Marriage season upon us, tying us in knots

The Rajab month has arrived, with Rajab 27 falling on Sept. 2. For Muslims, the day marks the ascension of Prophet Muhammad SAW. For most Javanese and Sundanese, whose traditions are as much influence by Islam as by Hindu and Buddha, this month is considered an auspicious time to wed. I don't know why.

My friend Dee and I are both in our early 30s. I'm single and she's recently divorced. Unsurprisingly, when we attend weddings, we're both bombarded with questions from supposedly well-meaning friends, who unfortunately often appear to be intrusive. To me, they invariably ask: "Where's your boyfriend and when are you getting married?" To Dee, it has always been the unsolicited advice of: "He's a jerk, poor you, but don't get stressed, it's much better to have a husband than not".

It's obvious why Dee and I prefer to attend weddings together whenever possible, because then we can lend each other support when people's questions become suffocating.

I still go to weddings. I actually enjoy them, plus I won't let some snide remarks stop me from coming to celebrate a loved ones' love fest. Other friends, attractive, successful professionals in their 30s, stopped attending weddings long ago because of the barrage of often insulting questions. I don't blame them. If you play it too cool, people start rumors of you being gay. If you happen to be moody and give a rather assertive reply, there goes the whole sensitive spinster thing.

This weekend Dee and I were invited to the wedding of a dancing buddy, a shy guy who turns into Ricky Martin once the music starts. He met his bride in dancing circles, which gives Dee and I some hope that there are eligible, straight single men who like and know how to dance. His reception was full of dancing enthusiasts, and everybody arrived wearing their glitziest dancing shoes and carrying a mixed CD. Someone nudged the DJ to start early, and people scrambled to the dance floor, forsaking the kambing guling and chicken satay, surrendering to the allure of Latin music. It was a pure blast.

I was just taking a break after a five-song salsa marathon with a dynamic Latino when someone tapped my shoulder. Apparently a college friend who works with the bride. Predictably, right after the usual pleasantries, the ultimate question ensued. Upon hearing I was single, instead of the typical "Oh you must be very picky" response, she let out a sigh. Not judgmental, but more like disappointment. Why, I asked. "Cause I thought that hot Latino was your man and I was just very happy for you," she said.

I laughed so loud Shakira's voice disappeared into the background momentarily. Honey, be happy nevertheless, cause I'm actually happy right now. I'm here with good friends, and I just burned 600 calories doing the salsa. Hot Latino boyfriend or not, I'm really having a good time, so please don't tell me that I should be feeling like I'm lacking something, Allow me to indulge in it while it lasts, before I return to my normal life that includes attending the nuptial ceremony earlier today. Life's events regularly remind me of my single status already. Allow me to deal with it privately. I don't need people to put me on the spot and expect some graceful response all the time.

Naah, I didn't give her the speech. Instead, I gave her a peck on the cheek and made a detour to the dance floor. Dee was turning and flipping with a groomsman who's apparently a much better dancer than the groom. And as any wise dancer knows, you need a man who can lead to make the dance work. I needed to wrestle that man away from Dee.

It's just another weekend for us singles here in Jakarta. You just smile, and salsa away.... Nos bailamos, amigos!

--Miss Sassy