Relationship

94 articles in category Relationship / Subscribe

I WASN’T THE TYPE of girl who dreamed of getting married early. I never actually dotted down the ‘perfect age to get married’, but if I did it would probably be somewhere in my late 20s. And honestly, I never thought that I’d be one of first ones among my peers to be a Mrs.

My first sister got married when she was 25, and during one of the family dinners my uncle approached me and said, ‘Remember, don’t get married too early. Enjoy life more.’ My parents were also on the same wagon—they preferred their daughters to only be ‘daughters’ for as long as it was possible.

Obviously the advice didn’t stick, because three months after my sister’s wedding, I got into a relationship.

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Planning a wedding is tiring.

Yes, it’s a happy time—I’ve been looking at pretty things with hefty price tags and dreaming about them in an obsessive-compulsive way, albeit never going to have those things at my own wedding. That kind of happiness.

A friend has recently, politely, told me that it’s two months to the big day. It hasn’t really sunk in, actually. Should I panic? Is it actually still a long time away? Or is it such a short time away? Should I start obsessing about every single little thing?

Like, I probably should contact my florist and talk about the details. Yet I’m still indecisive on the exact colours of the bouquet I want for that day. I probably should finalise the transportation for our (my fiancé’s and my) big happy family during their stay in Melbourne. Yet I’m still too lazy to make any decisive plan.

We haven’t decided on the songs. Yes, we’ve decided on our walking-down-the-aisle and first dance song, but I never realise that we actually have to choose a song for signing the register, ceremony recessional, reception processional, and so on.

And that’s just the Melbourne wedding.

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Last weekend, my fiancé and I looked at each other in the eye way much more than in the six years of our relationship combined.

I mean, how often do you actually stare into your significant other’s eyes for more than three seconds? Rarely, I’d presume. Perhaps when you say ‘I love you’, or when you’re extremely annoyed of him being late and thus giving him the look. But still, rarely.

Oh yes, we’ve survived our prewedding photo shoot. Two full days of it.

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Parents with young children, I understand you now. There’s no such thing as enough time.

For the past few months, I feel like I have a kid. The kid is my three-year-old nephew, who has ten times the energy of an almost twenty-five year old. He could climb up and down the stairs, jump around for ten minutes and run around the house without even sitting down. Me?

Well, I’d have stopped chasing him after the second stair-climb.

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Twenty-sixteen is the year where I choose family.

It’s the year where I decided to go back home to Jakarta, away from my fiancé, to spend more time with my parents before saying yes to forever.

To be honest, it’s not easy to choose family, especially when you’re still adulting. There’s still pressure for me to perform, to tick the boxes and to compete with my peers.

On my two decades of living, twenty-sixteen is one of my least productive years. Yes, I finished a minor thesis and yes, I graduated from my Master’s degree. But apart from those perfectly planned achievements, I have no other thing I can tuck under my belt.

Nada.

Well, it’s hard to be in this life’s season.

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Consider I’m one of the lucky ones – I get to plan for my wedding twice.

Or consider I’m one of the unlucky ones – I get to plan for my wedding twice.

After finding and securing the big vendors (read: venue, make-up artist, photography and the like) for our Melbourne wedding, my partner and I are now planning for our second wedding celebration in Jakarta. This means we need to find another venue, another make-up artist, another photography and another everything.

To the ladies who say that planning for one wedding has caused them much headache, well, try planning for two.

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It’s September, and I’m now officially one year away from my own wedding.

After getting engaged in March and securing the venue of the Melbourne wedding, both my partner (or should I say fiancee?) and I were taking a break. We haven’t done anything wedding-related since May, but now that I’m back home in Jakarta, probably we should pick up the pace once again.

Yes, I’m back in Jakarta. With frequent travels to Singapore and Melbourne, of course, but back in Jakarta. At least until Chinese New Year.

So for the past week, I’ve been researching on vendors in Jakarta. We do have another dinner celebration here, and we haven’t really done anything for this one. So I start by stalking them on Instagram, and asking for their price list and packages.

Here’s something that I’ve known for a long, long time: Wedding is expensive.

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Here is what I thought I would feel when I finally sign the contract with a wedding venue: ‘OH MY I CAN’T BELIEVE WE’RE GETTING MARRIED!’

Here is what I actually felt: ‘Hunny, let’s just get this over with.’

Wait, what? I’m not supposed to tell everyone that I have a date and a venue? I should share those details a few months before the big day? Ah, you know I’m a blogger.

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Having been engaged for almost one week, I want to tell you that life’s pretty much normal. Despite what my friend told me on the day, I slept very well, thank you very much. I cleaned my apartment and had coffee and went out with friends.

I’m happy that I’m engaged, but apart from being self-conscious about the ring on my left hand’s fourth finger, life’s still, pretty much, the same.

A lot of people see proposal as something life-changing. It’s such an important day, and there’s so much pressure to make it perfect. It has to be a surprise. It has to be something very meaningful. It has to be grand. It has to be magical. And remember the year where everyone seems to propose with a flashmob? Yeap, good luck topping that off.

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It was our fifth anniversary.

We actually never knew the exact date when he first asked me to be his girlfriend. I thought it was on a Thursday night. He thought it was on a Wednesday the next week. So we settled on something: let’s make our anniversary the day when he first asked me out for coffee.

Our fifth anniversary, or five years after he wrote on Facebook chat, ‘Let’s have coffee’, started like any other day. The only thing that was weird that day was the fact that he was already on my doorstep at nine-thirty in the morning. Usually, we would have just started saying good morning at nine-thirty on a Saturday. As he lived one-hour away, he would have woken up at seven that morning. It was weird, but probably he was just wanting to prove something.

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