(I was planning to write something along the lines of “What Not to Say in the Middle of Fucking” but my partner dissuaded me from doing so and I was thrown in a loop as to what to write about next. So for all the readers who are sick of the following topic, the following post is as much Eric’s fault as mine.)
Sometime a few weeks week, I crossed over.
Previously I could refer to myself (with integrity) as being in my “mid-thirties”. Actually, I still could but not without transgressing the IX th Commandment.
These days, I’ll share the same age as my partner – so, for a month at least, I have to refrain from referring to him as the “older” one between us.
Around this time, my sense of preservation compels me to turn from the fact that I’ve aged another year. However, neither threats nor pleas dissuade the people who know me from taking it upon themselves to constantly remind me of it and, inevitably, I end up with thoughts that about the future twined like worry beads around my mind.
Like marriage, for instance.
Not that marriage is something I dread like the proverbial ball and chain or an STD. In fact, getting married is something I have seriously considered after more than four years of being together with someone as wonderful as my partner.
It is ironic then that, personally, I don’t believe in marriage.
I don’t believe that ceremonies or a piece of paper can bind two people together forever.
I don’t believe that it is the solution to a dysfunctional relationship.
I don’t believe that, as an institution, it is just reserved for certain genders.
I don’t believe in it as a rite of passage that I have to go through to perpetuate traditions that have no relevance to me.
Notwithstanding my disbelief (and sorry lack of funds) – let me just, for the record, say – I am going through it. Why? Because I love my partner and I’d do anything to make him happy.
He wants bling, flowers and the whole shebang. I get to event-organize the program as only an anal-retentive personality can. We’re still negotiating custody of the DJ’s booth: Eric’s afraid that I’ll churn out an exclusively (and eminently cheesy) OPM playlist while I’m concerned that if were to hand over the turntable to Eric, he’s going to make it a Mariah-fest (na-uh, not gonna happen).
I know somebody will wonder how on earth two guys can get married in a country where a comprehensive anti-discrimination bill can’t even get passed for fear of being anathemized by the clergy. Well, as I remember it right in the catechism I memorized (yes, I was a geek in Catholic school – even passing Religion was a big deal for me) there is only one instance when the clergy is not the minister of the sacraments. According to the catholic catechism, in the sacrament of matrimony, the minister is not the clergy officiating the ceremony but the couple exchanging their vows. The attending clergy merely as a witness. And that’s how I plan to get around the loop – ironic, given their “love the sinner, hate the sin” schtick – but hey, if you can’t join them, beat them.