Skip to main content

Posts

Showing posts from 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.

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 betwee

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