Why I Don’t Want to Marry

The sun has failed to please me more times than it hasn’t.

If the sun fails to lift me up to help me walk, then how can a person successfully do that?

I see myself like the woman in Charlotte Perkins’ book, ‘The Yellow Wallpaper’; clawing desperately on the walls, eventually tearing off the wallpaper in my living room.

I don’t want to lose my nomadic cafe culture. I go to two or three cafes a day. I like walking and entering a restaurant, restaurant, cafe, cafe, cafe, looking at someone’s plastic bag of loaves of bread, wondering about someone’s empty bag of snacks, listening to someone put himself in a trance by playing his guitar and another by playing the drums. I like sitting at a table of two friends talking, unnoticed. I like noticing the barista going out for a cigarette.

I don’t want to die sad like my maternal grandfather did; he left the world when I was 16, leaving the world without having done anything for himself; he left life and entered death really sad. Hard work leading to nothing, leading to four grown children with mental problems raising children with mental issues of their own. He left children and grandchildren like that, adding more sadness to the world — the world doesn’t need more of that.

I want to be alone with my dreams and nightmares clutching me for a moment before they go.

Eating and drinking are part of my meditative, reflective ritual and I prefer to do that alone.

I like to start days with walks and I don’t want someone to get in between me and my mind.

I like healing alone, my feelings gnawing my heart.

Where and when can I ever be alone if not at home, if not at work, if not in the city streets? (Perhaps in a forest but I am drawn to living in cities.)

I don’t believe that there is going to be anyone who unconditionally accepts me (think about it; living with someone who unconditionally accepts you for decades

is rare. I wonder why people limit themselves to only unconditionally accept one person and not others).

I’m not interested in seeing the same face for many years to come.

Stories will automatically repeat.

I want to live for myself. I can’t imagine not living for myself.

I don’t think that I could continue to put myself first for very long.

I feel that I would be watching less documentaries and reading less.

I feel that I wouldn’t be talking to myself as often.

I feel that I’d lose all my self-respect.

I don’t want anyone to tell me what to do as I like to do things at my own pace.

I don’t want to hear anything about what ‘my gender has happened to designate to me what I ought to be doing’.

As time goes by, more and more activities and hobbies and things have come into being and I would like to spend the time trying out different things. Time goes by horribly fast.

I have never done well in relating to institutions (in all of my life so far when I work anywhere, I’ve found myself ill-suited for anything structured).

I feel that marriage goes against my humanity.

My humanity?

It means that I don’t want to be bound by promises. When I want to do something, it would only be on my terms. I don’t want appointments to tie me down (I can make appointments occasionally; I can see a friend once a week but I don’t like appointments in general).

I can only check back on one person sometimes, I don’t want to be there all the time.

There was a lot missing in my life and I want to compensate for those losses (preferably not with someone in constant tow).

I would rather be intimate with and nurture my own feelings than nurturing someone else’s feelings.

I take things very seriously.

I admit that people don’t hold my interest long. I need much more than one person. One person can’t possibly be a world to me.

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