Sometimes, I look at marriage and wonder if it’s less a “union of souls” and more a… complicated business arrangement—except with way more awkward family dinners and mismatched towel collections. Sure, maybe I’d love someone enough to think about sharing a tax return, but the structure of marriage? Ah, that’s where things get tangled. Marriage is meant to be a steady ship, but more often than not, it resembles an inflatable raft—one that’s sprung a slow, dramatic leak.
If I end up dodging marriage, don’t think it’s because I never found love. I have loved in my own way—awkward silences, half-grinned nods across crowded rooms, stray hair tucked behind ears, and all. It’s not about “not wanting to marry,” either; I’m no sworn hermit or advocate for life lived solo on a mountaintop. Nor will it be because I don’t want kids. I mean, kids are loud, sticky, and come with more opinions than they should, but they also come with little shoes that light up and boundless optimism about the world—who could say no to that?
No, if I sidestep this grand institution, it’ll be because of the chaos that comes with it. Marriage is where one whole person and another whole person collide and then think, “Hey, let’s share rent, thoughts, fears, and our deepest insecurities, and try not to let any of it boil over.” But in reality, the laundry piles up, thermostat wars begin, and suddenly, toothpaste is a legitimate battleground. There’s this subtle tango of who last did what and who secretly resents it, all performed in the fluorescent glow of Ikea kitchens and Amazon Prime packages.
It’s funny, really. I don’t want to be that person waving a flag that says, “Love’s a trap” (that would just be sad), but it’s hard to look at the concept of marriage without squinting a little. We’ve wrapped it in so many expectations, rules, and roles that it can feel like we’re squeezing love into a box marked “Stability.” Stability is good, don’t get me wrong, but when did that mean transforming love into a regimented cohabitation plan?
Marriage, to me, feels like a collision course between the serene beauty of two lives finding harmony and the absolute unpredictability of, well, people. Like, who decided to make it a package deal? “Love, compromise, trust… and mild insanity.”
And yes, love is amazing. But marriage is love with plot twists—every fight, every little habit magnified, every unexpected quirk now part of the fine print you somehow missed. Just imagine: you marry someone who insists on slurping spaghetti loudly or who thinks that eating beans with ewedu isn’t irritating enough, then adds a sprinkle of extra salt, or believes amala isn’t a proper swallow. And then there are the infamous in-laws—whisked in by marriage, ready to critique your methods for things you didn’t know required methods. The serenity of a single Sunday afternoon is soon a foreign concept, replaced by whispered debates on whether it’s your turn to do the dishes.
I guess if I choose to remain unwed, it won’t be because I’m standing on some bitter hill decrying love, nor will it be because I don’t dream of that warmth, that shared cup of tea on a quiet morning. It’ll be because maybe, just maybe, the idea of marriage is a ship that doesn’t sail as smoothly as it used to, and I’d rather tread water solo than go down in a leaky raft.
The poetry of it is… well, I’m not quite sure where it is. Maybe it’s in the beauty of two people trying to make sense of each other day in and day out, like synchronized chaos spinning until it (hopefully) settles. The calm in marriage, I imagine, is like a soft edge within the storm. I respect it. But maybe, just maybe, I’m a bit too in love with peace and a well-organized living room for the thrilling, messy ballet of it all.
Who knows? Maybe someday I’ll change my mind. But for now, here’s to my future raft… or lack of one.