According to Chinese, I have survived 50 years globe-trotting all by myself. And someone recently whispered in my ears (while I was asleep) that I’d be around for another 50 years. So, I think I have enough time to look for someone, fall in love and then get married. Only fools die young. Don’t they all? 🙂
Looking is definitely a part which I’d never spend any efforts upon. Whoever is supposed to be mine, she already knows and is definitely not amongst the desperate ones out there. She is as easy-going as I am. And she has never rushed anything in her life, like myself. Let’s give 10 years to that looking.
When we find each other, the next part will be to get married. And since I always try to stand apart from everyone else around me, hence our marriage won’t be like everyone else’s.
There is no exact figure of the number of cultures in this world but I’d safely assume the number of languages (6,500 to be exact) as the number of cultures since language is usually the first identifier of a different culture.
That brings us to a total number of 6,500 different ways (and traditions) of getting married. Looking at my adventurous nature, I’d want to try them all out first before coming up with my own unique way to get married.
If we factor in one week for our stay (and being married) in every culture, it will take about 20 years to get married in every possible way that a human has invented.
I will want to put aside another 20 years to last any sort of dramas we plan on having which is common between couples. I get that from watching all those movies and reading novels. Now, I’m not certain if that will apply on our own unique type of coupling.
That leaves us with only ten years to think, plan and execute my own unique type of marriage. And since our (marital) adventures will be live telecast through social media and what not. Fifty years from now, I’m certain something else will have already replaced social media.
How stupid am I to not think about our honeymoon. For that, I’d need another 50 (fucking) years and I hope by then, scientists would have figured out some way for both of us to transfer our brains into another new body or a machine to live eternally.
But what if I am so much in love with my own body that I refuse to be transferred to another body and choose to die instead?
To address that, all those scientists will have to come up with something similar to happy pills (antidepressants) to manipulate my way of thinking, in order to keep me alive forever.