Chapter 151

There were no problems planning my wedding. Honestly, there were barely any issues at all. My mother-in-law took care of everything — the food, the flowers, all the little details in between. My wife and I barely had to lift a finger.

I call her my wife here, even though technically, at that point in the story, we hadn’t had the wedding yet. This is because we were in post-COVID 2024. Like a lot of couples around us at the time, we signed the papers first and planned the celebration later. So yes — on paper, we were married, but in our hearts, the “real” moment was still ahead of us. It was to become official through our wedding. 

Speaking of our wedding. Thankfully, it was beautiful. Not because everything went smoothly, though it did, but because the scale of it all made the stress disappear. With over 220 guests, the focus was never on one awkward interaction or strained family moment. It became less about the minutiae of my family’s woes and more about the sheer joy of the occasion. The MCs kept the whole night flowing, there was food everywhere, an open bar, a bubble tea bar that never stopped drawing a line, and games and laughter filling the hall.

When they get that big, they stop being about two people and become about everyone who showed up. I didn’t mind that — I actually liked it. The size of it took away the pressure and took me out of my narrative. It allowed the day to be joyous without being too intimate, too heavy. That being said, there was still the quiet truth: the day was about me and her.

And that’s where I want to linger — not on the banquet or the schedule, but on what she means to me.

I didn’t want to share my vows here — partly because they were cheesy in the way vows can get away with being in person, but unbearable to write out online — but I can share something that captures the same spirit. A dream I had. A lucid one.

I’ve only had two lucid dreams in my entire life. Out of thirty years of sleeping almost every night, twice I’ve been given the strange gift of awareness, of being able to step inside my subconscious like a god in a world of my own making. And what did I do with that power? I didn’t fly or build castles. I asked questions. I dug into myself. I talked with old friends who weren’t really there, just versions my mind stitched together. Thrilling…I know.

The second time it happened was the most vivid. I was on a bus climbing up a mountain, past a cliffside waterfall pouring into a rainbow, the whole scene glowing in sepia. Sitting with me was a girl I had barely known in real life — someone from a summer camp in childhood, someone I hadn’t seen in decades. Which meant she was basically a blank slate, entirely invented by my subconscious. And yet, when I sat with her in that dream, it felt like she’d known me forever.

I started asking questions, trying to pull answers out of myself. She beat me to it.

She called me an idiot. She said I should be grateful for my fiancée cooking for me every day, for taking care of me in ways I didn’t always notice. She reminded me of the times my fiancée and I broke up back in university, and how even then, she still thought about what was best for me. She reminded me of what I once said — that I wanted a partner who was like me, someone who could “ADC” with me side by side instead of playing support. She asked if I’d ever thought about what it would actually mean to date someone just like me.

Then she cut deeper:
“Are you happy with yourself?”
“It’s unclear.”
“Do you take care of yourself?”
“No.”
“Then how could someone just like you ever take care of you?”

She was right. My dream-self knew it before I did: the relationship I have isn’t about “settling”, a fear I had at the beginning stages of our journey. It isn’t about losing out on an equal partner. It’s about balance. Push and pull. Roller coaster and steady rhythm. It’s about the fact that when tragedy hits — and it has, too many times — I don’t need someone who breaks in the same places I do. I need someone who can carry me when I can’t carry myself.

That dream shook me. Because it made me realize that the thing I once thought was a weakness in our relationship — not always being on the exact same page — was actually the greatest strength of all.

My wife has been that strength for me for over ten years. I didn’t always see it. Sometimes, it was so natural, so seamless, that I thought it was just the way things were supposed to be. But that’s the rarest thing of all — a love that feels easy, a love that endures, a love that has already survived breakups, family chaos, and tragedy. A love that’s still here, still cooking for me, still standing by me, still mine.

And in the middle of 220 guests, food, games, and laughter, I remembered that. The wedding was a party for everyone, but the marriage — the thing that dream reminded me of — that was just for us.

In a way, that’s what marriage has become for me — not just a choice of love, but a choice of survival. After everything I’ve lived through, I’ve learned that the hardest battles aren’t the ones people see, but the ones that play out quietly inside. And the truth is, I don’t always win those on my own.

But I don’t have to.

Because somewhere along the line, I found someone who doesn’t just stand beside me when I’m strong, but steadies me when I’m not. Someone who makes the peaks brighter and the valleys bearable. Someone who, in the middle of all the chaos and grief, became my constant.

The wedding was a celebration. The marriage is the anchor. And if there’s one thing I carry from that dream — and from that day — it’s the realization that maybe love isn’t about finding someone who mirrors you perfectly, but someone whose presence makes you whole.