I have been single all my life. I guess it is now just a matter of fact – that I will probably never marry. But I have gotten over somehow, a little I guess, to the worries of not getting married. The wondering and guessing if I am doing right, if I am not being a worthy human being for not procreating, the envious stares at married friends and kids. Then it hit me. The only thing I will ever regret probably is not having a child of my own. Well, there is still time for that, especially since I am male. I guess the pressure for men is lesser for women. The stigma with being single is greater for women and can never be more evident than the names and connections being a single woman are attached to. They call you spinster, for crying out loud. They call me perpetual bachelor. There, the stigma is evident. I guess with men, age doesn't really matter. I can see that I look better now than when I was young - not that i look better in any way. When I was young, I kind of look old for my age. Now it sort of caught up with my age. A few more years and I will probably look young for my age.
My parents stay with me, in a house I bought. I know that to a point, the roles have reversed somehow, but the signs are most appalling in the little things that happen. When we were kids – and I am part of a big family, the third of six children – we would often huddle in one room, usually my oldest sister’s room since it’s the biggest and it smells good there, and we would tell each other how our days went. We could go on for an hour or so, and every now and then, my mom or my dad would run into the room, or pass by or try to eavesdrop. We would shut up when they enter the room, as if grownups are not allowed into our solid clique. It was fun times then. Being a teen with lots of brothers and sisters was probably the best thing growing up. We would share so many things and experiences that no bonding could ever replace. Two weeks ago, I roamed into my parent’s room, looking for something I don’t even remember now. They were inside, just watching TV, vegging out in their bed. They were also talking, since I can hear a small mumble, exchanges of comments that were punctuated with gasps and random laughs. When I opened the door, they stopped and looked at me like I was trespassing or something. It wasn’t a weird, angry stare. It was a languid stare, waiting for me to get out of the room so they can resume talking. Role reversed!!! I have become my parents! I have become the old one who shouldn’t know what my parents are up to!! It was funny realizing that and I realized that my parents have entered a phase where they can enjoy each other and not worry about us anymore. And I realized – 40 is when it starts.
