This day, twenty years ago, my dad bought my mom a ring. Twenty years since, he's bought her roses every single year. As 103 blood red roses (99 for the yearly installment following that ring, and 4 from us, the fruits of labour) sit in the living room now, I can't help but feel one of life's lessons diffuse relentlessly into my system: 103 roses do not smell sweeter than a single stalk.
But they sure as hell look sweeter.
Wedding anniversaries, quite unsubtly, always throw stories of layered cakes, white gowns, bridesmaids, that dinner, and in my mom's case - that once-no-larger-than-your-hand-span-waist, right into your face. After annually renewed deliberation, I've finally decided that I do like weddings. I like the idea of hope and potential wrapped in lace, and the finally getting round to doing your biological duty.
As a kid, I always looked at beautiful men and women in beautiful wedding dress and wonder what it would be like when my turn came. I couldn't say I noticed when that became wondering if I'll ever have a turn like that. And I wonder if I'll notice if and when this feeling becomes one of "oh dear, will my turn never come?"
On a second note, I want to be a wedding photographer: I want to frame happy people in happy pictures, to help build the memory of another, to use my lens to find the perfect images for Romance and Bliss. (:
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