Just because I’m a hopeless romantic doesn’t mean I love weddings. I hate the fact that I’m forced to buy new clothes and shoes. I hate the fact that I’ve pressured myself to lose weight, not just to fit into the formal wear, but to look decently good for the photos. I hate the times when I have to switch into temporary-extrovert mode as I’m coerced into joining the games during reception.
And I hate that bittersweet melancholy as the celebration ends, as guests trickle away and empty the place, as the lovely couple finally leave with each other — to finally, truly live with each other — and all that’s left are the memory and inspiration of the moment, and a hopefulness brewing, stirring inside.
And I can’t help but sigh because, as much as my rational mind refutes it, I find myself at the end of each wedding believing in magic. Continue reading