For a person who bats for the other team, I have been to a fair few weddings in my life. When I was younger, the weddings I have been to are usually ghastly, cookie-cutter affair. Granted, I have only attended the banquets at these weddings, but even these were more predictable than my mom’s weekly grocery list. I started the first course with utmost sincerity and warm wishes for the newlyweds; by the fifth I was yearning for desserts to be served so that I can go home and forget the dull, dull moments of drunken toasting, horrible singing and bland food I had to endure.
However as I grow older, the weddings I attended to took on a more comfortable, if peculiar, personality. Instead of staring in confusion at the invitation card with names I don’t recognise (these were usually from the genre of familial weddings), I found myself inexplicably looking forward to these little packages of matrimonial joy. What used to be viewed as a “wedding bomb” – no one likes spending money on weddings of people they don’t know – is now a token of recognition.
Recognition, because these invites now come from close friends. Friends whom have been there when I was a young, naive thing. Friends whom have seen the best and worst of me (often worst). Friends whom loved me for who I am, not what I was or what I could become.
Friends who wanted me to be a part of their celebration.