Migrations-so goes the name of this blog. Many may wonder why. Well, I find no other word that better sums up the totality of our lives as ‘Migrations’ does. Right from birth when we take upon that office of respiration, ‘a troublesome practice, but one which custom has rendered it necessary to our easy existence’ we enter a constant motion of migrations. Whether this is in our careers, love lives, hobbies or even the mundane daily chores, it is an undisputed fact of life that we, human beings, are in a constant migration.
As October 4th draws nigh, the realities of a married life are beginning to dawn on me. The free-spirited days of independence, extravagant spending, and smelly bachelors’ pad are almost over. I am about to say hello to consultation, frugality, and yes, a home that is always spick and span. I cannot complain though. When I weigh the quality of life in singlehood and in marriage, I am far much better off being a married man.
A scene from the movie Amazing Grace reinforces this conviction. William Wilberforce’s health is taking a turn for the worse. His cousin, Henry, takes him in and together with his wife colludes to find a woman for William to marry. A meeting is covertly arranged. As Henry takes William to meet his future wife-the intriguing Ms Spooner- the following conversation ensues
Henry: You may have noticed, since I married Marianne, I have been a picture of health.
William: I’m very happy for you.
Henry: It is almost a scientific fact. Marriage and health are twins; Inseparable. Single men wither away and die in rooms that smell of feet and armpits.
William: Henry, what are you babbling on about?
Henry: Love, Wilberforce.
I wish I could define love as that warm fuzzy feeling largely abounding in lovers’ bosoms. It is not. I find it a peculiar determination to be with another, through the best of times and the worst of times. It is the envisioning of a thousand unimaginable horrors of life without that singular other.
I stand on the cliff of singlehood. I am 40 days away from its edge. Come October the 3rd, I will stand thereupon and look down into the sea of marriage. I will look back to all that is familiar and comfortable. I will look down to all that is unfamiliar but promises to be an adventure full of unspeakable joys and as is usually the case, laden with a considerable measure of pain.
I do not know what lies beneath the sea but come October the 4th, I will have to decide whether to take the plunge or not. Time and time again, I have seen creatures of old swim to the surface and beg me to pull them out. Their faces are old and haggard even though their years of migrations are few. Other times, I have seen creatures like the former but whose faces glow with youthfulness even though the wrinkles thereupon betray their many years of migration. They swim luxuriously upon the surface but their stay is but temporary. They look up; our eyes meet. They seem to relate with my internal struggle as to whether to take the plunge or not. However, they do not stretch out their hands and beg me to pull them out as did the former. Instead, they beckon me to take the plunge. They do not wait to see if I will. It seems that their lives depend upon consumption of rare planktons only found within the deep. This seems to be the only explanation as to why they do not linger long on the surface.
40 days to the plunge. 40 days before I say, ‘I do’. 40 days…