P[e]NORAMA

 

 

The bells have been ringing for quite sometime now, beckoning him and I to heed their calls, telling us to take each other’s hand and make our vows once and for all.

 

We hear the bells, of course. We also hear our friends’ voices, telling us: “Hey, it’s long overdue.” But if there is a sound we hear the loudest, it is that of our own wishes. The bells do not ring on their own volition; they ring because we made the move about ringing them. And our friends are not pushing their wants; they are simply echoing our own desires — his and mine.

 

If we had it our way, we would have had walked down the aisle long time ago. But fate intervened, forcing us to wait a little longer. Though we are still waiting, we think the end of our agony is almost near.

 

But as the once overcast sky begins to clear, as the barriers that have scattered themselves down the road we are trudging together start withdrawing, I am beginning to recognize more the big C that goes with saying ‘I do’ — besides the word Commitment, that is. I am talking about Change.

 

 

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve never been afraid of change. I’ve always welcomed it even if I know it has a habit of upsetting established order, because I know that in welcoming change, I also welcome the chance to become better. In my life I’ve always been daring and bold, always preferring to take unpaved roads and always coming out not only triumphant, but also thankful of the adventures I had and of the lessons I was able to pick up along the way.

 

No, change does not have a scary face. It’s not something I scamper away from. But while I welcome change, I also can’t help getting afflicted with nostalgia over the good things that must be sacrificed in the hope of something bigger. And so as I think excitedly of marriage and of the change that it will bring upon my life, I also start missing the life I am to lose, the things I will have to leave behind.

 

I will be changed, somehow. And already, I am missing me. Already, I want to look back to the past as well as to the present.

 

I’ve been my own woman for as long as I remember. I’ve always made my own decisions, even when I was still a young child. (That’s what I will always thank my parents for, among others — letting me make the major decisions of my life, even long before I graduated from elementary. The only decision I made which they did not heed, I remember, was to be allowed to go straight to grade one at age six, and not go through kindergarten anymore because I felt it was a waste of time). I’ve taken the trails I wanted to take and not the roads other people might have wanted me to trudge. I’ve jumped over as many cliffs as I dared — and I dared a lot. I jumped even in the absence of safety nets. Yes, I’ve had lots of adventures. I’ve loved life and enjoyed it as well.

 

No, I was never afraid of change. But I also love and enjoy my life now. I am doing well in my freelancing work; most times, I am my own boss. I get to travel and I get to meet interesting people. I make enough, and I can buy things that I want, provided they are not ridiculously-priced. I am on the go.

 

But soon, these would change. I will have to lessen the assignments I will take. I will soon have to change my focus.

 

I know I should not be scared, and I am not. Security is knocking on my door. My beau tells me: “You can still work because I know you love working, but you will no longer need to work as hard as you do now. You will work because you want to, for you to keep growing as you should, but no longer because you must.”

 

Ah, financial security. What woman in her right mind would not want that? Many have jumped into marriage just to have it. And security does have appeal to me as well — if I want to be honest. But while the thought of being financially secure is appealing, somehow it also lessens the fulfillment I get from working, from making my own money, from buying the things I want out of my own sweat and blood. And to me, that’s important, because I’ve always been working for as long as I can remember — because I wanted to, but more so because I needed to.

 

When I was in grade school, I’ve worked as a dishwasher for an aunt who owned a meryendahan in the town market. And in high school, while still working for my aunt every Saturday, I would also help some lazy college students with their papers: typing their assignments using a borrowed typewriter, editing their lousy works, and yes, even writing essays for them. And when I was in college, I was a student assistant for several semesters. I did all these, while trying to stay on top of my class for (elementary and high school) and maintaining good grades in college. As soon as I graduated, I immediately helped my parents send my brothers to school.

 

Now I am being told I no longer have to work as hard. There will always be food on the table, and more. It’s a nice thought, indeed. But the challenge of being able to meet my and my family’s needs goes away as well. And that’s sad, because I realize I’ve always lived for that challenge all my life.

 

But that’s not the only thing that I will lose. I will also lose the perks of my freelancing work. I can no longer travel courtesy of work, because I will no longer want to travel without him with me. Of course we will be traveling a lot when we’re married — we already have plans of the places we would visit. I know too, that we will go to places much farther than I can hope to go to courtesy of my work. That thought gives me thrill, but there is also an unexplainable thrill at being able to travel without having to spend anything. It is great being paid to do what you love doing.

 

And what’s more, I can no longer accept as many assignments as I want. I will have to slow down, because I will already have a home to maintain and a family to spend my time with. I can no longer dash from my job to my clients to school to my personal writing. I will have to drop some.

 

I think of all of these, and I start missing my present life.

 

But if change will be hard on me, it will be more difficult for him. Should we decide to settle in the province, he will have to leave behind the life and the good reputation he has established overseas. He will have to say goodbye to the community he has served, and continues to serve. He will have to turn his back to 20 great years in his community.

 

Now that I think of what he will have to sacrifice, I realize that what I am letting go is petty in comparison. I will leave behind what is and what I hope to achieve on my own; he will leave behind what was and the things he already enjoys.

 

Marriage is turning your back to some good things in the hope for something more fulfilling. To come together, we must leave a lot of ourselves behind.

 

But that should be fine. We can finally have our dream farm in Nueva Vizcaya. We can make our Chateau PB (at FarmVille) a reality. We can open up a business, not to earn much, but to keep ourselves busy. I can take a teaching job — just one or two subjects — at a local university. I can try to write volumes, and I can continue with my freelancing. And he can finally polish his writing — a talent he just discovered recently. And yes, he can also continue being a community leader.

 

In the long run, the trade-off is fine. There will be big adjustments, but the future life we envision is by far better than what we presently live separately.

 

As the ringing of the bells become louder, and as I feel melancholic at leaving some of me behind, I think I just have to focus on the chrysalis nearby, struggling to leave its cocoon to become a full-grown butterfly.

 

[Sherma E. Benosa; 11 September 2009; 1:45pm]