I had a very weird dream last night. My parents had decided to marry me off to some stranger I didn’t know. What was strange was that I was already 35 years old. My upcoming groom was a brother of a priest-friend; a Filipino guy I have never seen or talked to before. Well, not in real life anyway. It seemed that my fate has been sealed and I was supposed to just go along with the idea.
My parents brought me to his house, a wooden unpainted house with simple furniture and one bedroom, and my parents made the arrangements with his family. It was agreed that I should continue to work, and my husband-to-be is suppose to do nothing because his parents will send money to take care of his needs. Apparently, despite the state of his house, the HTB was very rich. I was to do the housework, cook, clean kitchens everyday when I get home from the office while he lazes around. For some unfathomable reason, I seem to go along with the plan and had NO say in it.
I’ve never seen the guy before but he reminded me of Raymond’s brother in the TV series Everybody loves Raymond. He was tall, medium built, short black hair, droopy eyes, blank stare and seems lost on what he’s doing or going, When he started talking, in long sentences, all I can think was: “Duuuuuh!” (the way Moose would say it in the comic strip Archie). I felt a rising alarm bordering into screaming fit as random notions rushed through my head. “OH MY GOD! We have nothing to talk about! He doesn’t read! He doesn’t think! And he doesn’t talk sense! “And that started my heart thumping like it was going to jump out of my mouth – and I don’t mean that in a romantic way.
On what seemed like the day of the wedding, they made me up in this large white billowing chiffon gown. As we waited for a limo to pick us up, my parents had this bored look in their faces as if it was perfectly normal to marry me off to some stranger I know nothing about and much worse, who seems to know nothing about anything. When we got in the car, we were given a list of errands to do before going to the church like pick up the flowers, souvenirs, candles and so on and so forth. I remember saying, we will be late. And I was told that “No, we won’t be. It’s only four o’clock and the wedding is at eight.”
I sensed a growing panic as the car started moving. Thoughts of being stuck with this guy gripped me like a devil would a sinner. No challenging arguments. No intellectual discussion. No playful flirting. No mundane chit chats. And horrors of horrors, NO LOVE. No ten minutes of wonderful. Just a lifetime of nothing special. And the ideas gathered momentum around my head like a broken turntable.
The last errand was the wedding cake, I had to get out of the car with my billowing waves and walk a few blocks to get the cake, my family right behind me. I fell in step with a refugee girl. Where she came from, I had no idea. She was just there. She said she was walking this long way to get water for her family. There was a solemn resignation and sadness in her voice. I don’t know what she said exactly but soon after that, with rising fear in my throat, I started walking faster, and soon found myself gathering speed. And soon, I was sprinting down Luna Street towards Colegio de San Jose, clutching my billowing waves, screaming on top of my lungs, “I DON’T WANT TO GET MARRIED! I DON’T WANT TO GET MARRIED! I DON’T WANT TO GET MARRIED!”
Then I woke up.
I told Dory about the dream. I think it scared me more than any nightmare I’ve ever had. But it did cheer up my mood the whole day, considering how gloomy I was for the last few days. Mainly because the dream wasn’t real.
You know how dreams speak for our unconscious self? I wonder what my unconscious self is telling me.
Maybe I fear being domesticated? Or tied down? Maybe I fear dumb men? Fear of being sacrificed maybe? I don’t really know. I hope it’s telling me to never settle for second best, to never sell myself short. To always recognize what would make me happy, and to stick to what matters most to me regardless of the consequences it may bring.
Maybe I was never meant to be married. Maybe I was always destined to be a cat lady in jeans. Would that make me happy? No, definitely not. I’d really rather be married. But I’d rather make my own choices when it comes to my dream wedding … particularly the choice to pick my own groom.