“When the gods wish to punish us they answer our prayers.” – Oscar Wilde
Well they did not because they gave me a deaf ear.
Maybe they decided that they’d do nothing except for throwing their pitying gaze at the man who doesn’t seem to know what he’s wishing for and pondering what can make him take back what he asked.
It is a common mantra telling men to enjoy being a bachelor – every aspect and corner of it before committing yourself to being one with your spouse.
How I wish I did.
I wish I would have been more outgoing and used to getting along well with people so that I would have known the pleasures the come with it – the late night drinking, the girlfriends, the gimmicks, and vain pleasures that life has to offer before settling down and receiving the life sentence of marriage.
Would’ve been, should’ve been, and could’ve been. It’s damn too late for that…
Coz here I am married to a beautiful and intelligent woman and blessed with a son (considering how a lot of men like me are wishing for a junior to carry on the surname so to speak) who has 90% of my looks.
Once I was a free man gifted with sweet liberty, now I am reduced to an inmate in maximum security cell, stripped off his rights.
Before, I get to decide whether I’d go out on Friday evenings. Now, I must be home early every after work because people are waiting for me and that includes Fridays.
Before, I get to browse the net and be a couch potato for hours; now my time is not really mine at all anymore.
Coming home from work before, I’d just kick off my shoes and sleep like a log. Now there are dishes to do, medicines to administer, the garbage to dispose, and diapers to strap on. Add to that the putting up of the mosquito net and accompanying the little man to the bathroom so that we won’t be soaked in piss all through the night. And that’s not all. I get to lull the little boy to sleep subtracting half to one hour from my already depleted time of rest.
Before, I get to wash my own clothes. Now there’s an additional pile of small briefs with occasional poops and piss, little sandos and t-shirts, school uniforms, pants and small shorts (for the little man!) And from my wife – blouses, slacks, panties (all the sexy and the baggy ones), bra, undershirts, and other fabrics I can’t make up of whether it is to wipe sweat or to wear around the neck or the waist.
Before, I can read books for hours before and after work with little or no interruption. I loathe being distracted from reading and watching movies. Now, I can only manage to read when I commute to work, during the hour-long lunch break, and a few minutes after work. And of course it’s a big no-no for my wife when I’m at home.
The me, me and only me is already history because it’s already us and we.
My only solace would be on few Friday nights when my wife gives me a temporary restraining order on my life sentence. I would call it my “me time” although my wife usually smirks at the mere mention of “me time” thinking it’s nothing but downing a few bottle of beers, wasting money, and going home late 2200 hours tops.
Thus I developed a strange it’s-Friday-again-and-I-feel-I’m-sick feeling. I would dread coming close to the day feeling that for two whole days I won’t be able to have time for myself. This outweighs the fact that I’ll have a momentary ceasefire to my wartime-like and semi-charmed life.
I even admitted to my wife once that going home stresses me a lot. It’s not just the traffic but the thought that I can’t even rest in my own home.
I often wish to turn back the time when I was on my own minding my own minus the others’. Back to the time when it’s still legitimate to court that sexy office newbie on purple skirts or the hot chick cashier from the drug store.
I would’ve fought for my freedom if I only have the chance to do so. If only freedom would be something I can earn like money in the bank where I withdraw some and burn it to my heart’s content. I’ll only have one life on earth after all, and I wouldn’t want spending that one way ticket just sitting around.
However, when I look into the eyes of my little boy and my wife, conscience, good ole conscience comes knocking along with it’s frightening companion, Fear. The what-if scenario that freaks me out of my flesh. What if (God forbids!) I’ll get what I want which is to be alone? Is it something I REALLY want in the first place?
A big fucking NO! If this is misery, I’d rather be “miserable” all my life than having my wife and kid gone just to quench my thirst for me-time.
Prior to my marriage, the oceans are not even considered the limits to finding new territory. Now, there’s already a Panmunjom to set the boundary where I can operate and there’s a hefty price to pay in crossing the border.
So be it.
To hell with me-time! I’d just buy more exciting detective-story books…