But as much as I love these little critters, I really don’t want to have any of my own. For one thing, I believe I’d make a terrible mother. And this is why.

On busy days I work at a tutoring place with kids twice a week (administrative stuff the rest of the week). Now let me just say that I’m an extreme germophobe. I’m your OCD, two bottles of hand sanitizer carrying (one scented, of course), constant hand washing, opening bathroom doors with a paper napkin, flush the toilet with my shoe, ”SNEEZE INTO YOUR INNER ELBOW, DAMMIT!” kinda girl. When a fellow girlfriend asks for lip balm I lie and tell them I don’t have any. I never share water bottles or straws. So imagine working in a place surrounded by kids who cough in your face, wipe their noses and then (oh, the horror!) wipe them on the table when they think you’re not looking. *Shudder*

I’ve heard that even the worst germophobes are cured by motherhood. That you learn to just let it go sometimes, that it doesn’t matter. That may be true but it’s not the only reason I don’t want kids. I don’t want to be responsible for another life. And I realize that’s what I’d be doing as a nurse… but unlike being a nurse, motherhood is a 24/7 job.

There are people out there from my community (and maybe outside of it) that would screech, “How can you be so selfish? There are people out there who can’t have kids and here you are not wanting kids?” I don’t know. Not wanting a baby that I know I wouldn’t make a good mother of somehow makes me selfish? That’s interesting. Because there’s absolutely nothing wrong with popping out as many babies as you can solely with the hope that at least one of them will take care of you in your old age, right?

I crave independence.  I have helped raise my siblings, changed their diapers (is it me or does baby poop smell worse than an adult’s?), cooked for them, helped with their homework. I’ve watched them grow up, treated their boo-boos, always had a hug ready for when they needed it. But at the end of the day they go back to their mom who is supposed to be more responsible for them than anyone else. So in a way I know what it’s like to have children. And I know I don’t want to do that for the rest of my life.

So am I selfish for not wanting kids? Perhaps. But if so, people who thoughtlessly have kid after kid without a care about what their future might be like are no better than me.

Who knows? I might change my tune a couple years down the road. After all, nothing is set in stone. But at this point in my life, I do not see myself having kids. Ain’t no babies coming out of this body. Nuh uh. No way.

I’m what you might call the black sheep in my family. I’ve told my folks: reject all proposals you receive on my behalf from parents of guys who don’t have the balls to get to know me themselves first and don’t bother to look around for me, either. I’ll know when the right guy comes into my life. And I’ll let them know if and when I’m ready to marry. Somewhat understandably, this doesn’t fly with them.

The words “arranged marriage” leave such a bitter taste in my mouth. While I know many people who are now happily married because their parents chose their spouse, I believe it’s not something for me. I simply cannot do the whole, “Well, why don’t you go on a date with him? Maybe two dates? See if you want to marry him.” Right. Like the most important decision of my life can be made over a plate of some watery pasta dish while my date tells me about how many degrees he holds, how many convenience stores he owns, or what kind of car he drives.

I remember a conversation I had in high school with a friend of mine while we were waiting for the bus.

Friend: I don’t have a problem with having an arranged marriage.

Me: Okay. But why?

Friend: Because in an arranged marriage, you don’t know each other. Everything is new and exciting. If you’ve already been involved with someone before getting married, things become dull and boring.

Me: …

To me what’s important is marrying a good man, an honest guy that I, hello, already love? Not someone I can fall in love with after we’re married. I don’t want to depend on my husband’s wealth, either. I’d rather have a good steady job and be able to support myself and us, when things aren’t looking so good for him, thank you very much. I don’t do the whole “You woman, cook. Me man, work.” And unfortunately, that’s exactly who I believe my folks would find for me, if I let the fate of my possible future marital life rest in their hands.

Besides, why is it so important for a girl to get married in the first place? I can think of a couple reasons why not to get married off the top of my head. At least not yet. But that’s a post for another day.

I think it’s the miniscule amount of rebellious Irish DNA in my body talking here.

But I’m not going to make my first post about who I am, what this blog is about. I’m not about to post my life story here right from the get-go. Tres boring. Absolutely nobody reads the very first post. Come on.

I do know, however, that I have this need to write. I must write. About stuff that’s important or interesting to me. I live in a place among people where there isn’t much mental stimulation, sadly. And as my username suggests, this blog is mostly about my innermost thoughts on various subjects. People from my everyday life tell me that they like to think they’re pretty tolerant and accepting about different and radical viewpoints. 

Um, no.

I’m all about free speech and what not. Expressing your opinion is a right that’s taken so much for granted by the people of this country. In my situation, it’s much easier to keep quiet about how you feel and what you think than risk being ridiculed. Not that I’m not ridiculed for other reasons. It’s just that when you know people choose to keep their eyes closed with their hands over their ears and screaming “Lalalalalalaala!” (figuratively speaking, of course) that there really is no point to talk about what you personally think.

But after years of keeping my thoughts to myself, the thoughts racing through my head can make me feel a little… stifled. And so my writing becomes my emotional outlet.

And by writing here I hope to connect with a few like-minded individuals (and some different ones, too because, after all, variety is the spice of life).

As for who I am? I’ve always found it really hard to talk/write about this part. I mean, what do you want to know? What are my favorite hobbies? What color do I like? Ice cream flavor? What brand of toothpaste I use?

I figure I’ll just let my posts speak about who I am.