Shock & Awe

You probably know what I am on about. That asian postmodern cliche. The functional questions of superstition and customs made for blogging fodder - what should my take be?

He's my brother but we are world's apart. We hardly exchanged more than two full sentences. And even then it was as deep a connection as a hello and goodbye. It's the busy business man's wedding and there's a lot of public relations to be had. I found myself laughing and bemusing over weird and wonderful things. Like how they shouted "fatt" (prosperity) for the camera. Imagine how all their mouths would be wide open with the perfect teeth smile. Still he looked good today. The bride was quite sensational. Quite a big sister in her own right - commanding off the "sabo" and delinquent behaviour of twenty somethings. I guess the alchohol did bring it home for her. Now I believe my brother's met his own match.

My dad wasn't impressed at the staged entertainment at the expense of the couple over some lewd suggestive consumption of fruits. Not at all. In fact he kept saying how much he wouldn't do that, that it wasn't something he'd do, that it was a young persons' thing, that he would never ever do that. That being the bride chewing off a banana hung off the waist of the groom. You get the rest of the picture. I must say it was quite controlled. He should have seen some of the antics I have been personally involved in. Maybe that might draw some unexpected respect I never had. Maybe.

It was shock and awe, really. The awe of the "final countdown" themed first course dance of the waiters. The shock of the awesome emcees and justice of peace mispronouncinng words and hijacking the grammatical rules...

"Lady and Gentelmen, prease clap for welcome of our newly welded couple..."

Stilll gets me after all these years.

Then there's the one bored kid at wedding dinners who will lead a pipe piper full of kids into a frenzy of digicam war of the worlds, knocking off the waterfall backdrop and spitting woodchips onto the carpet. Mum's friends who are just grateful and happy to be invited. Our favourite relatives asking the same questions of when it's going to be your turn. Like it's so clinical diagnostic waiting for the nurse to call my bloody name so I can go cut something in me to stop me from giving birth.

Now why did I think of that?

Twenty too many cognac shots later, the brother was at the top of his voice, with my dad fighting alongside his frontline. I guess there was a rhythm only both of them understood. Even though this son moved out in rebellion years ago, he's come a prodigal way through the same language and syntax that's up my dad's alley. I mean, even this boy's friends were carbon copies of the ones my dad knew. There was a ruckus that worked its way up the kinship. Part of me was mildly jealous. But I was too tired to bother. I've got my own life now.

I'm just glad that it's over. There was less than what I had expected. Apparently, being unmarried, I couldn't get too involved in the frontlines of the wedding processional. And in the same stroke of cultural genius, I saved myself from parting with a stack of cash for the red stash. Ain't it great, this bachelor life?