Recollecting Memories

I have been flooded by memories from the past. They come in nonchalantly and without warning leaving gaps of sweetness, hurt and sorrow all at the same time. Ear plugs were stuck into my head most of hours of the days in office with me singing quietly just to shut me out from the world today. Perhaps today was meant for self-reflection.

Tones reminds me of those times he worked months away from home. The utter sorrow and loneliness of his pierced through my ear and tears just flow drop after drop. How alone and away he was from where he used to be and to where he belonged.  Other sounds brought me back to rekindling and forgiving. And I began to remember conversations that were quirky enough to make me laugh.

The night after he actually asked my hand in marriage for the second time, I only courtesy called family with whom I had direct contact with throughout the divorce. For one, my mother's older sister who seems to find me amusing. I feel a sense of freedom to be amusing whenever I speak to her at this day and age as I grow older. 

I told her, if God deems so that it would take place, I would want to celebrate it. Putting aside what my mother and husband-to-be felt that the solemnization was more important worrying about what I wanted on the day before. "But of course I want to have my own bouquet of flowers and henna on my fingers. It does not matter the fact that there are family whom object to it openly, but it would be my wedding day and therefore I will make it my wedding day," I told her as she listened intently.

You see, the objection was strong enough that I was informed that I was no longer welcome into his family. And the quietness of this was to care sensitivity of them. But after all that has happened, I still deserve to celebrate on something that is happy for me.

So I told her, "And so, I will get the bouquet tomorrow and get my nail henna done the same. At this point of life I want to be in happy as I am in happy." She applauded me.

On Saturday morning, I found a beautiful head scarf by chance at my little single budget with a friend whom I met on a whim to do laundry with. Oh I heart her dearly. We had coffee and spoke briefly about our lives before we parted. Then on Sunday night while everyone was busy with their own things, I drove myself to some outskirt florist for a simple hand bouquet that I prayed not to be too much for the next day. And as everyone else lay sleeping, I painted my fingers red.

Dressed myself and brought my bouquet to the registrar's office. And I felt beautiful the entire time. When I announced that we were now husband and wife, the first thing that my aunt asked was to share a picture of my henna and hand bouquet. Again, she applauded.

Googled

The mystery of this is that I did what I wanted to have and did not let other people's opinion hinder my spirit to celebrate that was rightful for me.

I think I did good. And I am glad I did what I did. I call it owning my own sense of ownership.