First published in Onya Magazine, on the 30th of November, 2009.
I’m getting married next year. In five months and one day, to be exact.
Before I tell you about that, though, I need to tell you about this:
I’m getting married to the most wonderful man.
It’s the truth. And I need to be truthful, to preface this column and all the rest that will follow, so that you understand something:
The love I have for my fiancé is beyond anything I can explain. As a writer, I was once told I should be able to explain anything and everything. And I can, except this one thing. Love. Not just any love, but the love I have for him, and with him.
We’ve been together for just over eight years. Whenever I say that, people gasp, because they think it’s such a long time. And it is. But those eight years have gone so fast. They feel like eight months. And I sometimes wonder if, when I’m an old woman, I will one day think of how the past fifty years have flown, and how they feel more like five than fifty. My fear is they will.
Even though time has flown, looking back it seems, paradoxically, that we’ve been together for a lifetime. So many moments. So many memories. So many brilliant, diverse, tiring, happy, complex times.
People ask the funniest things, especially after they find out we’ve been together longer than it takes to start and complete high school. ‘Do we get sick of each other?’ ‘Has the spark gone?’ ‘Aren’t you bored?’ The answer to all three questions is no. A big, fat no. My fiancé, Kaz, and I instantly clicked upon meeting. We then started going out. And then we went out some more. We never discussed our relationship, where it was heading or what we wanted out of it. We just liked each other, and we had fun. Seven years later I was sitting opposite him in a café and he proposed. That was probably the first time we talked about where our relationship was heading. We’re very organic in our lives – we live for today (probably too much than is sometimes wise) and go by feeling rather than reasoning more often than not.
People also ask if I was surprised when Kaz proposed, because really, after seven years, would I be? Yes, I was. I was utterly surprised and shocked. Never for a moment did I expect it. Sure, we instinctively knew that’s where it was heading, but I was surprised and touched when it happened. In seven years I had never moaned or whined about getting married. I’d never even thought much about it. That’s just not me.
I’m telling you this because I want you all to understand that first and foremost, Kaz is the love of my life and I am his. We believe in great, big love. A wedding, for us, is a way to celebrate and publically and legally acknowledge that love. We get that it’s not that way for some people. But for us it is. Most importantto us, is our love. Not canapé menus and tulle skirts.
We’re different from a lot of couples we see. From a lot that we know. Not better, not worse, just different. We’re disgustingly happy. We rarely fight, and when we do it’s usually diffused quickly because one of us bursts out laughing when the other is screaming. We get each other – down to the very core. We have the same values, but we’re not the same. We’re never bored, or stuck in a rut. We’re always talking. We’ll stand up and stick by each other, even when one of us has done something questionable. We don’t ask for each other’s permission to do or buy anything, because we’re both individuals and we both have minds of our own. And, as for the spark, it’s shinier and more electrifying than ever.
In books and movies and real life people grow apart and get bored, but we’ve only grown stronger, closer, fallen more in love than ever. I’m even convinced Kaz is better looking now than he was eight years ago. People look at us and assume we’ve been dating for six months, because apparently beyond three years or so you’re supposed to start hating each other.
I could never hate Kaz. I could never be out of love with him. Even when illness or death or something tragic tears us apart. I love him even though he sometimes annoys me when I’m tired or trying to do something else. Even though he misspells words. Even though he forgets things when I say specifically say, ‘Please don’t forget’. And he loves me. Even though I annoy him when he’s tired or trying to do something else. Even though I harp on about his misspelt words. Even when I say, ‘Please don’t forget’ four or five times in a row. And for people that think we’ve got it easy, and have never known an issue or drama, correct yourselves. We’ve individually and collectively been through more than our fair share of shit storms and problems.
So, before I could start a weekly column on weddings, specifically our wedding and the journey leading up to it, I needed you to know all that. I needed you to understand us. Because us will be featuring in these columns quite a bit. And for those of you wondering whether I have Kaz’s permission to write these columns, whether he’s horrified at the thought of them, I don’t and he won’t be. I only decided to start them this morning and I’m not going to bother him at work about something so minor. I told you, we’re different to other couples. I get him. And he gets that this is me:
I have not been dreaming of my wedding day since I was five years old. In all honesty, I’ve never dreamt of my wedding day at all. And even now, as an engaged woman on the wedding journey, I do not daydream about it half as much as what I’m probably supposed to. But I’m so excited about it.
As a result of not being wedding high half my life, I don’t have it all figured out. But I like exploring the options. My aim is to be the bride in a beautiful ceremony, and have a corker of a party. And neither of us has ever struggled with style or design or details so I’m sure we’ll be fine.
I’m no bridezilla. Yet. I don’t want to be one. It’s the antithesis of who I am. But I am sometimes impatient. And stubborn. So pull me up if you see me veering off the rails.
Lastly, I am proudly Australian and the Director and Editor-In-Chief of an online and soon to be print magazine that is all about celebrating every facet of Australia. So, naturally, my journey will not just be to plan a wedding that is magical and beautiful, but one that is magical and beautiful and supports Australian businesses. No, I’m not getting married under a gum tree in ugg boots and stubbies. I just really hate the shit that comes out of factories in China. And I don’t think lace has to be French to be pretty. And, heck, if I don’t, I’d kind of be a hypocrite to my beliefs and business.
Let’s see how hard it is to plan a wedding and support Australian businesses.
Until next week, your Bride-To-Be,
*Weddings, Parties, Anything were an Australian indie folk rock band formed in 1984 in Melbourne, that continued rocking until 1998. Their name came from The Clash song Revolution Rock. I’ve decided to use it as the name for this weekly column because I was born in Melbourne in 1984 and love Australian indie folk rock. And I’m having a Wedding, Party, Anything in 2010.
Image credit: Kathryn Sprigg