That is respect.
I could not hear her heart beating for me anymore
I don’t have class today. No classes until January 10. No more late nights for reading and rushing papers to meet the deadliest deadline. No catching up with the school bus at “chepe monge†at 8:30am. No “gallo pinto†for breakfast. No gaby for lunch. No tutorials in mathematics for Hannah and Seth. No emails from the department or classmates. No more raining in the afternoon. No more use for the umbrella.
 These have been the things I am used to have for the past four months.
When I go out in the afternoon, the breeze accompanies me to where I don’t know where I am going. I walk on the same road which becomes unfamiliar to me. Even to some dogs of my neighbors, I become a stranger. They bark the way they barked the first time they had seen me four months ago. Some leaves are scattered, together with the memories of new year’s celebration. Some stones are unturned and grounded, some roll as I make contact with them. I sing the same song as I walk. I see the lush green landscape beyond Ciudad Colon. Some birds hover at a distance. I used to remember someone beyond the hills, at a far distance; someone’s heart beats for me. Sychronization of heartbeat with mine. The language of heartbeat breaks barriers of space and time.
Now, no more. I could not hear her heart beating for me anymore. My heart beats. It is lost somewhere, beyond the hills. The birds could not guide it. I could not help it.
I don’t have class today. Yet I don’t feel like celebrating. I don’t feel like on vacation. I feel like… I am losing my heartbeat. For someone, or no one, out there.
