Some of my friends tell me I was both crazy and incredibly lucky to pull off my proposal. You tell me. Don't expect something super crazy or over-the-top incredible. It is what I would call...the Mexican Proposal.
It begins.
For months I had been telling my friends and family that I would propose to my girlfriend of 9 years. We are "college sweethearts" from UCLA, coincidentally both from South East Los Angeles. She is from Lynwood, always up to no bueno. I am from South Gate, a neighboring city. The original plan was to propose in 2019, but things had been going so well that I decided to move it up to 2017. Unfortunately, everyone and their cousin decided to do the same. I was left looking for the perfect date in search of the perfect moment.
Because I wanted the proposal to be a surprise, I started hammering the idea that I would not propose until I had enough money to give Mali her dream wedding. I gave her a timeline of 7 years. "We have many things to accomplish, first." But as weddings came and went, I started to notice a change in her demeanor. Unbeknownst to her, I was already working on it. However, she began to drop hints and bring up wedding-related conversations. I knew there would be a showdown soon. The day finally came a day before she left to an internship in Chicago. I let her down hard. I stayed strong and stuck to the 7 year plan story. It broke my heart, why lie.
Those ten weeks were pretty fucken difficult for me. When she finally got back, I was itching to propose then and there. I stayed strong, though, macizo, como fierro. Unfortunately, she came back guns blazing. Her spirit had recovered and she was emboldened by a new idea. She no longer "yearned" for a "big Mexican wedding." She claimed it made no financial sense. A small wedding would suit her just fine. I met fire with fire and let her know that I promised her the dream wedding and, on baby Jesus, I was going to give it to her. I did not waiver. Many fights and many nights later, we had the opportunity to move-in together.
A week into the move, an overwhelming feeling of joy and validation overcame me. The date had been mentioned to several, but I had not followed up with anyone for months. I was to propose on the 10th anniversary of meeting her, at around the time I met her, at the spot I met her. The date was set. The proposal would take place November 28, 2017, between 12-1pm, outside Campbell Hall at UCLA.
The problem was that shortly after she got back, I found out I would be discharged from my job. Luckily, I have an apartment complex and made enough from it to stay afloat. However, this gravely changed my ability to buy a ring and plan for a wedding. Still, I believed in the promise and figured future me would figure it out. I just needed that last check to make it to me by the 28th of November.
Two months had passed and I still had not received the check. Many phone calls had been made, all to no avail. I was hoping to receive it before Thanksgiving. Fuck! It did not come. My spirit was broken. The engagement would have to wait. On the 27th of November, I received an email from USPS. I saw that beautiful envelope. I hurried home. She had just started class at UCLA; she is pursuing her Masters in Library Science. However, Mondays, she came back home early, so home she was. I got to the mailbox and to my luck, she had not yet got to it. I excused myself and flew to the bank. On the way, I texted a mariachi friend of mine and told him if he could have a group for tomorrow midday. "I'm proposing," I told him. He replied, "Let me see what I can do." Abe did not hit me back up that day. I also texted her sisters and asked them to send pics of rings they think Mali would like. They responded quickly, but the pictures did not come till past 9 PM that night.
After cashing the check, I began to text my best friends. I let them know the proposal was tomorrow. Some called me up and congratulated me. I intended on calling Mali's parents that night, but I made the mistake of calling my dad first. He ranted for 45 minutes about my mom and even went as far questioning our relationship. He didn't mean anything bad by it; he was just grossly prepared for this moment. I guided him towards the blessing and, eventually, I got him on message. He closed with kind words and solid advice. Divorced parents talk about the other parent. It was all too familiar and comical to me. (Amalia's dad would do the same a couple days later. His rant would only be about 30 minutes, though lol) Still, it was a big moment for me and it meant a lot for my dad to give us his blessing. Unfortunately, it was 2 hours too long. By then, I had forgotten about Mali's parents. I was focused on scheduling a haircut early next morning. However, my barber could not do me a solid and 10:30 AM was the earliest he could pencil me in. November 27th ended.
It is the morning of the proposal and I have not confirmed the mariachi, do not have the ring and have not gotten a fresh cut. To make matters worse, Mali was stuck in a traffic jam and was thinking about turning back and not going to school altogether. The day before I told her that we would be going to a steakhouse in Santa Clarita for our friend's 30th birthday. She goes to class Monday through Wednesday. On Tuesdays, she gets out around noon, so the "plan" was to head out after class and beat traffic. "We could catch a movie out there while we wait for 5 PM." I told her this so she could dress up for class and therefore look nice for when I propose after class--Instagram pics and whatnot. I tried to convince her to try to make it to class but didn't push too hard to avoid suspicion. She gave up 13 minutes later and turned back home.
