The marrying man

With a start I just realised something.

I’m at work (taking a brain break now), I was pouring hot water in my giant-cup with the weak green-tea bag for the umpteenth time this morning, not thinking about this in particular, when, like crap on your shoulder from a random, spiteful pigeon, a thought dropped in on my mind.

The realisation was that in my life, at least four women (that I know of) got married to the next guy they dated after me.

I’m unsure how to feel about this, because I’m not sure whether to see this as a good thing or a bad thing. I guess women who get married will necessarily have to do it with the guy they see after the guy they saw last, unless, of course, the guy they marry is the first guy they’ve ever been with. You follow?

But out of the not-so-large collection of relationships that I’ve had since my very first one when I was 16, is having 4 women marry the next guy not a large number? Percentage wise, it’s a double digit figure not too far from 50. Should I be alarmed?

Almost a Virgin-taker

It actually happened to my very first girlfriend, which in the context of this perceived flash-crisis is more disconcerting than the rest.

Renee. Ah, sweet girl, but I was young and innocent, immature and confused and the way things were going we were both going to lose our virginities, which at the time would have been morally and religiously reprehensible and thus, I terminated the relationship with a stupid excuse that I wanted to “experience other girlfriends”, clearly thinking that if we gave ourselves to each other, marriage would be necessitated and at such a young age, would be the end of my single self.

Well, she went on to date the hunky rugby player Hans, and years later when I bumped into her again she had married the guy. I was perplexed by an emotion then similar to what I experience now, but I admired her for getting married a virgin – or, losing her virginity to the guy she ultimately married, which ever way it went.

Virgin-taker

Several years and a few girlfriends later I dated Carine. Hot chick with large boobs that she had actually had reduced. As large as they still were I couldn’t help but wonder (fantasize) how large they were to start with. Anyway, she took my virginity so that was the end of that worry, but our relationship was superficial and largely based on equally large breast and the allure of an inexperienced boy. When the one lost its novelty and the other became a lie, the relationship died a fairly painless death for both parties concerned.

Well, she went on to date a hunky Dutch guy who could have been named Hans, and years later when I bumped into her online she had married the guy.

A little bit of Culture, a lot of Religion and no Sex

Not so many years and not so many girlfriends later I met Fransonè. South African woman at her best, but oh so Afrikaans, very religious and reminded me of my chaste days and thus the short relationship was sexless. It was a relationship with a pre-determined expiry date as I met her in the months leading up to my first ever overseas adventure.

The goodbye was nevertheless emotional as we had shared much and on a cultural and background level I guess she was the woman I had had connected with strongest during my formative years (I was not yet 21 and still forming). Shortly after our break-up I left to go overseas.

Well, she went on to date a hunky guy not named Hans at all, and two years later when I bumped into her at Canal Walk, I couldn’t help but notice that was sporting a huge rock on her ring finger and she had married that guy.

Da Ai Zai Jung Guo – 大爱在中国 (Big Love in China)

Many years and not so many girlfriends came and went and I myself got married (it was after a girlfriend, which is quite a controversial story, especially for my xyf – but irrelevant here) and divorced and I had many adventures, triumphs and downers. Eventually the energies of the universe conspired and I found myself in China.

Long story short, Karen stole my heart on Wudang Shan. But shortly after this relationship started it was also marked to expire when I decided that I had to return to Malaysia to be near my son. In spite of this we had a whirlwind romance and got very near and dear to each other in a very short time and this farewell was positively heartbreaking. I left China to return to Malaysia.

Well, she went on to date a hunky… well, I hope he was hunky and not some random bloke from an influential family that her parents organised for her (although that is probably what happened). Anyway, I recently got hold of King (the foreign language teacher formerly known as Prince) and he updated me saying that Karen had gotten officially married.

When I read it in his email, what I felt was strangely familiar, but I had given it no thought and pondered not the familiarity of the scenario until just then that fateful moment, minutes ago when I was pouring hot water into my giant-cup with the weak green-tea bag for the umpteenth time this morning.

And having recollected and notched on my belt these four women, who got betrothed to and, consequently, unified with the very next fellow following the demise of the relationship I had with them, I’m still not sure what it is I’m feeling.

Ponder

Do I feel honoured because I think I was such a great loss that they felt they should grab and ball-and-chain the very next bloke that comes along out of fear that they would let another great catch such as myself slip through their fingers? (Bwahaha, enough vanity to power a small country). Or…

do I feel like I was slapped with a wet, smelly trout across the face because they felt that following the heartache and torment that I introduced into their previously tranquil lives, all they want to do is remove themselves from the dating pool and live out the remainder of their ruined lives in the arms of a man who perhaps they think they love, but who certainly love them and a hellavulot better compared to the ruin they found in me?

Or still, am I completely delusional, perhaps high on a weak-tasting-but-actually-quite-strong green-tea brewed from a low-on-taste-but-high-in-oomph green-tea bag causing me to over-analyse unbelievably trivial manners when really I should be working?

Yeah. That last one.