H and I are poster-children of arranged marriages, if only because we prove that regardless of our feelings and attachment to each other, our compatibility is almost zero. Simply put, he sporadically makes me want to punch his face and he to strangle my neck.
And we would have found out that the answer was aboso-fucking-lutely NO. That far from being away from home, he'd rather not venture out of its comforting perimeter barring life and death situations, that he have no interest at all in playing, so much so that he didn't bother to define if he meant playing competitive sports or what about video games and just lumped all of them under the no goddamn way category, and that a movie is funny only because it is slapstick.
An arranged marriage would have juxtaposed our interests, manifestly indicating that every so often, we'll find ourselves in a situation in which I'd want to be anywhere but home, or play either tennis or badminton or at least learn some new sport, or maybe walk aimlessly into the woods or perhaps watch a funny movie that doesn't expect me to laugh just because the sidekick inadvertantly punched a character in the face, and will he feel like doing the same things?
And we would have found out that the answer was aboso-fucking-lutely NO. That far from being away from home, he'd rather not venture out of its comforting perimeter barring life and death situations, that he have no interest at all in playing, so much so that he didn't bother to define if he meant playing competitive sports or what about video games and just lumped all of them under the no goddamn way category, and that a movie is funny only because it is slapstick.
That when I do manage to drag his ass out of the house for a lovely meal at an exquisite restaurant, our choices would be limited to anything vegetarian, Indian and sweet. That for some miracle of nature he decides to take a walk with me, I shan't expect to break a sweat for going around the block, once, is more than what he'd bargained for. That weekend well-spent for him would be tortorous hours on the computer installing ubuntu, linux and their iterations, only so he could uninstall them and reinstall the operating system he had to begin with, to be repeated next weekend. And he'll be damned if you don't have something as interesting to do.
Arranged marriage would have told us that we are no match.
There goes a pillow, a shoe and some other random things that make noise; frustration thrown against a wall of....dissimilitude. We cry, we make up and we do it again.
And so the laughter that rings out in our home, the unforgiving perverseness we push each other to outdo, the comfortable silence we sporadically share, the late night talks in the dark about everything, from the mundane to the life-altering, the kitchen experiments that occupy us, the little games we play on each other and others, giving in to what the other wants, the paralyzing fear of it all coming abruptly to an end--they are an anomaly.
Technically, we should have killed each other by now.
Arranged marriage would have told us that we are no match.
There goes a pillow, a shoe and some other random things that make noise; frustration thrown against a wall of....dissimilitude. We cry, we make up and we do it again.
And so the laughter that rings out in our home, the unforgiving perverseness we push each other to outdo, the comfortable silence we sporadically share, the late night talks in the dark about everything, from the mundane to the life-altering, the kitchen experiments that occupy us, the little games we play on each other and others, giving in to what the other wants, the paralyzing fear of it all coming abruptly to an end--they are an anomaly.
Technically, we should have killed each other by now.
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