When I got married earlier this year, it was a three ring circus. Perhaps 30-ring might be better, considering how long the festivities went on for. I enjoyed most of them, save for the two or three really ugly moments I had with my parents. Which, considering the kind of show they wanted to put on, is only to be expected.
(You see, show in our family, and a lot of other Indian families that are planning rigmarole weddings, usually means pressure. Pressure=strain. Strain= hit low, hit nastily at the people you are closest to. This = ugly ugly moments.)
And during those days of being in the silk and gold covered bosom of my large, lovely family, I wasn’t given any sort of pre-marital advice, sexual or otherwise. (Thank god. I don’t think I would’ve survived the embarrassment if my mother or any other female relative had tried. Yeah, I said female. No, I didn’t mention male. No, males do not discuss s-e-x with younger females in my clean-nosed virginal female family. Can I get a loud chee-chee with the very idea?) Maybe it was because I was having a Love Marriage, or maybe it was just one of those stereotypical things that we don’t do- being extremely well educated and all that, either way, it didn’t happen.
Somehow, though, in all the anticipation, and all the preparation, and all the almost-dehydrations (this was one helluva hot summer wedding, with definite power cuts during the sticky! humid! nights!), somewhere along the line, I took a deep breath and didn’t let go. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t know when I did it. I didn’t even realize that I was holding my breath until recently. And it wasn’t even one of those ton-of-bricks realizations. It came to me as I jumped into the pool again. The chlorine woke me up a little. It came to me when I had a performance evaluation recently. Even the euphoria of a good review only lasted for half a day. And it sort of began to become a realization. A gradual sense of being under anesthesia. Everything seems fuzzy and sort of nondescript. I know I’m alive, but I’m going about my days as if I were in a dream. I’m not zesty, I’m not sad, I just am. I feel like my entire system is waiting for something. Something? Something. If anything, I feel a little frustration. But why? For what reason?
It’s almost like I married Him, and now I’ve lost myself. I’m sure it’s only temporary, but in the meantime, I’m waiting for real life to begin again.
Waiting to exhale,