Not an anti-automaton; just myself.

I feel the need to clarify for everyone:

When I make a decision, I don’t do it lightly. I don’t do it to “show someone” that I can be “different”. I don’t do it to be “cool”. I do it because I have sound reasons. When asked, I can give them to you forthwith. (Ask Neal. He was saying last night that he agrees with that statement. Apparently I am too logical when I argue and I’m hard to counter. Huh. Whodathunkit? *winks*)

I’m not against marriage. I am all for it for those who wish to be in that state. I haven’t prepared and waited for marriage in the ways I have in order to just spout against it because it’s common practice. I’m not anti-tradition. In fact, I lament many traditions that have faded into distant memory for many and wonder where they went. (I am not, however, adverse to mixing tradition with the creation of new memories and “traditions”.)

I’m not against wedding rings. I’m not against the white dress. I’m not against many things that are involved in the wedding planning.

“What, then, are you against?” you might be asking yourself.

I am against expecting a man to buy me some expensive bauble that I won’t wear anyway just so he can ask me to marry him. (I have about a dozen rings in my drawer that have been bought for me. I don’t wear them. I wear one ring regularly at this point in my life.) I am against being greedy that way when he won’t get a thing in return for the asking. I am against expecting more and more money being spent on me just because some man is weird enough and a large enough glutton for punishment to want to marry me. I am against the idea that a wedding is just for the girl and, therefore, she needs to have all the expensive crap to gather around her. (If I could? I’d elope. I have enough bills already.) I am against having an large, unrare but still overly-priced rock on my hand that I’m going to wish I didn’t have to wear and that, as soon as the “engagement” is over, will sit in a box in the drawer with the other rings people have bought me. (I don’t wear rings with stones in them: I only wear bands.) I am against having a symbol that means nothing to me personally just because someone else in an ad campaign a few years ago decided it was necessary for every “pampered” woman to have one. If her man “truly” loved her, of course.

What am I for, then? *looks at ring* *looks at necklace* I am for wearing things that mean something to me. I am for having my chastity ring on my left hand, Hebrew intact, reminding me of old tradition and newer vows. I am for having my dragonfly around my neck, reminding me of my late-fall Messenger one sunny day years ago.

If I looked down at my left hand and saw a diamond perched there, it would signify nothing. It would signify things that I’d rather not remember, pain and loss and manipulation. And not only my own feelings of such, but for all of those whose sweat went into pulling that diamond from the rough so I could have a meaningless symbol to show for a few months, waving my hand like a dying butterfly on the wind and giggling behind bejeweled hand.

That’s not me. That has nothing to do with who I am. Not because I have something to prove to you or to anyone else. But because I feel so strongly within myself that this is good and right.

And that is enough for me.

And, as I am for many other things, I like what I like and I dislike what I dislike. Because I have personal preferences. And I have opinions. I have nothing to prove. I have no one to impress.

I am who I am. (And, no, I’m not Popeye.) For one of the few times in my life, quite recently, I’ve begun liking who I am more and more. My feelings aren’t “so there!” feelings. My beliefs aren’t “take that!” beliefs. I’m not sticking it to anyone. My thoughts and beliefs are, all together, mine alone.