When I was a little girl, I assumed I would grow up, get married and have kids–after getting my Ph.D. of course.  White picket fence, apple pie, and all that stuff.  I didn’t really think about what it would mean, of course, as that part was never explicitly explained to me.  Still, by what I absorbed from reading tons of books, it seemed like a pretty straight-forward proposition to me.  Go to college, meet my hubby-to-be, get married, have kids and a career. 

Well, reality intruded.  I was never a popular kid, partly because I grew up Asian in a mostly-white area, partly because I was so brainy, and partly because I just didn’t fit in.  I got teased for being fat, Asian, and smart.  It was pretty much a daily occurrence, and it started pretty early.

I didn’t date until high school, and it wasn’t someone from my high school.  Remember, it wasn’t until the last ten years or so that Asian women became hawt and exotic.  Back in the eighties, we were mostly invisible.  I met the boy I dated in summer school for gifted kids, and we were together for two years.  Because I was so thrilled to be dating someone, I didn’t really pay much attention to how I actually felt about him. 

This is a pattern with future partners.  I was more concerned about how that person saw me, fueling endless amount of energy into being the ‘right’ person for my partner, I never stopped to question if I really wanted to be with said person.  It was more about being attractive and desirable and being able to have someone love me than about me finding someone I actually wanted to spend the rest of my life with.  That’s not to say I haven’t been in love.  I have.  It’s just that underneath the love was always the fear that I would lose the person in the end because I just wasn’t good enough.  No, I have no idea what would be good enough.  It was an amorphous value that kept shifting.    In other words, I was giving the reins of my happiness to someone else–which is never a good thing. 

After my last serious relationship, I was devastated and withdrew from dating completely.  I needed time to lick my wounds, and then I just kept withdrawing.  I always picked people with commitment issues, and I didn’t want to go through that same, tired cycle ever again. 

In retrospect, I began to realize that it was my own issues with commitment that was drawing me to the partners I chose.  Recently, when Rizzo asked me if I wanted a partner to commit, I replied, “Yes.  No.  Yes.  No.”  That pretty much sums up the confusion.  You see, I had just assumed that I wanted to get married.  When I examined the assumption more closely, it fell apart.  As I have stated elsewhere in this blog, I have political and personal reasons for not believing in marriage.  The bottom line is, marriage is not for me.  Kids were not even an issue because not having them is the only thing in my life I have ever been certain about–and still am.  Unless a certain Mr. Rickman comes a calling, in which case, all bets are off.

But I digress, as is my wont.

Once I realized that marriage and kidse were not for me, what was the next assumption I had to examine?  Do I believe in monogamy?  That’s a tougher one.  I think we can, obviously, make a commitment to one person, but is there any particular reason why we should?

Well, for one thing, relationships are time-consuming.  It’s difficult enough dealing with one other person, let alone two or five.  However, I can’t imagine being physically monogamous for the rest of my life.  I see sex as sacred in some instances and a physical release in others.  Plus, there’s a boost from sex that really is hard to beat.  When I say sex, I am including a range of sexual activity from kissing, to touching, to intercourse and beyond.   In addition, I like women, too.  Yes, I hate the stereotype of the bi who wants to have sex with everyone, but I also slightly resemble the stereotype.   What can I say?  I have a high sex drive.

While realizing this preference of mine, I also realized that I didn’t want to live with someone.  Ever.  I like having my own space, and I really chafe having another human being in said space 24/7.  Now, because our society is based on the coupling off of humans, my need for space is seen as some kind of flaw.  I must have been hurt in my past (of course.  Who hasn’t?); I will change my mind once I meet the right person (in which I don’t believe); I am just in denial.  While I can’t totally dismiss the last one because one part of being in denial is often times not knowing one is, I am fairly certain that my desire to live alone is not my way of deluding myself that I’m really unhappy not having a mate.

I think part of the problem for me and relationships is that I have been fed all the same crap everyone else has about what being in a relationship means, and it’s hard to distance myself from that.  I don’t watch Hollywood movies for the most part, but it seems that romance is portrayed (and yes, this is a gross understatement) as girl meets boy, girl falls in love with boy, girl and boy are kept apart for ridiculous reasons, girl and boy finally hook up sexually, girl and boy fall in love and live happily ever after.

No thanks.  Or, the other portrayal is of a heterosexual couple who settles down and has children, thus becoming an American dream statistic.  Cohabitating, being half of a whole, merging identities and bank accounts–that’s what’s in store?  Um, no thank you.  That is not what I want at all.

However, in speaking with my gal pals about their relationships (the ones who are in relationships), it’s clear that they each have a different way of working out said relationships.  My gal pals are spread across the world with different views on life, love, and liberty.  The two things they have in common are being bright and having impeccable taste (hence, the fact that they chose me as a friend). 

Some are stay-home moms.  Some work outside the house.  Most are Democrats.   All are happier to have Obama rather than W., but that’s a given.  Kiki still feels her heart skip when her hubby comes home from work.  If they have a problem, they argue and yell until they hash it out.  Rizzo takes walks with her hubby and talks about their problems.  Juno doesn’t sweat the small stuff, focusing on the bigger issues.  Natasha tells her hubby what bothers her and invites him to do the same about her. 

I marvel when I talk to my friends about their relationships because they all differ from each other, but they all are working out just fine.  What I realize is that they each have forged out a relationship that works for her.  It may not work for me, but I’m not the one in the relationship, so it doesn’t matter. 

What I’m trying to say (and what Kiki has tried to drive into my stubborn brain for some time now) is that I get to define what a relationship means to me.  I don’t have to follow Hollywood, the rest of society, or even my friends in their definitions.  That heartens me.  Even though being in a relationship is not on my top ten list of things to do in the immediate future, It’s good to know that I might one day cobble something together that suits my needs.  It’s time for me to think about what I want from a relationship so I don’t continue to chase after nothing.

It’s a crock of shit, and it’s always guaranteed to disappoint.  It’s like a wedding itself–there are just too many expectations to ever possibly be met.  Women tend to use the day as a gauge to how their men really feel about them–much to the detriment of the relationship.

It didn’t matter if I was in a relationship or if I wasn’t–I wanted no part of the day.  In addition, it’s another day that glorifies heterosexual couples–and really, I don’t need to see any more of that. 

Although, chocolates and stuffed animals are always welcomed.  I will take those any time.

However, a year or two ago, I began to realize that I was spitting in the wind, so to speak.  Valentine’s Day will be around.  In addition, even though it is promoted as a day to celebrate heterosexual coupling, I don’t have to take it as such.  I mean, when have I ever played by the rules?

So, I started to think about love in a broader context.  Whom do I love?  I love my family.  I love my friends.  I love my cats.  I love chocolate.  I love the color black.  There is plenty of love around me–if I don’t restrict it to the narrow usage of male/female romantic coupling relationship-type thing.

So, to that end, I am going to call my parents on Valentine’s Day to tell them how much I love and appreciate them.  I am going to send e-cards to all my friends–even those who do not open e-cards.  I will buy some extra salmon for the boys because they have given me so much joy since they’ve come home to me.  I will call my niece and nephews just to tell them I love them.   Finally, I will enjoy the cold, snowy, winter day and buy myself some extra-fine, extra-dark, wheat-free, dairy-free chocolate treats because I deserve it. 

I won’t be wearing pink, though.  I’ll stick to black.