Our fourteenth wedding anniversary passed without any notice. It
started with celebratory feelings in the first years, moved on to a
bit of less enthusiastic, then ironic occasion, and now it is more or
less a normal day. Looking back at the photos of the day, we look
like two people in love. That day was unassuming – just us and two
witnesses in the town hall. We had a high tea afterwards.
Knowing what I know
now, that was perfect for me. When my now husband proposed to me we
almost immediately agreed that we wanted to be outside to get married
and that the best place would be where we had met – South Africa,
and on the beach (husband loves sea sand sun and is often convinced
that so do I even though I am a mountain spirit and take a hill over
a beach any time) where we first kissed. It was one of the kisses
when the earth moves under your feet, the one that convinces you that
something special is happening.
It was soon clear
that a beach wedding was a great but impractical idea. Formalities of
a wedding between citizens of two different nations and non-residents
had made it clear that obtaining the legal document would be much
simpler where we lived. No problem, we will have a beach ceremony, it
will make no difference.
Then it became clear
that my friends and relatives wouldn’t be able or willing to travel
so far. Considering that I was already living far from them all, it
was fine. Husband had enough family and friends to provide enough
good company. Now I see that I had already set myself as a stranger
in the group, coming alone, staying alone. For us as a couple it was
practical – we could be in Africa all of December (using craftily
the fact that the end of year grants most employees a longer time off
plus annual leave plus the benevolence that the word wedding stirs
even in hardened and life-beaten managers and human resources staff)
and combine it with holiday and honeymoon. Husband was living in the
UK for three years and was happy to have time with his friends and
family and the sort of December he was used to – a summer one.
That beach day’s
anniversary is in December, but through the years I have come to see
the November quiet wedding as the one to celebrate. It was truly a day for us. We were together, made a legally binding commitment to
one another, and had a beautiful day in the company of good friends
in the city where we were living together. It seemed like the love
would only get stronger, the world belonged to us and we would be
together forever. It was special and in its low-key unpretentious way
it didn’t show it but it let us feel it.
I wore what I
wanted. I took out a long, beautiful, full skirt of black and grey
fabric, combined an outfit, and wore blue (for something blue) net
stockings underneath, I dressed and made up for myself. Picking up
the traditional white outfit for the beach was much more complicated,
I was thinking about where we would be, what would people say and how
the photos would work out… But on that November day, we were simply
having a good time. And that is why it was special.
I felt a real
connection to my partner and to the people who witnessed the
ceremony. On the beach, after I had spent the night alone as
tradition required and husband had had a heavy night of getting back
together and celebrating with old friends he didn’t belong to me, I
could sense the difference. He was uncooperative during the time with
the photographer, I could see that he would much rather sit with his
mates and chat away. I loved the photo shoot, it reminded me of the
blurry days of modelling and how often are you in a beautiful place,
wearing a lovely dress, having your hair done and being perfectly put
together? Oh well.
The rest of the day
was a blur. It was long and exhausting and after came the deflation.
The honeymoon was fine but we were now past peak romance, past the
newness and the teamwork of last weeks. That culminated on the
afternoon before the wedding, when we picked up the cake, had a last
word with the decorator, and had our paper license for our beach
ceremony picked up from the office, everybody was there or arriving
and we were about to part – me back to our friends’ house, him to
the hotel. We had a drink and talked and were at peace because our
organizing was done and we were ready.
Looking back, it was
a day for husband, I was just playing the role I was supposed to
play. I enjoyed what I could but didn’t love it.
A couple of years
ago, when our daughter was looking through the old photos of the
beach ceremony, husband said that it was the best day of my life and
I got really angry with him. How can he be so ignorant? I had never
said that. If he were to truly look at the photos, I didn’t look as
happy as on other occasions – the November city hall wedding
perhaps, or our first holiday together (now THAT had honeymoon vibes)
or when our daughter was born. He could see happiness on a special
level there. He just lazily used a stupid cliché we all know and
hear, a cliché that is used to make girls believe that wedding paves
the way to everlasting happiness, fulfils them and makes their life
meaningful. I will never ever bestow such nonsense on my daughter.
Quite the opposite. If you were to ask me about happiness then what
comes to mind are times when I was single, often alone, and doing
what I wanted the way I wanted. And in connection to other people,
time with my child trumps any romance that passed and is long gone…
As with every
relationship, our evolved. When we were taking the vows in the city
hall, we didn’t think that it would become so distant and deflated.
Like any other fool in love, we thought we would show the world how
it ought to be done. Instead, we found and faced our differences,
faced challenges and changed. Things happened, good and bad. It is
okay not to be dizzy with happiness. As long as you know that the
other one is there for you, I think it is enough.
Sometimes I think
about the very beginning of living together, the intensity of it and
I am glad it is over because it was exhausting. Once we were more
settled, I could find myself in the new role and be myself again. I
put a bit of distance between us, but so did he.
I would rather have
a quiet relationship knowing that I have my base and can focus on
everybody being well so that I can do what I want or need to do than
live like one of the utopian couples who always agree with one
another, never argue and love to do everything together. Yeah, right.
As a loner, I carved
out an existence where I can cultivate my existence and my husband
can keep having his bonds with mates. He might have thought that I
would be by his side at all times, unquestioningly joining in
everything, but he had learnt that he has his space and I have mine
and that is how it worked out. Good, bad, I don’t know. But
pretending that endless romance is there would be much worse.
The one thing that I
now know and that I had no clue about back then, before all the
anniversaries, is that as a woman, I am expected to become the second
half, the supporting part, the keeper of home peace. I am to like
what he likes, be happy when he is happy, and want what he wants.
When a man says We, he means I and the rest… It is sad. Only after
marriage did it dawn on me that we are silently being pushed to be
accepting, accommodating, loyal, polite, quiet, and, most of all (and
my personal knicker-twister-upper) grateful. Husband automatically
assumes that he is right. If something goes wrong it goes wrong. If
it involves me, well, I must have made a mistake. The way misogyny
powers the world can be very subtle. Even blokes who consider
themselves open-minded and good have certain assumptions about life
that they would never consider wrong. After years of marriage, I know
I won’t change everything, but I am very careful about the little
messages I put into my daughter’s mind as a part of her upbringing.