I started this year thinking I'll be fine alone. That it doesn't really matter if I end up being married or not. Growing old alone doesn't seem that terrible and I relished the thought of freedom and not having too much responsibility. The only setback I recognized was that I really want to experience motherhood. I'd like to experience taking care of a child and seeing it grow. But that I was okay if I don't ever get that privilege. I was okay. I almost made it to the point that I was contented with what I have.
Then the world skipped and laughing with someone began as a leisurely past time. Suddenly marriage seems like a bright idea. That actually being responsible for someone doesn't seem to be too life threatening. And how cozy it would be to come home to someone after work and grow old with a familiar face on your bed every morning.
Then you realize you can no longer be alone. That half of you is already attached to someone else. That going home to an empty house would be more unbearable than a few more hours of work.
Then just when you've began to realize this, you discover that you have to re-learn to like being alone again. And still he doesn't understand why I find it difficult to trust. Go figure.
Babies have become a trend at the office. Everybody seems to be having one. In the last two months alone, I was witness to three fathers struggling with taking care of newborn sons. I feel kind of left-out because I can't take part in discussions about diapers and all the first goo-goo and gaa-gaas. But fine, I can deal with that.
Don't you sometimes feel that everybody is into one big secret and you're the only one who doesn't know about it? Aside from all the baby talk, I'm beginning to think there are no more great men in the world. They are either married or gay. Those who aren't have this big secret. And I don't know about it.
My greatest fear now is finding out that he never really loved me. That I've been actually fooling myself. And he was not really telling me the truth. Hmmmmmm ...
I've started reading a book called "The Unbearable Lightness of Being" by Milan Kundera. He writes on the second chapter: "If every second of our lives recurs an inifinite number of times, we are nailed to eternity as Jesus Christ was nailed to the cross." Terrible thought. I've been reading the book for a month and can't finish it. I think I'm going through this unbearable lightness of being. And it's not so bad. It's not good. But definitely not so bad.
If I sound depressed, I want to make it clear that I'm not. I'm in this unbearable lightness of being. :) And the truth is ... the reason it lasted this long ... is because it is bearable. Or maybe it is unbearable and I don't know it yet. lol.