As I mentioned last week, I did in fact date a nice chap named Takeshi. I was, at the time, a bit of a manga geek. I still like manga mind, but back then, I spent more time and money on it than I even have these days. And for a girl like me, a Japanese boyfriend was a dream.
Takeshi and I met through his sister, who I met through her girlfriend's sister, who lived in New York. Our relationship was not really a romantic one. We were good friends; we shared a lot of interests and a lot of beliefs, some less... well-respected than others. But there was never any romance. Frankly, neither of us were each other's type. He wasn't much of a chubby chaser, but I made up for it in spades. For perspective, I'm a chubby girl, but my fiance is twice my size and several inches - 7 or 8 - taller than I am. Takeshi was my height, arguably an inch shorter, and a stick. Also, he had a rather male 'friend' on the side. A lovely chap, by the way. I probably talk to Masashi more than I do with Takeshi these days.
But we were 'together', because it benefited us both. I had a lot of issues with my body at the time, and though he was hardly attracted to me, just having a boyfriend made me feel better about myself. And a pretty Japanese one? In my sort of group? I wasn't going to complain. He, oppositely, wanted a girlfriend who wouldn't mind anything on the side and he could say was there if anyone (his parents or friends, namely) asked.
We didn't see each other often, as you might imagine. I was in high school, he was in Japan, and though he did travel a lot, the few instances we saw each other in NYC or at some event around the coast were few and far between. Once a year was the average. We exchanged gifts - I helped him get a puppy, he got me Swiss chocolates (some of you are perhaps already crying over the thought of me giving him up, I know) - and we even had... relations... on a couple of occasions. But once I went to college, and he moved to Switzerland, we both decided it would be best to break it off.
He took a flight out to Vancouver and we had a nice date, the first proper one we'd ever had in fact. Dinner and a show, a night together without his friends (a rarity for us), and some chocolates. And we broke up. He lived with Masashi and another close friend in Switzerland and really didn't need the excuse, and I had no friends to impress and was feeling more confident with myself even as I grew less happy with everything else. We stayed in touch (and yes, he still sent me chocolate, he ended up owning the store he worked at!), though we haven't spoken much recently. His brother died earlier this year, and though he was never close, I think it hit him hard. The next man I started dating was Al, my now-fiance. I guess that's a bit weird, eh?
I still talk from time to time with Yuriko, too, though far rarer than even Takeshi. I mostly keep in touch with Dessie and Masashi; it's kind of odd how distant it has all gotten, though. We were always distant in terms of spacial relations, but two, three years ago? I was talking to each of them daily. Then again, I guess that is the same with all of my friends from high school. Aside from Carina (my Bowling Green friend), the most I ever talk to even my closest of friends from high school are the occasional reblog on tumblr or a 'like' and rare comment on Facebook.
Nostalgia's overcoming me again, I guess. I really need to make more friends out here, but over the years, admittedly it has been hard. Since 10th grade, really, the only friends I've made are friends-of-friends. I only made 3 friends since I moved here, and one of them is already out of Vancouver and another is my to-be husband. I guess it is just kind of weird to think about. At 15, I was outgoing and had more friends than I could name and was openly dating not just a foreign guy, but a man seven years my senior. Now my closest friends are all online, and I still only talk to my RL friends on Facebook or Skype. I sometimes wish I was an outsider looking in, just to see what really happened during the years.
I'm not unhappy, mind. I like my life as it is, and having met Al, I can't remember a time when I was happier. But it's interesting to see how I have changed. I guess this is now way less about Takeshi and more introspective. Oh well. :P I title these things before I write them, so... yeah.
