"Bao Giờ Lấy Chồng?"- When are you getting a husband?

Besides the quirky and youthful musicality of the song, I was somewhat haunted by the echoes of ...

"Đã lấy chồng chưa?" (Got a Husband Yet?)

I have already had my taste of lurking elders anticipating news of a charming match. Ladies at weddings asking me when it'll be my turn, aunties telling me that they got married at my age, and my mum offering to set me up if I'm ế (leftover). Now don't get me wrong, this isn't a begrudging sentiment. Unlike the persona in the song who insists "đừng ai hỏi" (don't ask me), I haven't really been bothered by it. In fact, there's something pretty victorious about getting Asian middle-aged women to compliment me.

"What? You don't have a boyfriend yet? But you're so cute!"

Oh what a refreshing change from the pointers to my new lockdown thighs. I might just consider staying single for the ego boost. Tempting...

Jokes aside, I do feel a bit more pressure now that the enquiries aren't just occasional whiffs from random ladies at weddings, but monthly check-ups with the parents AND sibling. It starts to get a bit concerning, when your taciturn brother voices his concern for you.

"Rebecca when are you getting a boyfriend? You're getting old."

I could have very easily ranted about not needing a man, or proclaimed that I'm a strong independent woman. Society has taught us to be outraged at any ideals that would rub against our libertarian reject any inkling of a different opinion; particularly our parents who apparently have "antiquated" ideals. It really saddens me to see this growing inter-generational gap and for my parents' voices .

Soon I'll be the old one with the old ideals, my children will roll their eyes and brush my comments off as irrelevant and overbearing. And I know that I would yearn for my voice to be heard.

Anyway, this doesn't diminish the sometimes exhausting task of repeating the dull "no, there is no man". So I figured, why be dull when you can troll?

Every time I've been going out, I've begun telling them that I'm hanging out with my "boyfriend". When I'm on a phone call, I ask my parents if they have a message for their future son-in-law. It's been about 6 months, and our conversations are sounding more like this:

Them: Where you going?

Me: Out for dinner.

Them: With who?

Me: My boyfriend.

Them: We wish.

In all seriousness, I can take this all lightly because I know that my identity is not in my relationship status, neither is it in my ability to formulate clever responses to my eager parents; but in knowing that I am already whole, already seen, already loved—regardless of who sits beside me at dinner, or how convincingly I play the part.

In the meantime, I'll resume going to weddings and scrolling through posts of bent knees, reminding myself that someone else’s timeline is not my measuring stick, and joy is not a scarce resource I need to compete for.