Posted by: FoxConn November 5, 2012
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If I had a penny for every phone call my parents hounded me with marriage, I’d have 3 dollars and 65 cents even. I’m sure you and I can both relate to the annoyance that happens to go “bihey garney bela bho, nanu…hamro janey bela…”, especially if you’re in a secret relationship or are happily single. My parents seem to think I’m at that “ripe” age to get married. Humor me on what “ripe” means, please.
My parent’s efforts began with a recommendation from my Thulo Mommy’s posse. “Nanu, pakka gaentulmyan ek jana cha…” she chimes, she enthusiastically continues to insist that because he’s in the US and has a Ph.D, we ought to get hitched. Yet she carries on with her sales pitch despite my clear vocal distaste about the whole thing and my obvious lack of attention to her chit chat. In an effort to end the call sooner, I agree to give Mr. Microbio a shot and speak with the dude. As scheduled, he gives me call. I’m really unsure about how things are supposed to proceed given my lack of experience in being set-up, so I let him drive the conversation. After a brief mutual summarization of our resumes, I conclude that he’s a go-getter, who’s probably balding as we speak given his age and education. As we continue the conversation, he tells me about his aspirations, both professional and personal, and subtly sets the tone for future talk. We discuss my cooking skills for a few minutes and he goes on to ask me a bunch of what-if/scenario type questions, the one that took the gold was “what if you and I were to get married, would you move?” Now imagine that in Nepali.
Needless to say, he was off the list. Although I’d gone in with no hope, no seriousness, I was irked by how much the entire thing seemed to resemble my dealings with Sr. Bitch. (http://tiny.cc/jg4bnw)
Mr. Database administrator is also Mr. Spontaneous. Next thing I know I’m answering his call at work mistaking him to be someone from Time Warner. I politely tell him I’m at work and call him back later that evening. He’s an open book - he just bought a new house, his friend apparently had a break-up crisis and had been dragged to go watch a movie at the local iMax. Thus, he wasn’t able to call me during the weekend. He asks me about my college and my professional background and I answer briefly from which he sparks another ten minute conversation about the weather in my region. Followed by “where did you graduate from?” again. I let him talk the entire time. Finally, after having heard enough and in desperate need to use the restroom, I end the conversation, for good.
Next up is Mr. Top Graduate student who refuses to talk and let’s me drive the conversation. I imagine that he’s more of an introvert and the complete opposite of all the other people I had spoken with. It relieves me to know he’s a bit different, and somewhere deep down inside I start to have faith in this awkward approach. So I ask him about school and how it must be tough juggling being a TA and studying. His brief responses and lack of interest make me want to hang up but I defer, I prolong the dead silence over the line. Heck, if he’s not talking, I’m not either. Finally after what seemed like forever, I muster up the guts to hang up and he breathes a (rude) sigh of relief.
My bff seems to think I’m being extremely picky, am I really given my choices? I even offer my bff a test drive by letting her have some of their phone numbers, but she refuses to believe me. I honestly don’t think I’m being picky, I am just at that age where I don’t know what I want, I want to have fun and worry about being married later. I know where the journey is headed, first it’s marriage for your parents, then it’s a baby for both the in-laws and the parents, promptly followed suit by baby number 2, and there goes my life. Please don’t mistake this expression for condescension, it’s confusion I promise. Having freaked myself out, I convince my bff and tell my parents, I need one more year to decide. Until then, I stay put with my boyfriend.
My parent’s efforts began with a recommendation from my Thulo Mommy’s posse. “Nanu, pakka gaentulmyan ek jana cha…” she chimes, she enthusiastically continues to insist that because he’s in the US and has a Ph.D, we ought to get hitched. Yet she carries on with her sales pitch despite my clear vocal distaste about the whole thing and my obvious lack of attention to her chit chat. In an effort to end the call sooner, I agree to give Mr. Microbio a shot and speak with the dude. As scheduled, he gives me call. I’m really unsure about how things are supposed to proceed given my lack of experience in being set-up, so I let him drive the conversation. After a brief mutual summarization of our resumes, I conclude that he’s a go-getter, who’s probably balding as we speak given his age and education. As we continue the conversation, he tells me about his aspirations, both professional and personal, and subtly sets the tone for future talk. We discuss my cooking skills for a few minutes and he goes on to ask me a bunch of what-if/scenario type questions, the one that took the gold was “what if you and I were to get married, would you move?” Now imagine that in Nepali.
Needless to say, he was off the list. Although I’d gone in with no hope, no seriousness, I was irked by how much the entire thing seemed to resemble my dealings with Sr. Bitch. (http://tiny.cc/jg4bnw)
Mr. Database administrator is also Mr. Spontaneous. Next thing I know I’m answering his call at work mistaking him to be someone from Time Warner. I politely tell him I’m at work and call him back later that evening. He’s an open book - he just bought a new house, his friend apparently had a break-up crisis and had been dragged to go watch a movie at the local iMax. Thus, he wasn’t able to call me during the weekend. He asks me about my college and my professional background and I answer briefly from which he sparks another ten minute conversation about the weather in my region. Followed by “where did you graduate from?” again. I let him talk the entire time. Finally, after having heard enough and in desperate need to use the restroom, I end the conversation, for good.
Next up is Mr. Top Graduate student who refuses to talk and let’s me drive the conversation. I imagine that he’s more of an introvert and the complete opposite of all the other people I had spoken with. It relieves me to know he’s a bit different, and somewhere deep down inside I start to have faith in this awkward approach. So I ask him about school and how it must be tough juggling being a TA and studying. His brief responses and lack of interest make me want to hang up but I defer, I prolong the dead silence over the line. Heck, if he’s not talking, I’m not either. Finally after what seemed like forever, I muster up the guts to hang up and he breathes a (rude) sigh of relief.
My bff seems to think I’m being extremely picky, am I really given my choices? I even offer my bff a test drive by letting her have some of their phone numbers, but she refuses to believe me. I honestly don’t think I’m being picky, I am just at that age where I don’t know what I want, I want to have fun and worry about being married later. I know where the journey is headed, first it’s marriage for your parents, then it’s a baby for both the in-laws and the parents, promptly followed suit by baby number 2, and there goes my life. Please don’t mistake this expression for condescension, it’s confusion I promise. Having freaked myself out, I convince my bff and tell my parents, I need one more year to decide. Until then, I stay put with my boyfriend.