Sunday, February 28, 2010
My Wedding.
I'd love to have my wedding in a castle. A partially ruined castle, full of mystique and charm and history.
The castle is set on a vast land on a highland where the ground is carpeted with soft dewy grass that stretches as far as the eye can see, sloping gradually into the horizon, and clusters of purple morning glories, red ixoras, and white queen anne's lace littered all over. Roses, daisies, lilies and sunflowers surrounds the outer wall of the castle, making a break at the entrance, where a drawbridge lay open across a moat where clear water runs, home of many colourful kois. Birds soar through the air, which is clean, fresh and cool, where each breath you take wipes 5 years of pollution from your lungs.
(Yes, a moat AND a drawbridge.)
The atmosphere pre-arrival of the bride and groom is lively as guests begin to come in and their children start to run about playing catch with each other or chasing butterflies. The helpers, maids and servants in crisp black and white uniforms bustle about the castle preparing for the event. Guests are called into the castle as my new husband and I are about to arrive, mostly lining up inside the archway into the inner courtyard, and some on the towers looking down.
My husband and I would ride up the dirt road leading us up to the entrance on a rich brown horse, accompanied by men dressed as knights on their own steed, in front and behind us. As we reach the drawbridge, trumpets resonated through the castle announcing our arrival, and people will wave and clap and whoop with excitement and approval.
(On a horse, not a carriage.)
We stop at the foot of the steps that leads up to the Great Hall where the reception is taking place. Maids remove my hooded cloak. We walk up the steps, arms linked, and stop by the entrance of the hall to receive and welcome our guests as they enter and proceed to their tables for a grand feast. I'm wearing a dress that is inspired by medieval Britain, an empire-line dress made from beautiful Thai silk with a flowing silk chiffon overskirt and sleeves, a medium train and on-the-shoulder neckline. The neckband, waist and sleeves are embroidered with celtic inspired knotwork, and the dress is tied by ribbon up the back. My man, simple white long-sleeved shirt, loosely belted at the waist, open at the neck, black breeches tucked into black boots, and maybe a real sword hanging at the hips.
(It's a reception. Solemnization was the day before, done elegantly in a mosque.)
In the Great Hall things are slightly modernised and personal. Clothed round tables are scattered around the hall, leaving space in the middle for a goldenrod-coloured carpet running up to a wide space of parqueted flooring, that is the dance floor. Slightly beyond, is a dais where a table is set for the wedding couple and the family. The hall is nicely lit by a huge crystal chandelier and the candles on the tables. As the guests settle into their seats, the air buzzing with excited conversations, punctuated by happy laughters, glasses tinkering as the waiters begin to pour sparkling juice, all against a background of light music, thanks to a small orchestra and a singer playing on a platform at the corner in front of the hall, my husband and I went to freshen up and change outfits.
(Juice, cuz I don't drink. And I don't want drunkards at my wedding.)
I'm donned in a white or very light metallic gold rich satin gown with a train, a square neckline and lacy sleeves. It's ruched a little at the waist and little crystals adorn the bodice and tapers down to the skirt. And white gloves that reach up till my elbow. My husband is wearing a long black tail coat over cream double buttoned vest, a white shirt with a cravat tied at the neck, and fawn-coloured pair of breeches tucked into dark brown boots.
The guests stand and cheer as he leads me up the carpet from the back of the warmly lit hall to the dais. We stand in front of our table where our family has already been seated and make a short happy, grateful speech. The singer, acting as an emcee as well, makes a toast, and we begin the feast. It's a multiple course dinner where the menu touches dishes from different cultures: Malay, Chinese, Indian, Italian, Western, etc. The food is amazing.
(Dishes are served in moderate and appropriate amounts, of course.)
Love songs are playing live in the background. You can hear conversations, children laughing, cutleries on plates and bowls, glasses tinkling, muted footsteps of the waiters going around serving the guests, the occassional gasps as beautifully arranged dishes are brought forward, cameras clicking. The atmosphere is lively, light and happy, you can sense the awe and satisfaction of the guests, everyone is looking beautiful in the candlelight.
There's a break from eating and my husband and I surprise everyone with a dance or two that we've planned. And then as other dishes are served, instead of resuming eating, we walk about the hall to each table and have a light chat with friends and families, hugs and kisses peppered in, lights flashing as we take photos.
After the last dish has been served and cleared and the guests are having a rest with a sip or two of the juice, my husband and I left again for another change of clothes. This time something less formal. I don't really know what he's gonna wear but I'm wearing a mint green, loose fitting, knee length dress that features a high neck halter neckline with thin straps that cross the open back. Ruched fabric accentuates the bust line and the empire waist is accented with sparkling beadwork.
As we run up the steps to the doors of the hall, spotlights shine at us as we skipped up to the dancefloor. The lights are dimmed further and colourful flashes of lights start to swing across the room and the orchestra are joined by a band and they start a catchy, upbeat song. The emcee yells into the microphone and get the guests up on their feet to the dancefloor. And the party begins.
---------------------------THE END-----------------------------
Hahaha. God, how I wish.
In my own world,
11:43 AM
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
I don't do well with people.
I don't do well with people. I hardly start a conversation. I can't find anything interesting to talk about. I seldom have a good story to tell. I don't have any wise words to say like those you see in Grey's Anatomy. I don't like to serve. I think people should get what they want themselves. I don't do anything kick-ass or anything worth remembering.
I don't ask people out. I don't join in a group photo shot unless I'm asked to. I can't find anything to comment on what others are saying. I don't have any good skills or talent. I'm not even pretty.
More often than not, I think I'm weird. I think people don't like me. I think people disagree with anything I say. I think I have an attitude. I think I'm average. I'm not outstanding and should I disappear or leave, no one will notice or remember or miss me.
I don't do well with people. Each time I come to a new place, I think maybe this time there are people who'll like me, who will want to be my friend. But each time there is someone friendlier, more talented, smarter, prettier, more likable than me. And every time, I'll lose people. Each time, I'd wish to move on to somewhere new. But the thought of being the newbie, the stranger, and having to start all over again getting to know new people scares me.
I know if I have the passion and be amazing at my job, I'll succeed with my career. My patients will like me, or at least not find a fault in me. I won't get scolded by my superiors. But what kind of a life would I have?
What I need is someone who's like me. Dark and twisty. Average. Down with their luck. Or what I want is to go around the world, exploring, help kids in third world countries, have no care in the world.
Ugh. Whatever.
Sometimes, I think I hate people. Especially those happy, cheerful people. And then some. Why can't people be what they said. They gossip and talk about other people, even people in their clique. And then they go and be all friendly to them. What's this? First you hate them, mad at them but then become all laughing and happy with them.
Really. Whatever.
In my own world,
9:14 PM
