I was decked in a pink and frilly dress with a hairband to
match. It was one of those rare occasions that makeup was allowed on 7- and
10-year-olds…but I don’t remember much from that day…the little that I do
remember consisted of the can-can (net-like material that makes dresses poufy)
digging through my skin, my lips almost plastered together by the lipstick and
stumbling on the tarmac to land on my face, hands and knees and ripping through
my panty-hose in the process.
It was my first-ever experience of walking down the aisle.
It was my uncle’s wedding. I was one of the flower girls. My
cousins were page boys and my brother was the ring-bearer (more like pillow
bearer since he never saw the rings until the end) who led the procession.
Almost 18 years have passed. In 4 months, come 17 November
2012, I will be walking down the aisle myself. But this time I won’t be in
front. My dress will be white. Not pink and definitely not frilly. I will be
exchanging the hairband for a veil. I hope not to stumble and land on my
perfectly made-up face or satin-gloved hand.
I will have a procession of my own. It will be led by a
1-year old, the daughter of my brother the ring-bearer. She will be joined by my
uncle’s daughters and son, the same uncles for whom I once walked down the
aisle for. The flower girls who once walked with me are now married and would
be watching from the pews. My cousins, the page boys would be the men who would
help to usher the guests.
We have come one full circle now, have we not?
