to the guy brave enough to tie the knot with me

Music: Only Reminds Me of You by Richard Marx

Not really inspired by that letter circling the Internet and Facebook, because I haven't really read that yet. Nor do I have any plans to do so. As I told my friend before when she asked me why I refused to read it, I'm already disillusioned. There wouldn't be a point to read it anymore.

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A disclaimer: I do not believe in happy endings. For me, happy endings are for stories that are not quite finished yet. I don’t find anything happy about separation because of death, annulment, third party, or loss of interest on the other person. If you’re expecting me to talk about happy endings and riding off towards the sunset together, I’m afraid you married the wrong girl.

I’m not trying to scare you. Heaven knows you must be scared enough already, having gotten as far as proposing to me and me actually accepting. But I want to be honest with you as early as now, so as to avoid unnecessary fights when you start complaining about my inability to be a cardboard fairy tale princess.

I am not expecting you to be a knight-in-shining armor. Please don’t slay my dragons for me. I’ll let you help me kill them, but don’t do it all for me. I am a complete person when I married you, and I intend to keep it that way.

I want you to know that I’m broken. I fell in love with a guy before, and he broke my heart so many times I’ve finally given up trying to keep track. Don’t worry. He won’t be a threat. I am no longer in love with him, and if marrying you isn’t proof enough, then I don’t know of any other way to prove it.

I’m only saying this because I want to explain why I am disillusioned about love in general, and why marrying you is the equivalent of me bungee jumping from the roof of the Petronas Twin Towers in Kuala Lumpur. And yes, they are the highest twin towers in the world. And I hate heights. Or falling.

I am not expecting a perfect marriage. No marriage is perfect—not even my parents’. And that is saying a lot. I used to think that I want to marry someone who is like my father, but then I figured, I didn’t really get to spend a lot of time with him, with him dying at such an early age, so I won’t be able to compare you two anyway. Which is better, I think. At least I won’t have expectations that you won’t be able to meet, and I won’t be disappointed about your inability to be like my dad.

I’m not the jealous type either. It’s okay if you look at other women every once in a while; if I’m in the mood, I’d even join you in ogling them. I will trust you and believe that you will remain faithful to me. And I won’t worry about you playing behind my back. I won’t check your phone or your e-mail, unless you want me to. If I choose to trust you, I will do it completely, unconditionally. But I guess it’s only fair for you to know: trust doesn’t come easy for me. If you cheat on me, I will forgive you. But there will always be a part of me that will never ever trust you ever again. Ever. And there is nothing, absolutely nothing, that you can do to regain the trust you lost. Nothing.

I am also not very expressive of my feelings. I do not say ‘I love you’ very often, but rest assured that when I do say it, I will mean it each and every time. I am not very vocal of how I feel, but I will try to show it in my own little ways—a hug, a small, amused smile at your joke, a shoulder rub when you’re feeling tired. And I will always listen when you have something to say—whether it be about work, your favorite sport, or random things, like how you like the color pink more than blue. Just try not to talk about basketball too much. My knowledge about that sport extends only up to the ending of the Slam Dunk manga.

And please don’t expect me to call you Honey, Baby, Sweetheart, or the equivalent of such. The best I can do is to give you a pet name that you never would have expected—something that will not make me cringe every time I say it.

Lastly, I won’t be able to say this often, so I’ll say it now: thank you. Because you refused to leave me even when I’m moody, messy and senseless. And sadistic. Because you understood when I cried over the death of my favorite manga character, but refused to squeal over the romantic ending of a romcom movie. Because you stuck with me through thick and thin, even when I’m impossible to deal with, even when I’m tactless, even when I threaten to bite your head off because I’m being cranky. I hate cliché, but I will be cliché just this once to say that I do believe you are God’s gift to me. And I promise that I will take care of you in the best way that I can, and I will stay with you until one of us joins our Father in heaven.

That, and that I expect us to go eat avocado ice cream at least once a month for the rest of our lives.