I attended my second wedding of the year today. Not much fuss, I even wore the same off-white dress. The first, in January, was the wedding of a colleague and of the sister of a classmate. The second, tonight, the groom was my cousin, and I was principal sponsor. Ninang, in short.
I tried to get past that rather unflattering (at my age and disposition) role and tried to focus on the family reunion that took place as a result. I had not seen so many aunts, uncles, cousins, nephews and nieces in one occasion again as I did yesterday. The last time we were that many was during the funeral of an uncle, which was a sad event. Long forgotten were the days when we would all gather at my grandmother's house on any of these three occasions: Christmas Day, New Year's Day, and All Saints' Day.
During unguarded moments alone, however, I found myself drifting into crazy thought: Imagining my own wedding.
The groom had neither face nor name. All I knew was that we were pretty much attuned to each other regarding the overall look and feel of our wedding. Likely, we would be on the same intellectual wavelength, such that we would be in agreement as to the place, the motif, the music especially. Our wedding would be classy but not ostentatious. Figures -- we'd be spending for it on our own.
I imaged the tables. I imagined my colleagues from The Standard. My #squad would be there, of course, and the Pantry Gang would be adorable, and perhaps my year-old friend Joyce would be a bridesmaid.
Among my relatives, my sister Unica would lord it over with the selfies, as usual.
My friends, especially those who have known me for decades and who have been familiar with my journey, would be beaming with happiness for me. My bridesmaids would be middle-aged women, giggling and blushing and giddy for me -- they love me that way. Bates, Jennie (home from Canada), BC, Jenny (home from the US), Roselyn. These fabulous best friends of mine would be as radiant as though they were the ones getting married.
Maids of honor would be my daughters Beatrice and Sophia. Josh and Elmo, top men in my life, would give me away.
My Dad would be there, too, without advertising who he was, and perhaps my older (half) brother would agree to be a secondary sponsor. Other people I look up to and whom I consider my mentor would be my principal sponsors. My boss RGE, Sir Adel from ANSA-EAP, Red and Girlie of CCJD, Uncle Eddie, Aunt Susan.
Josh's band, by this time famous and all the more brilliant, would be playing my jazzy standards and my other favorites. The boys would have been as familiar to me as if they were my own brood. I assume my groom would have a few songs of his own to add to the repertoire. I would love them, too.
The highlight of the reception would be me and my groom dancing to Hall and Oates' You Make My Dreams Come True ala 500 Days of Summer.
I understand the more daunting task ahead of these niceties would be to actually find the fellow I would dance with. Let's hope he at least knows some basic moves. I have a sneaking suspicion that I know him already; I have checked him out and he seems satisfactory. He just has to snap pout of his analysis paralysis and then first make a move.
I told a friend over coffee, just a couple of evenings ago, that I feel heady and excited about something even though I do not know what, or when, or who it is yet, much less how it is going to happen.
I imagine it would be so much fun rereading this piece when that actually happens.
And if it doesn't..well, by then, I would have yet another dream. ;)