Monday, August 6, 2012

First comes love, then comes marriage...

I very much appreciate the English language for providing a difference between a wedding and a marriage. I was never afraid of the marriage, because I knew I was marrying the one. I was, however, terrified of the wedding, because planing a wedding from a different continent is no easy feat. But my mom and sister were amazing, and thanks to them, and my aunt the Wedding Planner, we had a perfect wedding.

I don't quite believe in omens, but if I did, I would have to believe that a great wedding is a good omen for an awesome marriage.

Take a look at how much fun we had.

Isa, bridesmaid, and Santiago, groomsman. She flew over from Australia, and he flew over from Spain.

My sister Nini, the Maid of Honor, and Tomás, the Best Man.

Nini reading, and Honey and I checking out the ship in the background...




Our first dance, Enya's Flora's Secret.


Honey and his mom.

My dad and I.

Sarita, Honey's niece, and Alejandro, my cousin.



We had fun the whole ceremony... maybe too much fun.

We were amazed at how many people came to the ceremony - unusual by Colombian standards.


Trying not to let the setting sun hurt our eyes...


My dad welcoming his new son into the family.



Honey made the same mistake three times. I could not contain my laughter.


Our first kiss as a married couple!

Herr und Frau Hergett

"OMG I got married!"



Our court: Santiago, Isa, us, Nini, Tomás, and my cousin Mariano.



Isa, us, and her sister Katrin, who flew over from Kenya. 

My uncle (and godfather) and his family.


Honey's sister, her husband and their daughter, our flower girl.

With my parents.

With both our parents.

My parents were delighted!

With Honey's parents.

Honey's family.



Alejandro, my cousin, wanted to make sure the cake-cutting process was flawless.



Honey was searching in the wrong place for the garter...




Monday, July 23, 2012

The Other Side of the Story

I don't know about you, but I have always heard only one side of the wedding story: the bride's. She is always so happy to have been asked to join the group of women who have found meaning in life only because they switched from Miss to Mrs. She is always thrilled to wear a huge, puffy, white dress. She is always delighted to be the center of attention during the planning and the day of. She is always a bridezilla. She is always crazy, insane, unbearable. She is always the one who tells the story.

Even when my uncle got married - even then I only got her side of the story. My friends who have gotten married are all the brides. Even when I am acquainted with the groom, I still always only hear her side of the story.

For the first time I have been close to the groom. Very close to the groom, if you know what I mean. We were recently skyping (he was in Colombia while I was still in Germany) and he kind of failed to properly hang up on me, and I overheard a conversation between him and his best friend. His friend, also the Best Man, asked,

"Are you sure about this, man?"

"Of course I am," Honey answered. "Why would I not want to wake up every single day for the rest of my life with the woman who makes me happy?"

"Yeah, but the same girl... for ever!?"

"I will be lucky if I am with the same girl for the rest of my life."

He feels lucky. Not trapped, not punished, not forced, not doomed. He feels lucky.

He participated in the mayor decisions (venue, colors, placements, invitations, cake - OMG the cake...) willingly. He asked questions, gave his opinion. He got excited about choosing his own attire and made sure that it was special. He counted the days left for the wedding. He told everyone he was getting married (like a girl...). He was excited about officially changing his status from single man to married man. He made sure the rings were perfect.

The other side of the story, ladies, is that he enjoys it as much as you do. If you have chosen the right man, then he will be as giddy as you.

I got married this past weekend to a man who enjoyed and suffered every single minute of the wedding planning with me. I am very pleased that when I heard the other side of the story for the first time it was as magical as my side of the story was.

Monday, July 16, 2012

I found a way to get rid of my obsession

I am obsessed with birthdays. I love that there is one day every year where you can feel like a princess and it's socially acceptable. It is, in fact, somewhat encouraged. I am especially obsessed with my birthday - but not because of the princess thing (I am a princess every day, Honey tells me so). I am obsessed with my birthday because I keep turning older. And older. And older. I tried to stop the age thing, I tried to turn 23 for five years in a row. I even moved to three different continents to make it work! But no. Someone always knew the truth... and was more than happy to expose that truth. I did manage to confuse many, many people. But in heart - nay, worse: in my mind I knew it not to be true.

I was actually 24. Or 25. Or 26 (I actually had a blast in Bogotá that day).



I have a few very worthwhile reasons for disliking my real age, and some extremely lame ones as well. After Thailand, when my life took a stand-still in a very boring point and place, I was ashamed of being older and older and older and accomplishing nothing and nothing and nothing. I looked forward to my biweekly paycheck, looked forward to my weekly beer and wine get-together, looked forward to my daily commute back home. At least I found the most amazing boyfriend in the universe, so that kinda made my life not miserable - just mediocre.

A few weeks before I turned 27 (23-for-the-fifth-time), this happened at my cousin's wedding:






This meant that my life was about to change. The thing is, fate is not always clear or precise... or fast. Fate takes its time and instead of going directly towards the desired goal, takes twists and turns and goes back and forth.

I turned 27 - had a blast in Madrid.


I turned 28 - had a blast in Kiel.


I just turned 29. I celebrated in Bogotá again, but you did not hear (nor read) me bitchin' and moanin' about it. That is because I found a way to get rid of my obsession with age and birthdays and being old. The reason?


Honey proposed - and I said yes (if you want to catch up on the whole story, click here). And a wedding totally trumps a lame little birthday. I am to marry Honey in less than a week, which is why I have forgotten my birthday.

I will continue to get old. I will have more and more wrinkles. But for the first time (after this coming Saturday) I will not grow old alone, I will not have wrinkles by myself. Honey will be with me - from now until forever. I got rid of my obsession with age and getting older because now age and getting older signify maturity and improvement. I will be less like an old coke and more like an old wine.

So next year I'm turning 30. The past 5 birthdays with Honey have been awesome. I have great expectations, and no obsessions, about the 30th, and all those to come.