And so it came, every parent’s worst nightmare: their daughters getting married. There’s really nothing more sobering than having your daughters – in this case, two – leaving the ‘rent’s nest and flying into the arms of their male counterparts whom they will live with and love forever.
Of course, I wouldn’t be too sure on the ‘nightmare’ thing. However, judging from my dad’s eyes as he was walking up my sister to the isle this past weekend, I can clearly feel the bittersweetness of the whole ceremony that was somehow released from that sheer image I just witnessed.
Wait, scratch ‘nightmare’. I think ‘bittersweet’ is a much appropriate word for this matter.
Before we begin, I simply must start off this entry by telling you what happened after the wedding, which was almost a disaster for one reason: I hosted the damn thing. As requested by my to-be-wed dear sister and since I did not have anything to contribute during the preparation of their wedding, I begrudgingly agreed to emcee the reception program.
I’m not really confident with my public speaking skills, having zero experience at it, but I felt I could rely on my reporting skills that I use in class. However, one thing that I forgot about my reporting skills is that they are below-average and subpar, and so I proceeded to master the ceremony by rushing with my words while my cue card violently quivering from my nervous hands and my face drenched in sweat. It was almost an embarrassment, but I’m no freaking amateur when it comes to making an ass out of myself in public, and so I eventually got comfortable with my role as that host people make fun of because he’s lame and stupid. Oh well, I won’t be receiving calls asking for my amazing hosting skills.
Now onto real matters. Just a brief prologue: my eldest sister was wedded at the San Antonio Church on December 2009. The event was solemn and peaceful, but for some reason, I was never overwhelmed by the fact that my sister, who I have had bouts before in the past but has grown to love immensely as a sibling due to our proclivity for weird things and celebrity tidbits, was leaving the proverbial nest that was our house. Maybe it was due to the fact that they were set to live a couple of block away from our us, roughly a 10-minute walk from our home. Because of that, I always got to see her with her husband and carrying her adorable, googly-eyed baby girl a lot, which is definitely a great thing.
But this time, however, the wedding of my second elder sister kinda choked me up a bit, especially after seeing my father, who I only saw cry when her mother passed away more than a decade ago, shed tears before handing my sister to her groom-to-be, a very nice fellow, I must say. It didn’t help that most of the female principal sponsors were pretty unabashed in letting their emotions flow. My girlfriend, who was seated at the opposite side of the altar as one of the secondary sponsors of my sister’s matrimony and admitted of having wept as well, immediately looked at me after my father led my sister to the altar. But I turned away.
Let it be known that I’m a big cryer, as those close to me who has seen me cry over a goddamn video game or after having consumed copious amounts of alcohol would attest to this. But for some reason, I don’t want people to see me cry at this event, even my loved ones. Maybe I felt the inevitable sadness that my sisters would eventually get married and leave the household, just like my father must have felt back then and there. This may be an overreaction on my part because I would still see my sister almost every day since they will be living just the other side of our street, roughly a 7-8 minute walk and an addition 3 minutes dedicated to ruin her day, should I decide to.
But it’s not the physical space that I’m referring to here; rather, it’s the figurative language that a marital bond dares not say – eventually, everybody leaves where they came from for their life partners, and those who are left behind have to deal with this absinthian reality. And this thought is what almost made me cry and not want to cry at the same time. I have to be strong with the realization that everybody, including I, will soon tread their own path in life and that it would be a sobering progress, to say the very least.
And so, I’m currently left with an empty room where both my sister sleep in. It’s a fairly large room, twice as large as my current room, with a personal bathroom. I’ll be moving in there soon once my sisters completely pack up their stuff, which is taking quite an eternity, to say the least, while my soon-to-be former room will be turned into a playpen for their soon-to-be babies in the not-too-distant future. But then again, we can’t rush time to its reality.