Weddings and Me
Yesterday, we went to Nueva Ecija to attend my cousin's wedding and was prepared for the worst inquisition. My cousin was 2 years younger than I was after all, and yet there she is, looking resplendent in her knock-out wedding gown. Now I know there are worse things than being pestered about getting married already, and that is NOT being pestered about it. :D But then, seeing how happy my cousin was, albeit a bit tired, I hardly cared.
This is probably the first wedding I enjoyed thoroughly. If only because I wasn't part of the entourage or the program. Don't get me wrong, I like doing those for my friends. But it just makes me a tad too nervous to really appreciate the moment. It's hard to think, "aw shucks, look at the groom he's tearing up," without thinking, "oh dang, the next speaker is a bit lush already," or "god, what's the next line again?" Hazel married a Baguio army man, and the celebrations included true-to-goodness Igorot wedding dances and even the long-narrative done by community elders. It was neat.
Seeing a nice ceremony will unavoidably lead you down to paths best not taken, like thinking of how you would like your own wedding to be. I seriously wasn't one of those girls who were dreaming of the perfect wedding ever since they got their hands on Barbie and Ken's Dream Wedding Play Set. And maybe even at a young age, I had an inkling I had a looooot fo time on my hands to plan it out, so need to rush at age six.
And now that the big 3-0 is staring me at like a were-cat ready to eat me alive, I still can't bring myself to dream of it. Every time I do try, I hit roadblocks. Like: 1) who, for crying out loud? Prince William has Kate and James McAvoy has Anne-Marie. And I can't think of another man I'm willing to endure for a lifetime other than those. 2) Who will walk me down the aisle? Would it be politic to have an aunt and an uncle represent my deceased parents, or like Korina Sanchez, I walk alone?
And at this point, I slightly go off-tangent, surely unhinged by the enormity of its impossibility, my walking down the aisle in a pretty white dress.
So as much as I'm happy for my family and friends who found their impossible dream coming true, I am taking stock of reality. What's very difficult for me to admit is this: I think I was built to be alone. I fall in love easy enough, but I have trouble trusting that anybody will ever be dependable enough to trust as much as I need to. By now I have learned to depend on no one but myself to get things done, and to have somebody else share that world with me is alien territory. I am the war veteran saving up on canned beef broth and mango preserves, reinforcing an underground shelter, prepping oneself up to a long life of self-solidarity and solitude. The future looks grey, but at least, its certain.
And someday, when someone asks how I can endure it, I will smile and say, "I am strong enough," and maybe even convince myself.
This is probably the first wedding I enjoyed thoroughly. If only because I wasn't part of the entourage or the program. Don't get me wrong, I like doing those for my friends. But it just makes me a tad too nervous to really appreciate the moment. It's hard to think, "aw shucks, look at the groom he's tearing up," without thinking, "oh dang, the next speaker is a bit lush already," or "god, what's the next line again?" Hazel married a Baguio army man, and the celebrations included true-to-goodness Igorot wedding dances and even the long-narrative done by community elders. It was neat.
Seeing a nice ceremony will unavoidably lead you down to paths best not taken, like thinking of how you would like your own wedding to be. I seriously wasn't one of those girls who were dreaming of the perfect wedding ever since they got their hands on Barbie and Ken's Dream Wedding Play Set. And maybe even at a young age, I had an inkling I had a looooot fo time on my hands to plan it out, so need to rush at age six.
And now that the big 3-0 is staring me at like a were-cat ready to eat me alive, I still can't bring myself to dream of it. Every time I do try, I hit roadblocks. Like: 1) who, for crying out loud? Prince William has Kate and James McAvoy has Anne-Marie. And I can't think of another man I'm willing to endure for a lifetime other than those. 2) Who will walk me down the aisle? Would it be politic to have an aunt and an uncle represent my deceased parents, or like Korina Sanchez, I walk alone?
And at this point, I slightly go off-tangent, surely unhinged by the enormity of its impossibility, my walking down the aisle in a pretty white dress.
So as much as I'm happy for my family and friends who found their impossible dream coming true, I am taking stock of reality. What's very difficult for me to admit is this: I think I was built to be alone. I fall in love easy enough, but I have trouble trusting that anybody will ever be dependable enough to trust as much as I need to. By now I have learned to depend on no one but myself to get things done, and to have somebody else share that world with me is alien territory. I am the war veteran saving up on canned beef broth and mango preserves, reinforcing an underground shelter, prepping oneself up to a long life of self-solidarity and solitude. The future looks grey, but at least, its certain.
And someday, when someone asks how I can endure it, I will smile and say, "I am strong enough," and maybe even convince myself.
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