What’s love got to do with it?
February 11, 2007 | 12:00am
Marcel and I have made the best decision ever. We decided that in the event we do get married, we’ll maintain two homes. When we do bite the bullet, we’ll take turns being in Celine world (bad TV, organic food and gossip) and Marcel world (Bloomberg TV, art and junk food). Although the decision comes with a bit of a jab to the pocketbook, we figured that this marriage of inconvenience has more perks than drawbacks. Woody and Mia did it with disastrous results. However, Hollywood can always sully an ideal situation no matter what anyway.
It’s been said that in every relationship there are the big three in terms of arguments:
1. Money. We both don’t have enough between us to call the lawyers and draft a prenup.
2. Kids. He can have his cats and I’ll keep my dogs.
3. Décor. I like chintz, he loves Bauhaus.
So, as you can see, the only pertinent argument in our otherwise perfect relationship is the third one. To try to marry my Chesterfield couches to his Sol Lewitt table may be a task befitting a modern Sisyphus.
Sometimes the pressure of romance may be the one that cracks the core of true love. We’ve known each other for 10 years; I hated him for maybe a year, loved him for the rest. So whatever pockets of doubt there may be, they’re filled with pebbles of experience and comfort. He truly is my rock. He tells me when I’m crazy. He also tells when I’m not being crazy.
My past relationships were dredged in so much cornstarch and wewerecloselikethis that there was simply no choice but to break up. There was just something unhealthy about them. Marcel was able to take away every insecurity I had in me. It takes a strong man like that to tame a shrew like me. Now I realize that there’s something completely abnormal in my adopting a new personality to manage a traditional pink-and-blue relationship. Yet people do it every day. Think of every man who pretends he loves listening to Norah Jones during dinnertime. Think of every girly-girl who has to live through football season. Those are nothing. Somewhere in the middle, people lose their sense of humor, their sense of irony, their independence and their La-Z Boy.
I guess maybe our decision also respects that every relationship is unique. It’s not like we don’t spend time together. I know what his ass is up to even before he does and vice versa. Maybe somewhere in between arguing whether to hang his Damien Loeb nude and demanding a floral dining room we realized that we’re so much better just the way we are.
My best friend Chut describes this as the dream situation. You date forever. I mean that’s where everyone’s relationship is headed anyway: it starts with "his and her" bathrooms and ends with separate bedrooms. Kidding. But it does happen, folks. Why go through the drama?
On the surface it may seem selfish and shallow. My parents were at their most miserable when apart. My mother had to attend to her gubernatorial duties in Guimaras, while my father stayed in the city for Congress. When they saw each other they talked about work and when they were apart that’s what they talked about, too. Now that they’re together, both retired from politics, they’ve found each other again. They are the strongest and most beautiful couple that I have ever seen. They are not perfect, but the will to work on what they have is inspiring. They are two distinct individuals and I can’t imagine one without the other. It’s the unique and inspiring couples like my parents that I look up to. I’m too much of a cynic to idealize perfect marriages.
Which brings me back to where I was. We’re both completely comfortable with each other and secure in our relationship. On the lighter side, I don’t need to pretend that I care about football and, more importantly, GOLF! He, on the other hand, doesn’t have to pretend to care what happens in Grey’s Anatomy. He’ll always be the Marcel I fell in love with and I will hopefully stay the Celine that he is simply crazy (maybe literally) over.
This is not a statement on modern marriage or a slap to the face of antiquated tomes about romance. But at the end of the day, everything about our relationship is as different and unique as our tastes. Nothing more. It works for us.
I look forward to the excitement of cooking him a meal after a hard day. I also look forward to watching 12 straight hours of Footballers’ Wives alone in my bedroom. Who says you can’t have the best of both worlds?
Marriage does not have to be a ball-and-chain institution. It’s not a scary thing if you’re doing it with the right person. It will always be hard, but being with the right one makes all the effort worth the trouble.
We never think twice about giving ourselves emotionally and spiritually to one another. He has my back and I have his. We tried to break up once when I was having one of my breakdowns and the minute I blurted it out we realized how impossible and improbable it was. I can never imagine anyone else in my life. At the same time I also have a clear vision of how I want to live mine.
I can’t even remember when we had our last major fight. Although I can remember going nuts when he forgot to bring home onions for one evening’s supper. Nag, nag, nag… off with the nag’s head! Our relationship is a very giving one. I’m no longer the psycho who hacks into e-mails and text messages, and he’s no longer stubborn. We managed to melt away our bad traits to make way for good ones. We want to pick our battles, and not erode what we have over onions or watermarks on the wooden coffee table. Kidding, but this arrangement also allows us to keep our eyes on the ball.
I’m not the "we" kind of girl. I never say "we" like Oreo shakes. I never say "we" do Salcedo Market every Saturday. Nor do I say "we" love Tony Scott movies (because only he does). I’ve had many years of internal conflict and run-of-the-mill teenage angst to gain my independence. I tested myself again and again to become my own person. This is where I am now.
