GUSTO KONG KANSELAHIN ANG SARILI KONG KASAL PERO AYAW NG FIANCÉ KO—KAYA NAGPASYA AKONG PAGSISISIHIN NIYA ANG PAGPAPAKASAL SA AKIN
GUSTO KONG KANSELAHIN ANG SARILI KONG KASAL PERO AYAW NG FIANCÉ KO—KAYA NAGPASYA AKONG PAGSISISIHIN NIYA ANG PAGPAPAKASAL SA AKIN
Lumambot ang mukha ni Daniel.
Nawala ang pilyong ngiti niya.
Pati ang yabang na ilang linggo nang lalo kong kinaiinisan.
“Hindi kita hate.”
Napakurap ako.
“Ano?”
“I said, hindi kita hate.”
Napatawa ako nang mapait.
“Talaga? Kasi kakaiba ang paraan mo ng pagpapakita.”
“Galing sa babaeng pinaghalo ang asin at asukal ko?”
“Isang beses lang iyon.”
“Tatlong beses.”
“Deserve mo.”
Napailing siya.
Pero hindi siya ngumiti.
Tinitigan niya ang tasa ng kape sa harap niya.
Then he said quietly:
“Ayaw kong kanselahin ang kasal dahil ayaw kitang mawala.”
Parang may biglang humila sa dibdib ko.
“Ano raw?”
“You heard me.”
“Daniel, dalawang buwan na tayong halos araw-araw nag-aaway.”
“Oo.”
“Sinira mo ang paborito kong sweater.”
“Hindi sinasadya iyon.”
“Nilagyan mo ng cinnamon ang shampoo ko.”
“Vanilla extract.”
“Mas malala!”
Napatingin sa amin ang mag-asawang nasa kabilang mesa.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Ang punto ko, hindi kita hate.”
“Then why are we like this?”
Doon siya natahimik.
Matagal.
Hanggang sa inakala kong hindi na siya sasagot.
“Because I'm scared.”
Hindi ko iyon inaasahan.
“Of what?”
“Na pagkatapos nating ikasal, magiging katulad tayo ng parents ko.”
Biglang nawala ang galit ko.
Alam ko ang tungkol sa mga magulang ni Daniel.
Tatlongpu't dalawang taon silang kasal bago naghiwalay.
Sa labas, perfect couple.
Matching Christmas cards.
Anniversary trips.
Family dinners.
Pero sa loob ng bahay, halos hindi sila nag-uusap.
Hindi sila sumisigaw.
Hindi rin sila naglalambingan.
Para silang dalawang taong aksidenteng nakatira sa iisang address.
“Anong kinalaman niyan sa atin?”
I asked.
“Everything.”
He leaned back.
“Habang papalapit ang wedding, parang lahat ng bagay biglang naging test.”
“Anong test?”
“Kung magiging mabuting husband ba ako. Kung kikita ba ako nang sapat. Kung magiging katulad ba ako ni Dad. Kung pagkatapos ng sampung taon, titignan mo rin ba ako gaya ng pagtingin ni Mom sa kanya.”
I stared at him.
“Bakit hindi mo sinabi?”
He laughed without humor.
“Dahil napakagaling kong makipag-usap tungkol sa feelings.”
“Obviously.”
“Thank you.”
“Welcome.”
For half a second, we almost smiled.
Then I asked:
“Kung natatakot ka, bakit mo ako inaaway?”
“Because you started pulling away.”
“Ano?”
“Three months ago.”
He looked directly at me.
“Every time I mentioned the wedding, naiirita ka. Kapag tinatanong kita tungkol sa invitations, flowers, seating chart, parang gusto mo akong sakalin.”
“Dahil ikaw ang gustong kontrolin lahat!”
“Because you stopped caring!”
“I stopped caring because every decision became an argument!”
“And I argued because I thought you didn't want to marry me!”
I froze.
There it was.
The stupid circle we'd built.
I became distant because he became controlling.
He became controlling because I became distant.
I criticized.
He retaliated.
I pushed harder.
He pushed back.
Hanggang sa nakalimutan naming may panahon palang gusto talaga naming magpakasal.
“Daniel…”
“Do you still love me?”
Napatingin ako sa bintana.
Hindi ako makasagot agad.
At mukhang nasaktan siya roon.
“I see.”
“No.”
I reached across the table.
“Hindi ibig sabihin na hindi kita mahal.”
“Then what does it mean?”
“Hindi ko alam kung sapat pa iyon.”
That hurt him.
I could see it.
Pero iyon ang totoo.
“Mahal kita.”
sabi ko.
“Pero ayokong gumising limang taon mula ngayon na pareho tayong miserable dahil natakot tayong mawalan ng deposits.”
Tumango siya.
Then he surprised me.
“Then let's cancel it.”
Napatingin ako sa kanya.
“What?”
“Cancel the wedding.”
“Pero sabi mo—”
“I know what I said.”
“Daniel, ten thousand dollars.”
“Let it burn.”
“Are you serious?”
“Oo.”
He took my hand.
“Mas mura ang ten thousand kaysa divorce.”
