Puffed Rice

It was my cousin’s wedding earlier. I just can’t believe she’s married. Tied to the old ball-and-chain. Damned to drag it behind her back ‘til death do her and her husband part. I should probably get used to the idea of it. She’s married. She is a recent Pol Sci grad, cum laude nonetheless, yet to turn 21, 8 months pregnant, and married. It’s just so surreal. Seeing her walk down the aisle, wearing a puffy, pink gown. And she looked so radiant, so pristine. Our eyes met for just the briefest of seconds as she was walking, and I hope she got what I am mentally telling her. That no matter what everyone says, I am behind her and I am not judging her. She nodded imperceptibly, as if to acknowledge that thought.

When I first saw her, after learning she was pregnant (her brother, who lives with us informed me that she is afraid to see me) I noticed how older she looked. Suddenly, she seems so weighted down with all of these things that I was afraid that her fragility would succumb to it but she didn’t. She continued to work, even though she’s very much well on her way. She held up her head high and graciously even if people were whispering, so very obviously, behind her back. She has fallen from grace, but she has risen above.

That was her destiny. Her path. Maybe it was not the path that she chose but she has something to look forward to; something to live for. I just wish her all the luck for that.

And no, Ailil, deep down in my gut I know I am not envious. Now I know for sure that this would not be the life that I would live (yeah, I’m a live-in girl).

I had to scoff once or twice (okay so much more than that) during the officiating minister’s misogynistic exhortations that were derived from the very patriarchal book called The Bible. He was droning about the wife being the doormat, or something so much more pleasant than that. When he got to the part where a woman should respect and follow what her husband says, I was ready to stab him in the eye with a toothpick. But my mother held me off.

Oh and during the reception (I hated the food though it was eat-all-you-can. I really don’t like native cuisines, for some reason) aunts and uncles and other people were asking me when would I get married. Fought the urge to stick my finger down my throat. One uncle even kept commenting that he thought I was Katya Santos because I was so fat. Oh, yeah, he was being so funny that I just gave him a withering look (and tried very hard to contain the scathing comeback that was threatening to pour out of my tongue) and continued to assemble my halo-halo. What a pain in the ass.

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My deadlines are all piling up. I’m so way behind. Will finish up everything next week. What happened in the Muziklaban stunted me that for a while, I didn’t want to write anything that is music-related. But, yeah, I’ll finish them all next week.

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Splurged 300 bucks on VCD’s last Thursday while I’m at SM North with Jay. Bought three cheesy romantic comedies: The Wedding Singer, One Fine Day, and Bedazzled. Okay, Bedazzled is not a romantic comedy, but Elizabeth Hurley is a one hot she-devil and Brendan Fraser is just so damn funny (the sensitive guy and his dolphin song definitely tops my list).

Pfeiffer/Clooney, Sandler/Barrymore have such a very good chemistry on screen. During the airplane scene of the Wedding Singer I was ready to bawl my eyes out so I had my Kleenex in handy. The kitchen-kissing scene of Michelle And the very-yummy George Clooney is so romantic; it left me in warm tingles that gave way to deep depression when the euphoria passed. Haay. Single life.

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To Jhamie, get well soon. Toodles! See you on Saturday.