From the moment I was widowed in 2011, remarriage became a frequent topic of conversation whenever my interactions with relatives and peers turned deeply personal. Even in casual meetings, variations of the same questions inevitably surface:
“O, may asawa ka na?” (Have you finally found a wife?)
Upon receiving a negative answer, the usual follow-up follows:
“Kailan mo balak mag-asawa?” (When do you plan to get married?)
A blunt shrug or deflection might solicit a reassuring comment: “Sabagay, maganda yan para maalagaan mo mga anak mo.” (Well, that’s good, so you have time to look after your kids).
I seem to take it all in stride. I am unlike some unmarried women I know who suffer deeply from these casual remarks about getting hitched—to the point of shunning family reunions or school batch gatherings. I understand that there are religious, familial, and community expectations surrounding singlehood and widowhood. However, it is my life, and only I know what is best for me. Perhaps I have simply found contentment in being single and unattached again.
Before married life, I used to live alone in a rented room in Quezon City, navigating independence right after college. In many ways, my current life is a reversion to that old routine—except now, I have children to raise. I am not the typical man who desperately seeks someone else to organize his world, manage everyday household tasks, or curate his social calendar.
Yet, I have a very close female friend from my high school days who loves to tease me about my choice to remain single. Whenever she senses a hint of complaint in my life after a brief kumustahan, she remarks emphatically: “Mag-asawa ka na kasi!” (Why not just get married already!). To pivot away from the topic, I usually offer a non-committal answer: “Darating din ako dyan.” (I’ll get there soon). To which she always counters: “Kailan?” (When?).
During our last conversation this year, just to stop her pestering, I finally told her that I had decided to seek marriage again. I joked that the day after our meeting would mark "Day One" of my serious search for a lifetime partner. Matchless in her energy, she reminded me that "Day One" is always better than "One Day," cheering me on with a spirited, "Go! Go!".
Predictably, my "Day One" stretched into many days, a week, and then a month without any real action. By our next meeting, her impatient questions—“Meron na ba?” and “Kailan?”—reverberated once more.
But when, exactly, is the right "Day One" to pursue a goal like getting hitched again?
I once read an article on a news website stating that it usually does not take long for widowers to remarry. A University of Pennsylvania sociologist found that the average timeframe for widowers who remarry is about two and a half years; for widows, it is three to five years. This statistical finding validates the cultural stereotype that men date sooner and remarry more quickly than women. Having been widowed for the past six years, I am well past that average timeframe.
Honestly, throughout those years, remarriage never crossed my mind. Perhaps I prioritize the welfare of my young children over my own desires. Or perhaps resilience in the face of tragedy plays a role. A hasty decision to remarry can easily result in hurt and complex feelings within a family. My mother-in-law once confided in me that she wept after dreaming that I had taken a new wife. Her reaction is entirely understandable. Furthermore, I must be certain that I am not merely trying to replace my former spouse with just another warm body. Because of this, I hold a higher set of standards.
For me, the true turning point is emotional readiness—the moment I have truly moved forward from a tragic loss. I think I finally have, even though a loss that massive leaves a permanent scar to remind me of past pain. I no longer grapple with the overwhelming distress of knowing our family will never be physically complete again.
I finally removed my wedding ring—though only a year ago. It took me six years to make that choice because I had once promised my late wife that I would raise my right hand with that ring on when taking my oath as a lawyer. But I didn't pass the bar, and I no longer have the time to retake it.
Now, I must consider my three children, who are all in their teenage years. I am not entirely sure if they are ready to accept a stepmother. I haven't discussed it with them yet because there was nothing to talk about; before today, I hadn't actively looked for love.
Maybe tomorrow I will practice flashing my most charming smile around new, younger coworkers or neighbors. Maybe I'll start chatting with single Facebook friends on Messenger, or perhaps give an ex a buzz. I haven’t flirted since before I got married, and I likely just need a burst of initial energy to break the ice.
It may take a long time to get where I want to be. But with steady focus, sooner or later, I hope to find someone who is simply wonderful to be around. Perhaps I will find her, and perhaps the kids will like her, too.
Now feels like the right Day One to embark on this worthwhile pursuit. Rome wasn't built in a day, but they definitely started the construction with a Day One.
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