Monday, July 27, 2015

On the Brink of Bliss

I once seriously considered marriage, in much the same way a small boy craves big-people stuff. My thinking back then was that, yes, it's no walk in the park, but if you put in the work it is rewarding. I wasn't really feeling like an adult by that time despite having obtained an ID card. Embarking on the apex of adult relationships seemed like a sure way to accelerate the process. Colleagues and a wife instead of "the boys" and (a) girl pal(s) seemed like a step up into the somber big boy world of Duties and Responsibilities.  Also, hardship greys the hairs. I looked boyish, nobody was taking me seriously. It got so bad that I'd be in the company of my peers yet some ignorant lazy buggers picked on me as the "kijana" whenever an errand called for sending someone. All because I lacked a premature potbelly, stress wrinkles, a steely gaze or a "baba somebody" moniker. I was just Tony to all and sundry, or, in extreme cases, Duski Bolt. Indeed one of the portly girls gathered enough courage to tell me to my face that I had babyish eyes. Luckily for her I looked, and was, harmless back then. But I digress. Point is, I toyed with the idea of marriage for a variety of reasons. Think Marriage Challenge. As for whether my intended was going to accept my proposal, I took it for granted that given enough time, I wouldn't even really need to ask for her hand except as a formality, a ceremony, a gimmick, an exam whose answers I knew beforehand but still had to sit and write anyway. I felt  to be "in love" was a necessary prerequisite for marriage, therefore I strove to feel and act the way a person who is in love is supposed to, according to an unrehearsed mix of my convictions then and contemporary romantic conventions as depicted on TV. Probably I would do it differently today, just relax and steer the ride at my own leisure, but at the time it was an honest effort under the perceived pressure of self-imposed adult burdens and a need to impress. Those were some big shoes I was yet to grow into, but clumsily walking nevertheless, in earnest, a kid trying to become his daddy overnight. In my haste to settle down I skipped vital steps in the metamorphosis. Long story, we leave it for now. It helped that my intended spoke the truth from her heart, often smiled radiantly and redundantly and was easy to talk to. At times she could draw me out of my shell, which is no mean feat. I often retreat too far inwards to bring myself back into circulation but this one figured me out and disentangled me patiently like I was knotted up Christmas lights. In her presence my mental clutter cleared miraculously. Although there were times when she was the cause of fretful contemplations rather than their bane. Still I decided on the balance of things that marrying her might be a good idea... once I started working, if ever. Also there was the little (big) issue of sex, which marriage would not only rubber stamp but also require on the regular, so hooray, another plus. Other specifics like the wedding, and the house, and how many kids, blended vaguely into the blurry background of things that would somehow sort themselves out with time, why stress. Those days I was an atheist due to poor choice of reading material, but she was a believer. I merely assumed I would convert her to my perspective and married life could begin from there, because even in my unbelief I knew enough not to be unequally yoked with a believer, can you imagine! But she was strong, thank God, though my evangelization was not altogether very zealous because I quickly figured out that a little faith in the mother will be good for the kids if for nothing else. Besides, who wants to raise faithless brats in this cold blooded 21st Century? not me. Yeah that's how far my thinking went. Kids. Weird. Anyway, my marriage fantasies (!) were overtaken by subsequent developments (!) and now rants such as these are all that remain of that adventure that never was.

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