Today's my husband's birthday in the Japanese side of the world. My usual mushy self, of course, wanted post a heart-wrenching testament of how he is the best husband in the world and how I thank God for him every day.
But then this day turned out to be too acidic for something that sweet. So, no, I am not in the mood for that crap.
I barely got any sleep last night, thinking about how I would tell my boss that I'm leaving. In the middle of an accreditation. I ended up being so stressed out that even my dandruff just ceased to be itchy.
When I finally filed my resignation, sure enough, my boss walked out on me. After repeatedly saying, "You're kidding. Tell me you're kidding."
After she stormed out, I went to bathroom thinking that it wasn't as bad as I thought. I definitely had it worse in my head. You know, scenarios like me getting accidentally hit with a paperweight.
At least now the cat is out of the bag, and I feel so much lighter. I know I still have to endure a couple of weeks being treated like Lindsay Lohan in Mean Girls, but what the hell. I simply have to refuse to care.
I went home slightly feeling bad so I bought a can of beer at the gas station. I was a little desperate for a picker-upper, which I think God answered by sending two black men to the bus stop with me, one of which advised me to smoke weed after a bad day at work. The other, however, recognized that I am a Filipino and expressed how much he would like to have a Filipino wife. No, he wasn't hitting on me. He was telling me about how an average American marriage lasts only five years and how perhaps 95% ends in divorce. Unlike Filipinos like Pacquiao, he said, who's married to his wife for twenty years already.
I sat on a thirty-minute bus ride thinking about the way this generation sees marriage. It is mostly a piece of paper that you can dispose of once you feel that it no longer serves its purpose in your life. Who cares about those vows you tearfully uttered to each other in your wedding? Or those nights of lovemaking that were surely orchestrated by the universe because, on those moments, it felt so damn right? Or those lazy weekends that made you feel you can lie down on your husband's hairy arms forever? It's hard to imagine that all these will simply cease to matter in five years.
Because I've always thought that marriage is becoming the earth and the sun. To each other. Keeping each other afloat, alive and pulsing in this infinite fabric of space and time. I know God would've put it that way. Yet we try so hard to squeeze it in an 8'11 paper, justified with 1.5 line spacing. And wonder why it never works out.
So here's my birthday greeting to my husband, sans all the bullshit every wife feels propelled to say. Today, I chose you. And always I will.
I know that for some people, it may seem like I'm sacrificing my career for you. But being a teacher is more than just a job title. Like our marriage, it is not justified by any contract or position.
And true love, they say, will never keep you from your life's purpose.
So cheers to more adventures together. More bumpy rides and rough patches. More homecooked meals and indoor dates. And just simply being together.
I hope you like my gift.
