A wedding. Although Pawlita, my camera, is now in Japan, where resurrection is a possibility, I can’t let the eventful May go undocumented. First, a wedding. Anna Fe and Noel’s.
I’m aware I couldn’t take decent shots with a compact camera; but the years I spent with Sammy, my now-dead Samsung ES10, would be useless if I could not pull a few tricks.
The wedding invites, which I personally made for them. My wee hours were occupied with rustling paper, restless analogous printing sounds, cutting ribbons, and boring holes into seemingly endless stacks of scented papers.
The camera couldn’t handle the loud and the moving, especially under low light. Like the bride’s elegant curls, the flower girl’s long eyelashes, the maid of honor’s crazy antics.
The compact found alliance with the wedding’s intimate details. In their arranged stillness, they became the perfect subjects.
Unity Coins or Wedding Arrhae, from the Spanish arras, which means earnest money.
As tradition dictates, the coins don’t only symbolize “material possessions but also abundant spiritual strength.”
“Interesting,” P said upon looking at the picture of two rings on a flower. “Why?” “Hmm. Rings and flowers don’t really go together.” That made me look closer at the picture and made me try to justify it. Perhaps because, marriage is like that. It can be as strong as the rings, but it can be as fragile as the flowers.
The fragile and the strong. Montebello’s bricky corridor walls are simply appealing, if you ask me, who is easily attracted to the aged and old-looking.
Montebello Villa Hotel is one of the very few hotels that I really love. Because it is cocooned in a forest, because of its flowers, of its trees, of its greens, of its silence, of its antique look and feel.
The wedding gown and shoes waiting for the bride.
Flowers, I always look forward to seeing them.
The bride and the maid of honor personally made the souvenirs.
Our bouquets in disarray.
I missed my loafers.
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