Napatawa ako.
“Napakaromantic.”
“I try.”
Pero may problema.
Nang tumawag kami sa venue kinabukasan, nalaman naming hindi lang pala sampung libo ang mawawala.
Halos lahat ng natitirang balance ay due na rin dahil tatlong linggo na lang bago ang kasal.
Catering.
Flowers.
Band.
Photographer.
Cake.
Kapag kinansela namin, halos pareho lang ang babayaran.
Umupo kami sa sahig ng apartment nang gabing iyon, napapalibutan ng contracts.
Daniel stared at the numbers.
“So…”
“Don't.”
“I'm just saying.”
“Daniel.”
“We already paid for most of it.”
“Don't you dare suggest we get married because of catering.”
“Sayang ang steak.”
Binato ko siya ng unan.
He caught it.
Then, for the first time in months, we laughed until our stomachs hurt.
At doon pumasok sa isip ko ang isang ideya.
“Wait.”
“Ano?”
“Paano kung hindi natin kanselahin ang event?”
His smile disappeared.
“Akala ko ba—”
“Hindi ko sinabing ituloy natin ang kasal.”
He stared.
Then slowly understood.
“Oh.”
“Oo.”
Three weeks later, dumating ang araw na dapat sana'y wedding day namin.
My mother nearly fainted when I told her the plan.
Daniel's sister thought we were insane.
The wedding planner stared at us for almost a full minute.
“So let me understand.”
sabi niya.
“You're canceling the ceremony.”
“Oo.”
“But keeping the reception.”
“Oo.”
“And you're telling the guests when they arrive?”
Daniel nodded.
“Basically.”
She rubbed her temples.
“I've planned weddings for nineteen years.”
“First time?”
I asked.
“Unfortunately.”
We changed one thing on the sign outside the venue.
WELCOME TO THE WEDDING OF DANIEL & SOPHIA
became:
WELCOME TO DANIEL & SOPHIA'S VERY EXPENSIVE NON-WEDDING PARTY
At four o'clock, nearly a hundred guests arrived.
Confused.
Some amused.
Some horrified.
My Aunt Patricia whispered loudly:
“I knew something was wrong.”
She hadn't.
She said that about everything.
My father pulled Daniel aside.
I thought he might punch him.
Instead, ten minutes later, they returned carrying beers.
Apparently Daniel had explained everything.
Then came the moment I'd been dreading.
We stood where the ceremony was supposed to happen.
No priest.
No vows.
No rings.
Just us.
Daniel took the microphone.
“Everyone came here expecting a wedding.”
The room became silent.
“We owe you an apology.”
I took the microphone from him.
“And apparently dinner.”
People laughed nervously.
I continued.
“Daniel and I realized something a few weeks ago. We were more committed to winning arguments than protecting our relationship.”
Daniel nodded.
“We got so obsessed with proving the other person was impossible to marry that we accidentally proved both of us were impossible to marry.”
That got a bigger laugh.
Even my mother smiled.
“So we're not getting married today.”
I said.
Gasps.
Whispers.
My grandmother shouted:
“GOOD!”
Everyone turned.
She shrugged.
“Better now than after three children.”
I wanted the floor to swallow me.
Daniel whispered:
“I love her.”
“I heard that!”
Grandma shouted back.
The room exploded in laughter.
Then Daniel became serious.
“We don't know if we'll eventually marry.”
He looked at me.
“But if we do, gusto naming mangyari iyon dahil handa kami. Hindi dahil may venue, flowers, deposits, o isang daang taong naghihintay.”
I squeezed his hand.
“So please eat.”
I said.
“We paid too much for this food.”
That finally broke the tension.
The strangest reception of our lives began.
We danced.
We ate our wedding cake.
I threw the bouquet.
My cousin caught it and immediately threw it back.
Daniel and I even had our first dance.
Technically, our first non-wedding dance.
Halfway through, he whispered:
“Still trying to make me regret marrying you?”
I smiled.
“Hindi mo naman ako pinakasalan.”
“Technicality.”
Then something happened that I hadn't expected.
Without the pressure of being bride and groom, we enjoyed each other.
Really enjoyed each other.
No arguments about photographs.
No panic over schedules.
No trying to create a perfect memory.
We simply had fun.
At the end of the night, instead of going to our honeymoon suite together, I went home with my sister.
Daniel stayed with his brother.
For the first time in four years, we deliberately spent some time apart.
Not as punishment.
Not as a breakup.
We needed to discover whether we missed each other—
or simply missed the habit of each other.
The first week felt wonderful.
No wet towels on the bathroom floor.
No Daniel criticizing how I loaded the dishwasher.
No arguments over thermostat settings.
Then, on day eight, I opened the spice cabinet.
Everything was exactly where I'd put it during our war.
Paprika beside cinnamon.
Garlic powder where oregano should be.
I stared at it.
And started crying.
Not because I missed his organization.
I missed him standing behind me complaining about it.
That evening, my phone rang.
Daniel.
“Hello?”
“Important question.”
“What?”
“Where's the cumin?”
I laughed.
“You still haven't fixed the cabinet?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Then:
“Because you did it.”
