I’m for sale.

Or not, considering how my parents really aren’t expecting any monetary compensation for all the years that they’ve had to put up with me.

A door prize is more like it.

There comes a time when a Tsinoy girl gets caught up in a rather unfortunate enterprise imposed by elders who believe that they know better. The time to decide your worth has come, and parties interested in harvesting your genes come knocking. All those years of studying and carving a niche on this dying earth boils down to this crap. It’s time to think of marriage, Tsinoy style.

But don’t worry, it’s not a relationship they want, dear. They want a totem.

And who decides? Not you or me, unfortunately.

The entire thing is so goddamn unromantic even I would rather die than be part of it.

Last Saturday, I gave my mom’s friend and her grandson a ride home. The ride was pretty short, and I, of course, was more intent on the road than on them.

Yesterday, one of my mom’s temple peeps contacted her, saying how the grandmother wanted me to be her grandson’s “friend”.

Ahem.

The definition of “friend” can be quite tricky right here. My definition of “friend” is roughly the same as Webster’s. Apparently, my parents (and the grandmother) were quoting a different dictionary. Accepting a “friend” is tantamount to opening the gates of hell (or allowing a suitor in, which isn’t really any better). Worst, for the Chinese, marriage really isn’t far behind once you get your “friend”.

I have no idea who the guy is. I barely saw his face, by the way, except that I know he’s way fairer than me. I have no biases whatsoever, except for the fact that he didn’t respect my authority (Cartman style) when he didn’t wait for me to unlock the car doors with my omnipotent power lock. Unacceptable.

To be fair, he probably doesn’t want any of this crap either.

It’s extremely flattering that the dear old grandma would think so highly of me, considering we’re an average family and they’re pretty loaded. Selecting a granddaughter-in-law is very political for the Chinese, as it requires both parties to hurdle questions of status, character, family background and *ahem* horoscope. To have someone think that I’m good enough (me, of all people) is really quite a compliment.

Not that any of that bull could convince me.

I don’t want a “friend”. No. No. NO!

My parents have been rather nice, though, allowing me to decide whether or not I wanted to submit myself to the rigorous courting process (insert barf here). But they were pretty excited, considering I’m not getting any younger and have no lovelife to speak of to this day.

For the record, I asked my mom to tell the other party no. I’d rather not jump into the abyss, thank you very much.

Unfortunately, this isn’t the first, and probably won’t even be the last. I don’t believe in finding a husband through this antiquated set-up. Corny as it sounds, you can’t force these things…they just sort of have a way of catching you when you think you’re safely out of reach.

I just wonder how long I can keep on running.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 18th, 2006 at 10:03 am and is filed under chinese-ness, rant, relationships. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.