CHECK, PLEASE?

I finally have my own checkbook.

.....

How f*cking gangstah is THAT?!?!

I just came from the bank and the teller suggested this three-in-one account of sorts that includes a passbook, checkbook, and atm. So I was like, "Yeah sure, whatever. I just need a checkbook so I can pay my rent."

Yes kids, checks to pay my own rent. No more using daddy's checks. (But hey, I paid him back... I just needed to make those post-dated checks out to the landlord.)

I feel like a f*cking adult, it's awesome. All mature now and what not... writing checks, paying bills, buying appliances and sofas and shit.

Hell. to the motherfrikkin'. yeah.

(Ok actually Pao and I are totally splitting the bills... or more like the "responsibilities" of running our own household. Shoot, I am an underpaid writer who just happens to save well. Been saving all my life. For someone who failed economics, too. Besides, I still believe in the whole patriarchal, the man provides archetype... though I suppose it's more egalitarian than patriarchal. Like I'd really allow myself to be "under." =)

But that's not what I wanted to write about.

So yeah. I went to the bank, signed some documents. I apparently had to update my account info - address and phone number and stuff. That's when I realized that there were still some remnants of my past relationship... like the phone number (which I think they carried over from my old account). I didn't recognize the number at first... because then i was thinking, "I don't have a landline." til I realized, "Oh god no, that's my ex's number. Change it."

Then the teller started asking questions... which of course, I didn't mind answering. It's nice making friends with your neighborhood bank teller. Never know when you're gonna need that loan. *winks*

"So where's your ex?"
"Naglaho na sya."
"Ganon?"
"Yeah. But I have a boyfriend now. I'm getting married next year."

And then more talk about wedding plans and what not...

Now I'm not gonna get into the details of the entire conversation but it just kinda struck me as interesting how someone can assume things about your future and yourself from the size of your bank account.

Personally, I'm glad I was able to save. The teller said I can afford my own wedding with all that I've saved (and the obvious habit that I rarely withdraw). I guess it was just nice to hear... to have that independence reaffirmed. I feel pretty damn proud of myself.

Then she asked me what province my boyfriend was from... and honestly. I don't know. Like seriously. (Waffle? You don't really have one, right? I said Japan... but even that, I'm not sure.)

Then the teller implied I wasn't ready to be married since I didn't know my own boyfriend's province. Of course, I took it well... and in jest. It even got me to thinking about that book I read (was it Little Prince?) about how people don't ask the more important questions when it comes to relationships. Like... what's your favorite color? Or... which do you like better: the breast or the butt (ok, the last question didn't come from that book but yeah).

I started zoning out on just what it is you NEED to know about a person to consider a relationship serious.

His province.

What does that even mean anyway? When people ask what province you're from. I mean, I answer I'm from Pangasinan... but it's not like I've ever lived there. Hell, I could say Jersey was my province and that would be more accurate. Is it because I'm Ilocana or something? What does it even mean to be "Ilocana"? Yeah sure, I know Ilocanos in general are deemed to be frugal and stuff... but is that what defines a person?

So does that mean I don't know a thing about the man I'm supposed to marry just 'cause I don't know his province? What if he doesn't have a province? Does that put him in some sort of social limbo?

*shrugs*

People can be so weird sometimes. That's why I became a sociologist.

Now I knew what I wanted to "retort" ... but I figured it wouldn't be all that appropriate to just start wildly explaining the reasons why I should marry Paolo. The reasons just began to flood my head, I didn't know where to start so I just stammered some awkward, "Uhm, when do I get my passbook?"

....

But see...

Pao... likes chicken breast. Just like me.
And action jackson movies.
And my cooking.
And oldschool hiphop and rnb.
And going out... as well as staying home.
And my writing.
And Psyche.
And agrees with my money-saving schemes that consist of jars and empty cans of baby wipes.
And massages me without argument.
And makes me laugh.
And gives me money. (HAHAHAHAHA!)
And writes me letters and notes... on paper. with a pen.
And enjoys comforter and cookware shopping.
And pre-registers at wedding expos.
And is like a brother to my sisters.

And a shitload of other things that may seem trivial at facevalue but the same little things that, I think, will make or break a relationship.

.......

But just in case I'm wrong...

"Waffle? Where's your province?"

.......

And today's song on loop is: