dream wedding.
They say that every little girl grows up dreaming about her future wedding. I know I don’t have to mention how wildly inaccurate that statement is, or how offensively it reinforces patriarchal gender roles; but looking past all that, I confess that after a lifetime of not giving the notion of future matrimony the slightest second of thought, I have recently started thinking about what my perfect wedding would look like.
It would be something like this:
An ivory-sand beach with a gently-whispering turquoise sea lapping at the shore, a perfectly-cloudless azure sky stretching infinitely above. We are somewhere warm, tropical, but not too hot; there is a fresh breeze ruffling the leaves of the verdant palm trees lining the beach, picking up waves in that beautifully clear ocean and making their crests sparkle like diamonds in the blinding afternoon sun. The place is rural, deserted but for a dazzling white marquee sitting a few metres from the water’s edge. Music is playing, its soft melodies sweeping and soaring like the seabirds wheeling about overhead. And inside the marquee, there is a group of perhaps two dozen people, sitting at hastily constructed tables and chatting and laughing as they eat delicious food and enjoy the moment.
These people are me, my new wife, and our closest friends and family members; the people who truly mean a lot to us, who we truly wanted to attend this special event in our lives. We have not invited anyone because we feel obliged to. Nobody is in formal wear – there is not a hint of a frilly dress or a tuxedo, although there are plenty of brightly-coloured, flowing garments and jumbles of eccentric jewellery and flower chains slung around shoulders. Most of us are barefoot. The food we are eating and the drinks we are enthusiastically toasting with are our very favourites; the music playing is every track that has ever meant something to us, all the way from the early 2010s to the present day. Everyone who is here wants to be here. Everyone is laughing. Everyone is happy. The actual marriage was officiated several days ago, in a boring but necessary ceremony a very long way from here. We are not here to celebrate a piece of paper stating we are now legally married.
We are here to celebrate our love, and our lives, and every single perfect moment that has led to this one. We are here to celebrate the magic of reality. We are here to celebrate that we are alive and that we are in love and that right now, in this moment, we are happier than we have ever been.
Speeches are made – including a reflection on the nature of love and fate and soulmates, which draws smiles from everyone present and laughter as it ends on a light-hearted note – and congratulations are awarded, and then the food is finished and the tables are cleared and moved back. And then the real party begins.
The music is turned up and people start to dance; slowly and subtly at first, growing more and more lively and energetic and loosening up as the afternoon wears on. Everyone talks and laughs amiably as we hold drinks and sway to the melody, barefoot on the warm, silky sand, the rushing of the ocean lending the music an extra rhythmic undertone. The weather is perfect. The company is perfect. Everything is completely and utterly perfect.
We dance on the beautiful beach as the sun turns red and travels towards the horizon, as the cool breeze picks up and waves crash rhythmically against the shore. I mingle among the guests for a while, chatting happily with everyone, joining in the laughter and discussions and enjoyment, before inevitably my wife and I edge away from the group a little, leaving the melodic sound of joyful socialising behind. We wrap our arms around each other and sway together by the water’s edge under the infinite orange sky, her head leaning on my shoulder or vice versa, murmuring softly to each other, the waves rushing up to our bare feet. We are caught up in our own perfect world.
We are here to celebrate that we are alive, and that we are in love.
The sun sets in all its majestic golden splendour and everyone pauses to quietly watch, shining copper supernovas reflected in every single pair of eyes as we take in the awe-inspiring sight. The dancing and celebration continue long after that, as the light fades and the sky turns navy and the first stars makes their twinkling entrance overhead, and night-time settles like a gentle blanket over us.
Anyone who might watch us from a distance would see nothing but a joyful jumble of multicoloured, flowing clothes and whirling flower chains and twinkling glasses raised to the sky; hear the sound of happy chatter and the heart-pounding swoop of music, the whole scene lit up by the sparkling fairy lights inside the marquee and the distant, silvery moonlight, the black abyss of the whispering sea providing a breathtaking backdrop. All of it is faint, ethereal, insubstantial. Perhaps, if you move a little to the left and tilt your head sideways, the whole scene will disappear, as ephemeral as a ghost. Is this even real? Are we? Do we belong in this reality? Or is this nothing but a beautiful fantasy, the dream of a girl imagining a future that she is certain will come to pass?
The love is real. The joy is real. And so long as that is real, so is everything else. We revel until we are too tired to even move, until the night has properly drawn in and we are all exhausted but euphoric. We are here to celebrate life. We are here to celebrate love. We are here to celebrate that everything is bright and shining and beautiful, and that our paths have led us to this perfect moment.
And in the end, what else really matters but that?
It would be something like this:
An ivory-sand beach with a gently-whispering turquoise sea lapping at the shore, a perfectly-cloudless azure sky stretching infinitely above. We are somewhere warm, tropical, but not too hot; there is a fresh breeze ruffling the leaves of the verdant palm trees lining the beach, picking up waves in that beautifully clear ocean and making their crests sparkle like diamonds in the blinding afternoon sun. The place is rural, deserted but for a dazzling white marquee sitting a few metres from the water’s edge. Music is playing, its soft melodies sweeping and soaring like the seabirds wheeling about overhead. And inside the marquee, there is a group of perhaps two dozen people, sitting at hastily constructed tables and chatting and laughing as they eat delicious food and enjoy the moment.
These people are me, my new wife, and our closest friends and family members; the people who truly mean a lot to us, who we truly wanted to attend this special event in our lives. We have not invited anyone because we feel obliged to. Nobody is in formal wear – there is not a hint of a frilly dress or a tuxedo, although there are plenty of brightly-coloured, flowing garments and jumbles of eccentric jewellery and flower chains slung around shoulders. Most of us are barefoot. The food we are eating and the drinks we are enthusiastically toasting with are our very favourites; the music playing is every track that has ever meant something to us, all the way from the early 2010s to the present day. Everyone who is here wants to be here. Everyone is laughing. Everyone is happy. The actual marriage was officiated several days ago, in a boring but necessary ceremony a very long way from here. We are not here to celebrate a piece of paper stating we are now legally married.
We are here to celebrate our love, and our lives, and every single perfect moment that has led to this one. We are here to celebrate the magic of reality. We are here to celebrate that we are alive and that we are in love and that right now, in this moment, we are happier than we have ever been.
Speeches are made – including a reflection on the nature of love and fate and soulmates, which draws smiles from everyone present and laughter as it ends on a light-hearted note – and congratulations are awarded, and then the food is finished and the tables are cleared and moved back. And then the real party begins.
The music is turned up and people start to dance; slowly and subtly at first, growing more and more lively and energetic and loosening up as the afternoon wears on. Everyone talks and laughs amiably as we hold drinks and sway to the melody, barefoot on the warm, silky sand, the rushing of the ocean lending the music an extra rhythmic undertone. The weather is perfect. The company is perfect. Everything is completely and utterly perfect.
We dance on the beautiful beach as the sun turns red and travels towards the horizon, as the cool breeze picks up and waves crash rhythmically against the shore. I mingle among the guests for a while, chatting happily with everyone, joining in the laughter and discussions and enjoyment, before inevitably my wife and I edge away from the group a little, leaving the melodic sound of joyful socialising behind. We wrap our arms around each other and sway together by the water’s edge under the infinite orange sky, her head leaning on my shoulder or vice versa, murmuring softly to each other, the waves rushing up to our bare feet. We are caught up in our own perfect world.
We are here to celebrate that we are alive, and that we are in love.
The sun sets in all its majestic golden splendour and everyone pauses to quietly watch, shining copper supernovas reflected in every single pair of eyes as we take in the awe-inspiring sight. The dancing and celebration continue long after that, as the light fades and the sky turns navy and the first stars makes their twinkling entrance overhead, and night-time settles like a gentle blanket over us.
Anyone who might watch us from a distance would see nothing but a joyful jumble of multicoloured, flowing clothes and whirling flower chains and twinkling glasses raised to the sky; hear the sound of happy chatter and the heart-pounding swoop of music, the whole scene lit up by the sparkling fairy lights inside the marquee and the distant, silvery moonlight, the black abyss of the whispering sea providing a breathtaking backdrop. All of it is faint, ethereal, insubstantial. Perhaps, if you move a little to the left and tilt your head sideways, the whole scene will disappear, as ephemeral as a ghost. Is this even real? Are we? Do we belong in this reality? Or is this nothing but a beautiful fantasy, the dream of a girl imagining a future that she is certain will come to pass?
The love is real. The joy is real. And so long as that is real, so is everything else. We revel until we are too tired to even move, until the night has properly drawn in and we are all exhausted but euphoric. We are here to celebrate life. We are here to celebrate love. We are here to celebrate that everything is bright and shining and beautiful, and that our paths have led us to this perfect moment.
And in the end, what else really matters but that?
This was lovely!
ReplyDeleteThanks! I'm glad you think so :)
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