She told me to make the booking at the Crowne Plaza. For how many persons, I asked with trepidation. Oh, about a hundred twenty. My brain worked feverishly to do the Math at 8 -10 dinars per pax, depending on the food. I said, for this amount of money, we could already buy a plot in Ayala Alabang or cruise ‘round the world on the Queen Mary. I was exaggerating, of course, but it was still serious money. Talk to the hotel people – they’re your clients – she advised, maybe they’ll give you a 50% discount. Easier said than done, tightfisted as they were.When she went home sometime in February, she bought everything that was required and brought them back here packed in several cartons. Her gown, shoes, veil, invitations, unity candles, coins, bible, baskets for the flower girls and 1001 other stuff. Needless to say, I was stunned. I thought we were going to have a quiet church ceremony with just a few guests plus a small reception afterward. This – what she planned now - was the whole works!

We drew up the guest list and it ran to about 180 people. Aren’t any of them going on vacation?, I asked hopefully. Forty of them are from your office alone, she pointedly said. The thought of resigning before the wedding briefly entered my mind just so I didn’t have to invite any of my officemates. In the end, we gamely tried to prune it down but got stuck at 140. I knew the hotel had agreed to give 20 pax free. So in the end, it was back to paying for 120. Don’t forget the wedding crashers, I added, noting the Pinoy’s penchant for ignoring RSVP even though the reception was strictly by invitation only and we were supposed to draw up a seating plan. I could imagine the havoc it would wreck on my Visacard so I prayed I’d win in the next bank lottery. But even that, I think, was too much to ask from God, considering that I only had 2 measly coupons to show for my 100-dinar Al-Jawhara account. When it was time to pick the menu, I was about to suggest just soup and bread!

Oh, this does look for real!

Next came the flowers. She wanted them on the aisles and altar complete with frilly white lace. Thankfully, the Ahmadi Church was fairly small and the aisle didn’t run close to a kilometer in length. We visited her friend’s flower shop endless times to choose what would go with her motif of fuchsia and white. Difficult color – difficult to spell as well. Couldn’t we just have green or red? So while she appraised and picked from among carnations, calla lilies, tulips, geraniums, orchids, and what-have-you, I was ready to climb the walls like the ivy that was displayed in one corner of the shop. Jeez, I learned the names of so many flowers in those numerous sittings than the combined knowledge gathered in my years of  existence!

Then there was the matter of getting an appointment with the Filipino priest whom we hardly were able to talk to in order to discuss the nitty-gritty (like, what will the choir be allowed to sing in which portion of the Mass?) because he was always busy. As for the wedding entourage, she took care of that for it was totally out of my depth. All I could do was pay for the catered lunch at home when we invited all of them for an informal getting-to-know-you gathering in order to  verify if they were all available. Thank goodness, everyone tacitly agreed to spend for their own respective attires – even the parents of the cute flower girls. At least, that left me to buy only the formal suits for my two boys. Myke (who was flying from Manila before D-Day) was my Best Man while James was the Groomsman. We had a big argument about the color and styling of the jackets because the latter wanted a dark brown coat with a vest while the former adamantly refused and wanted his in black. In the end, I prevailed – dark blue with an optional vest but only to be worn at the Reception later on where they were supposed to play guitar.

With our sons James and Myke

And so it came to pass that we finally got to the Our Lady of Arabia Church at 2 o’clock on a Friday afternoon of June 22 with the temperature hovering above 48 degrees Celsius. Why the ungodly hour? Well, it was the only slot available since there was a catechism class in the morning and then a Mass at 5:00PM. Our window of opportunity was only 2 hours at the most though, mercifully, we had some time before noon to do all the decorating.

It was boiling hot inside the Mazda6 which I drove myself because I forgot to run the airconditioning at least a quarter of an hour before we left home. Good thing that the church was just a 15-minute drive away. Gladys worried that her light make-up would melt and her colorful bouquet which she was holding would wither, so I told her to just bend over right in front of the AC grilles if she could! Some motorists at the traffic lights (damn, why did they all have to turn red when we got to them?) smiled and waved at us when they saw me, my bride and the two sons all dressed-up to the nines. I waved back and gave a thumbs-up while the boys wanted to crawl underneath their seats!

A mutual friend who volunteered to coordinate the proceedings was strict about getting the show to start on time. By 3:00 she said, the march would begin whether all were present or not. It was quite logical since we had to have some picture-taking later on at the altar before the next Mass started. Otherwise, we may not have the opportunity to do it if we began late. So we all lined-up and did a roll-call at the church’s anteroom while making last-minute preparations which were punctuated by some nervous laughter. As it turned out, Lily, one of our two Ninangs (they picked up someone else on the way to church) and our sponsor for the veil, Michelle, (she thought it was 4:00PM!) were late but they made it somehow at the last minute, I found out later.

Friends and well-wishers outside the church

It felt good to be surrounded by old friends and I found it strange that I was half of the center of attention. For a change, someone was taking my pictures with my Nikon and another was using a videocam on me. Not the other way around as has always been the case – it was quite disconcerting to be on the other side of the lens! Now I know how George Clooney or Brad Pitt feels in front of the paparazzi - we finally had something in common, tenuous though it may be. The good Father arrived 10 minutes late so when we all filed down by the entrance door of the church it was already 3:15PM.

The choir struck the first chords of the “Wedding March” and I saw my beautiful bride smiling radiantly while she walked towards the altar where I waited. Suddenly, I felt nostalgic and a lump went up my throat. Twenty-five years back, an old Minister, in front of a friend and a relative as witnesses, declared us man and wife. I was 22 and she was 24. Gee, has it been that long ago?