Picking the One
I spent 2015 thinking I could forget about love and chemistry and just find someone, anyone, to be my future husband. He could be five years older or two years younger, as long as he was ready for marriage, I didn’t care.
It was easier to think about marriage without doubts when you don’t care about the whole equation and just focus on the results.
Then we hit 2016, and uncertainty started crawling their ways through my current stone-cold heart.
Aside from religious, what if he’s not witty enough? What if he can’t understand how I think and see the world? What if he can’t follow my jokes and laugh at scandalous idioms? What if he’s shy and won’t be willing to make memorable vlogs of our marriage together? Oh–What if he can’t speak English?
The thoughts are never-ending, twisted things. It’s like sinking deeper and deeper into a never-ending ocean without finding ways of coming up for air.
It’s January 2016 and I’m horrified at the idea of finding the wrong one. Funny thing about love is you know exactly what you don’t want but have no single clue of what you want. It’s a cycle of let’s try and see if we click, and sometimes two are just not meant to click.
And gone is now the thoughts of anybody as thoughts of somebody specific reappears. Thoughts of man I crossed out from the calculation for being too distant and non existent–
–Oh, and there’s also thought of one other man too, smart enough to joke and have fun with, who is currently laying in hospital for being sick. If only that man is capable of English–
Look how pathetic I’m being.
I suppose even I can’t just say yes to anybody breathing Islam. I just wish people who do aren’t so primitive and stuck in a different era completely.