I don’t think that having to live with each other when you decide to get married is wrong. It’s just that we both like things the way they are.
So here we are as I cook him his meals for the week, which he will nuke in HIS microwave at his house, and he will visit my dog at MY home. Life is great: we’re already dreaming of our "his and hers" beach homes as we speak.
It’s been said that in every relationship there are the big three in terms of arguments:
1. Money. We both don’t have enough between us to call the lawyers and draft a prenup.
2. Kids. He can have his cats and I’ll keep my dogs.
3. Décor. I like chintz, he loves Bauhaus.
So, as you can see, the only pertinent argument in our otherwise perfect relationship is the third one. To try to marry my Chesterfield couches to his Sol Lewitt table may be a task befitting a modern Sisyphus.
Sometimes the pressure of romance may be the one that cracks the core of true love. We’ve known each other for 10 years; I hated him for maybe a year, loved him for the rest. So whatever pockets of doubt there may be, they’re filled with pebbles of experience and comfort. He truly is my rock. He tells me when I’m crazy. He also tells when I’m not being crazy.
My past relationships were dredged in so much cornstarch and wewerecloselikethis that there was simply no choice but to break up. There was just something unhealthy about them. Marcel was able to take away every insecurity I had in me. It takes a strong man like that to tame a shrew like me. Now I realize that there’s something completely abnormal in my adopting a new personality to manage a traditional pink-and-blue relationship. Yet people do it every day. Think of every man who pretends he loves listening to Norah Jones during dinnertime. Think of every girly-girl who has to live through football season. Those are nothing. Somewhere in the middle, people lose their sense of humor, their sense of irony, their independence and their La-Z Boy.
I guess maybe our decision also respects that every relationship is unique. It’s not like we don’t spend time together. I know what his ass is up to even before he does and vice versa. Maybe somewhere in between arguing whether to hang his Damien Loeb nude and demanding a floral dining room we realized that we’re so much better just the way we are.
My best friend Chut describes this as the dream situation. You date forever. I mean that’s where everyone’s relationship is headed anyway: it starts with "his and her" bathrooms and ends with separate bedrooms. Kidding. But it does happen, folks. Why go through the drama?
On the surface it may seem selfish and shallow. My parents were at their most miserable when apart. My mother had to attend to her gubernatorial duties in Guimaras, while my father stayed in the city for Congress. When they saw each other they talked about work and when they were apart that’s what they talked about, too. Now that they’re together, both retired from politics, they’ve found each other again. They are the strongest and most beautiful couple that I have ever seen. They are not perfect, but the will to work on what they have is inspiring. They are two distinct individuals and I can’t imagine one without the other. It’s the unique and inspiring couples like my parents that I look up to. I’m too much of a cynic to idealize perfect marriages.
Which brings me back to where I was. We’re both completely comfortable with each other and secure in our relationship. On the lighter side, I don’t need to pretend that I care about football and, more importantly, GOLF! He, on the other hand, doesn’t have to pretend to care what happens in Grey’s Anatomy. He’ll always be the Marcel I fell in love with and I will hopefully stay the Celine that he is simply crazy (maybe literally) over.
This is not a statement on modern marriage or a slap to the face of antiquated tomes about romance. But at the end of the day, everything about our relationship is as different and unique as our tastes. Nothing more. It works for us.
I look forward to the excitement of cooking him a meal after a hard day. I also look forward to watching 12 straight hours of Footballers’ Wives alone in my bedroom. Who says you can’t have the best of both worlds?
Marriage does not have to be a ball-and-chain institution. It’s not a scary thing if you’re doing it with the right person. It will always be hard, but being with the right one makes all the effort worth the trouble.
We never think twice about giving ourselves emotionally and spiritually to one another. He has my back and I have his. We tried to break up once when I was having one of my breakdowns and the minute I blurted it out we realized how impossible and improbable it was. I can never imagine anyone else in my life. At the same time I also have a clear vision of how I want to live mine.
I can’t even remember when we had our last major fight. Although I can remember going nuts when he forgot to bring home onions for one evening’s supper. Nag, nag, nag… off with the nag’s head! Our relationship is a very giving one. I’m no longer the psycho who hacks into e-mails and text messages, and he’s no longer stubborn. We managed to melt away our bad traits to make way for good ones. We want to pick our battles, and not erode what we have over onions or watermarks on the wooden coffee table. Kidding, but this arrangement also allows us to keep our eyes on the ball.
I’m not the "we" kind of girl. I never say "we" like Oreo shakes. I never say "we" do Salcedo Market every Saturday. Nor do I say "we" love Tony Scott movies (because only he does). I’ve had many years of internal conflict and run-of-the-mill teenage angst to gain my independence. I tested myself again and again to become my own person. This is where I am now.
I don’t think that having to live with each other when you decide to get married is wrong. It’s just that we both like things the way they are.
So here we are as I cook him his meals for the week, which he will nuke in HIS microwave at his house, and he will visit my dog at MY home. Life is great: we’re already dreaming of our "his and hers" beach homes as we speak.
BrandSpace Articles
<
>