You know the conversation is taking a really wrong turn when your mother—somewhat formally—prefixes a discussion with, “And, on a more personal note… ” The queasiness that such an innocuous string of words can arouse in the pit of my tummy will be apparent to anyone who knows my situation as well as I do; for you see, you then know exactly what’s coming next.
It is quite customary where I come from, that, when one is regarded to be “of marriageable age,” their parents assist them in finding them a life partner. And by “assist,” I mean they force you into marrying whoever it is they deem “right” for you. Somewhat sneakily—and quite successfully—over the past half-decade, I’ve been evading this sensitive issue with my parents under the guise of being “entirely engrossed with my PhD work.” It’s not surprising in the least that you see right through the pretence, and soon figure out that this is merely a smokescreen to buy me some time; time to explore, experiment and mature enough to make up my own mind on such matters. But what is odd, is that my parents seemed to realise this is a blatant lie too, yet willingly played along with it.
Luckily for yours truly, his little fib provided them in turn with a watertight excuse when solicited by people whose only job seems to be disposing daughters they’ve grown tired of. The blanket excuse of their son being in school—doused in the connotation of his immaturity—almost made them seem earnest when they harped about how ready he was not, how his studying occupied him entirely, and even, how he’s just plain incapable of supporting their daughter at the moment. This made it incredibly simple for them to mercilessly decline any and all who approached; and not seem conceited.
This ensured life was good. As good as it could be, anyway.
And in this time, I’ve grown quite accustomed to my independence. Yes, I’ve fallen once or twice (or eight times), but for the most part I’ve gotten to do interesting, fun things for which I otherwise wouldn’t have had the opportunity. But, as you obviously realise, I still don’t have a lot figured out in my life. I don’t know what I want. I honestly don’t know what I am going to do, or where I am going to do it at. I don’t know what makes me happy; in fact, I am quite certain I am not emotionally, financially, or in any other regard, entirely capable of keeping myself satisfied, let alone another.
Given all that, and given the general state of confusion my life is in, I am not entirely certain this topic is appropriate to bring up any time soon, but with the PhD phase of my life coming to an end (hopefully), my beloved argument is failing to hold water. Today, I found out that my mother is not going to mass-decline any and all requests for her son’s hand, and furthermore, will gleefully proceed to do things in order to set me up. I’ve fought long and hard, but being that I don’t have the energy to fight anymore, or even explain things candidly, I put my arms up in the air and told her to go ahead and do whatever. As in, if someone comes up and keeps advertising their little girl to her, I asked her not to think about me and proceed to do whatever makes her happy.
As long as her measures don’t bind me to follow through in any way.