I had provided my barber an incentive to make our appointment 5 minutes earlier. He took it. I was out of the barbershop by 10:50 AM. While at the barbershop, I got many updates. The mariachi was a go. I devised a plan but, shortly after, the plan went to shit when Mali called back confirming she had ditched school. I told the mariachi I was probably going to arrive late and would no longer be meeting with them to go over final details. On the way to Jared's, I drew maps of where I needed Mariachi Steve and his mates to be at. The plan was to have them play for an hour in front of the spot we met. I planned to get there at 12:30 PM, but, realistically, it was looking like it would take till 12:50 PM. Mariachi Steve would text me a good 20 times before finding the exact location. -__-
I get to Jared's around 11:13 AM. I told the lady as soon as I walked in: "Time is of the essence." I figured I needed to get out of there by 11:30 AM if I was going to have any shot at making the proposal myself. I go through the pictures and they look great there. In person, the rings were shit. I hated them. No, fuck no, hell no, shit! I thought I was gonna leave with a promise box. But the very last picture, the one I liked the least, actually ended up being the best ring. I knew it was the one. I told the lady I would take it like that but she insisted on a quick steam clean. I was out of there and on the road by 11:35 AM.
I call Mali and tell her I was heading to UCLA to meet up with Bobby and Ricky for lunch. I told her that we had already made plans to meet up at a new spot by "Northern Lights" and I intended to keep my appointment. I told her I would come back to pick her up after so we can head out to Santa Clarita. I did this for two reasons: a) to avoid forcing her to go to UCLA and avoid suspicion b) to make it appear as though she was making ME go out of my way. She always wants to go when I don't invite her. She fell for the bait. I scooped her up around 12:10 PM and we were off to UCLA.
The whole way I was trying to coordinate with Steve who was already there and getting anxious. I reminded him I would be running late. By that point, I closed off the conversation with: "Fuck it. I am just going to walk up to you guys and kneel. As soon as I do, start playing. I will be wearing a black shirt. I'm tall. You can't miss me." (Of course, they did.)
We got there around 12:40 PM and I could not be happier. Mali was pissed. I was driving like a mad man, according to her. I do my best to deescalate, but we reached another fork in the road. To get to the spot desired, we would have to go slightly out of the way, just slightly. Amalia was not having it. She insisted we take her route, as it was shorter and the logical choice. "We should go through Anderson." I--needing to get to the end zone--did not budge. She was not happy. When we got to the top of Janss steps, I made her laugh and we got over it.
As we walked by Royce, I reminded her of something that "just came to me." "We met 10 years ago, around this time, at this spot (we were approaching Campbell)."
We saw the Mariachi in the distance and I joked that it was for us. She didn't believe me. They were noticeably looking for someone. They had never seen or met me. I got to about 3 feet away from the Mariachi and I turn to Amalia. I give her my speech. She thinks I am joking. I reach for the ring slowly. She is getting upset, still believing it was a cruel joke. I get down on one knee and ask her to marry me. She cries. I put the ring on her. A few people passing by congratulate us. A T.A. stuck her head out of a window and cheered. Her students clapped. It was awesome.
However, one piece was missing. Steve and company did not start playing. I turn back and they were walking away. They had missed the whole thing. I yell to them and we meet up by this great tree, between us. They opened up with "Venia Bendita." They followed it with "Cien Años" and then played the third song I requested in "Gema." Mali was so happy. It was an emotional moment for both us. We turn back to a crowd roaring, iphones out, probably streaming live or snapping. It was a dream.
We leave UCLA to go to L.A. Live. We have a great meal at Chloe's where we also begin to sip on some bubbly. After we got a little buzz going, we decided to leave to a mariachi restaurant. We love mariachi, but it is hard to find on a Tuesday. But we remembered Casa Sanchez has mariachi virtually everyday. When we got there, we took over. We ordered wine bottle after bottle. We made song requests and sang along with the mariachi. It was amazing.
Mali wanted to smoke before we called it a night. So I hit up the birthday boy, himself, and asked him for some herb. He has a medical card and often has a ton around. He says he was on his way to smoke at Janss steps for his 30th--pinche vato mamón. I asked him to pick us up and the rest is history.
If you got this far, thanks for listening. Peace and love lol