My throat tightened.
“I miss you too.”
We didn't immediately move back in together.
Instead, we started dating again.
Actual dates.
Not wedding-planning meetings disguised as dinner.
We talked about money.
Children.
Careers.
His fear of becoming his father.
My fear of losing myself inside a marriage.
And eventually we uncovered something neither of us had admitted.
I hadn't really wanted to cancel because I stopped loving Daniel.
I wanted to cancel because the wedding had become bigger than our relationship.
Every conversation was about flowers, seating, money, dresses, relatives, photographs.
Somewhere between engagement and ceremony, I stopped feeling like Sophia.
I became “the bride.”
Daniel stopped being Daniel.
He became “the groom.”
And both of us hated those people.
Six months after our non-wedding, Daniel took me back to the café.
Same table.
No flowers.
No photographer hiding nearby.
No elaborate speech.
He put a small object on the table.
My engagement ring.
I'd given it back when we canceled the ceremony.
He didn't kneel.
“I'm not proposing.”
“Good.”
“I haven't finished.”
“Proceed.”
He pushed the ring toward me.
“I want you to keep this.”
“Why?”
“Because I still want to marry you.”
My heart jumped.
“But I'm not asking today.”
I frowned.
“Then what are you doing?”
“I'm telling you that whenever we're both ready, you already know my answer.”
I stared at him.
“And if I never become ready?”
His face softened.
“Then I'd rather have you without a wedding than a wedding without you.”
That was the moment I knew.
Not when he originally proposed in front of thirty people at my birthday dinner.
Not when we booked the venue.
Not when I bought the dress.
That moment.
Because for the first time, marriage wasn't being used as proof of love.
Love was allowed to exist without demanding marriage immediately.
I picked up the ring.
Then slipped it onto my finger.
Daniel blinked.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Are you proposing to yourself?”
“No.”
“Then what's happening?”
“I'm reserving it.”
“For?”
“Future use.”
He laughed.
“You're insane.”
“You knew that before the first wedding.”
A year later, we got married.
For real.
There were twelve people.
My parents.
His mother.
Our siblings.
My grandmother.
And a few close friends.
No elaborate flowers.
No seating chart.
No band.
No expensive cake.
We got married in my parents' backyard.
My dress cost less than the shoes I'd worn at our first almost-wedding.
Right before the ceremony, Daniel came into the kitchen.
“You nervous?”
“Oo.”
“Want to cancel?”
I looked at him.
“Do you?”
“Nope.”
“Then neither do I.”
He smiled.
“Damn.”
“What?”
“I was hoping for another party.”
I kissed him.
Then pushed him outside.
We exchanged vows fifteen minutes later.
This time, when I looked at Daniel, I wasn't thinking:
I can't do this.
I was thinking:
I choose this.
There's a difference.
A huge one.
Years later, we still fight.
Daniel still alphabetizes spices.
I still deliberately put one jar in the wrong place every few months just to watch his eye twitch.
He still insists there's a correct way to load a dishwasher.
There isn't.
And whenever one of us becomes too stubborn during an argument, the other says:
“Ten thousand dollars.”
It's our code.
A reminder of how close we came to spending the rest of our lives trying to win against the person we supposedly wanted beside us.
Minsan tinatanong ako ng mga kaibigan namin kung pinagsisisihan ko ba ang unang kasal na hindi natuloy.
Hindi.
Sayang ang pera?
Medyo.
Sayang ang pagkain?
Hindi. Inubos namin.
Nakakahiya?
Sobra.
Pero kailangan naming mabigo bilang bride at groom para maalala kung paano maging Sophia at Daniel.
Akala ko noon, ang paraan para mapaatras siya ay gawing miserable ang buhay niya.
Kaya ginulo ko ang spice cabinet niya.
Ginanti niya ako sa shampoo.
Nag-away kami sa damit, pagkain, tulog, pera, at halos lahat ng maliit na bagay na puwedeng gawing sandata.
Pareho naming gustong mapagod ang isa.
Pareho naming gustong marinig ang isa na magsabing:
“Suko na ako.”
Sa huli, may sumuko nga.
Pero hindi si Daniel.
Hindi rin ako.
Ang isinuko namin ay iyong kalokohang paniniwala na kapag mahal mo ang isang tao, kailangan mong ipilit ang kasal kahit pareho na kayong miserable.
Hindi namin kinansela ang pagmamahalan namin.
Kinansela namin ang deadline.
At iyon pala ang kailangan namin.
Dahil ang tamang tao ay hindi iyong taong hindi mo kailanman gustong takasan.
Ang tamang tao ay iyong taong kaya mong tingnan pagkatapos ng pinakamasamang away ninyo at sabihing:
“Hindi tayo handa ngayon.”
At sa halip na pilitin kang manatili dahil sayang ang pera, sayang ang venue, o nakakahiya sa pamilya—
sasagot siya:
“Okay. Hintayin nating maging handa tayo.”
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At nang dumating ang araw na iyon, wala nang kailangang maunang sumuko.
Pareho na kaming kusang lumakad papunta sa altar.
