The Wedding Writer: Better Together

All eyes were on Jan and Pat – their matrimonial union was after all what we had crossed the seas for. We had come to celebrate their wedding. My attention was however leaning in a slightly different direction, something the cameras would have missed. 

Jan’s mom was a picture of elegance and poise. There was dramatic potential in her doleful eyes. In her youth, they must have expressed emotions across the spectrum. However, as Jan and Pat approached her for the parents’ blessings, she held back her tears. Her eyes were wide and restrained. She smiled – now a picture of sweet reserve. Jan’s dad was right behind, his manly and stern countenance gave way. His face was scrunched up. 

“My parents are very unhappy. They can’t accept…”

When I heard that from Jan who was beyond forlorn years ago, I did not know what to say. I was not sure myself then what would become of this. At the concourse near the lift that leads up to School of Information Systems, I gave her the warmest embrace I could ever muster. 

So at the ceremony, with the guests, the seas, the pastor and God bearing witness to this union, I teared. My heart swelled with pride, not just for the couple, but for the parents as well. They too have taken the leap of faith with their children; they too believe that love triumphs.

It was a wild night for many, and a quiet night for some. My head was spinning just at the right speed after a healthy serial concoction of champagne, mojito, strawberry margarita…

There was clarity amid the madness. A conversation that I had with someone emerged in my mind while I watched the scene before me. 

“I always think that it is kind of sweet to be together with your good friend. It is probably a lot easier,” I chimed. 

“Hmmm…”

I cocked my head to one side and listened intently. 

“…I don’t think so. I believe there are many different types of love.”

He went on to recite the four types of love as defined by Ancient Greeks. 

The different types of love that I discovered that night were not Greek to me, nor were they convoluted concepts; they were genuine, moving, simple and very, very believable. 

Pat’s dad and mom were working up the dance floor. It was though they were two lovebirds in their early twenties, flaunting their affection, like a beacon gesturing the others to let loose and have fun. The dad twirled the mom confidently. Occasionally, when he caught me snapping pictures of them, his eyes twinkled with mischief. The mom was his equal; she danced lithely in her crocheted red dress. She hardly took her eyes off her husband. They were full of energy and so into each other. 

They did not shy away from the young and hip. They did not care. 
That was their way of celebrating love. That was how they wanted to cheer their children on. 

Conversely, Jan’s parents stayed away from the dance floor. Their love is shy, modest and composed; it is not public or ostentatious. They looked on at the party with contentment and watched us very quietly, but with the corners of their mouths turned up. 

If they are happy, we are happy. 

That must be what they are thinking. 
It was their manner of giving their blessings to the couple.
It was how they acknowledged the delirious beauty of the night by balancing it with a spot of serenity. 

Jan and Pat, the newlyweds, were flitting around like what brides and grooms would do at weddings. Occasionally, they danced, chatted and entertained the guests. 

But they did not forget what have made their relationship stronger and brought them closer –
their family who raised them to be loving, beautiful people, people who have decided to make a lifetime commitment to each other. 

Pat continued talking at length to Jan’s parents, in a bid to engage the soft-spoken in-laws even after Jan left his side to talk to the other guests. That was something I would not have anticipated four or five years ago. That is Pat, my friend’s husband, whom I have gotten to know better bit by bit during our gatherings – someone who is family-oriented, funny and thinks that women (and men too) should learn how to cook! 

Jan held onto Pat’s grandfather’s arm and led him steadily from the dining table while the grandfather tottered on. She was slouching – a trademark silhouette that I have come to associate her with; her affection and her sincerity were however not frugal or sloppy at all. You could tell from her walking pace. She would walk side by side with the people she cares about – slow down for them, or keep up with them. She would do anything. 

That is the Jan I know, ever so patient and sacrificial. 

When I gave my non-committal response to the concept of marriage, Jan once said to me, “Nope, I think you should see it as the other half of your life.” 

Even though she reminded me over Facebook messaging, I could hear her conviction (albeit in the slightly sisterly, nagging tone) through and through. I was skeptical and I laughed it off. 

But on that night, I know exactly what she means.





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