As an aside, the movie rental store near us was having a Buy One, Get Two free sale. We got Inception, Sharktopus, Let Me In, Dorian Gray, The Other Guys, and Fantasia, as well as Bayonetta, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix (Wii; oh yes, I know it's bad), Splinter Cell, Metroid Other M, Silent Hill Homecoming, and Two Worlds II. And I am getting a new laptop. My Macbook - which I've had for about three years - overheats at the slightest provocation and the keys are falling out. I managed to get a Lenovo W series (great keyboards, great memory, just what I need) for $1,500 less than it was meant to be. Still about that much, but hey, it is a laptop, after all. Probably a grand less than a new Macbook would have cost me.
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Monday, May 30, 2011
How Monday's Sister Came to Be
Hello, girls! It’s Monday!
It’s gonna be a short entry from me today (maybe. We’ll see) because I’m about to head out to my local park and complete a challenge (See yesterday's post for my thoughts on Christina's punishment)!
I highly enjoyed reading everyone’s lies, especially seeing the truths that remained within those lies. Often those truths were twice as fascinating as anything else . . .
But for my just another blog entry, I feel like I owe some explanation of Kate. See, I didn’t make up anything about Kate for last week’s post. I’ve had an imaginary older sister for going on five years now. Kate was conceived in the fall of 2003, and came into fully realized being some three years later. It started like this:
My mother, as I have mentioned, is a minister, and as one of a handful of local ministers for my school district, she was periodically invited to speak at the meetings of my school’s FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes). She did the program for one such meeting the fall of my sophomore year. She’d found a story she wanted to tell, and that’s precisely what she did.
She introduced and then told a first-person narrative about a woman and her daughter, Katherine. I don’t remember much about the story beyond the fact that the Katherine in it was grown with two children, estranged from her mother, and loved sunflowers (I have a feeling the sunflowers were important to the overall point).
Well, somehow the people at my school missed that this was a story Mom had found and told in first person, and they instead believed that the story was a personal story, and so for the rest of the day, I had classmates asking me why they’d never heard about my sister and how they’d always thought there were just the three of us siblings.
Early in the day I would laugh and patiently explain that, no, I didn’t have an older sister, it had been a story. But as the day wore on, I finally got tired of explaining, and so I just started saying, “Oh, Kate? Yeah, she’s been around forever. She lives in Kansas, and she’s got two kids – Jeremy and Jessica, cutest little buggers you’ll ever meet. She graduated before we moved here.” And people believed me. That’s the astounding part in all this. People who had known me and my family for six years suddenly believed I had an older sister and a niece and nephew I’d just never talked about before.
The story died down over the weekend, and I’ll admit. I kinda forgot about Kate until my first semester of college. Somehow, I’d never mentioned the incident to my older brother, but during fall break of my freshman year, Kate somehow came up, and Matthew wanted an explanation. I told him the story, he thought it was hilarious, and, long story short, Kate was born that night. We discussed details of her life and family all through dinner, giving her a husband (Ken Murdoch. He’s an accountant, but he plays jazz saxophone on Wednesday nights) and a birthday (Leap Day, 1980, which is, unfortunately, two years before my parents got married . . .) and an occupation (high school English teacher who also directs plays). Her kids got firmed up ages and personalities, her high school got a name, and as soon as we got home that night, we made her a Facebook page. Which, now that I think about it, needs to be updated . . .
Jillian, Kate’s youngest, came about because the first of my generation of existent grandkids got married three years ago, and we needed a reason why she couldn’t go to the wedding. The family is moving this summer for the same reason. We’re not sure what’s going to happen when one of us siblings gets married; some huge and unexpected event, no doubt.
So, yeah. That’s Kate. It’s just like any other sibling relationship, really. We can’t keep track of her kids’ birthdays or how old they are, and we’re always forgetting her anniversary (which is actually in about a week, now that I mention it). Matthew and I are kind of collaboratively in charge of her and of deciding things about her life, and when she writes notes on Facebook, it’s one or the other of us pulling the strings. We intend, one day, to write her biography, to be called My Life as an Imaginary Sibling. We like to wait until people have gotten to know us for awhile and then casually drop Kate into conversation and see what happens.
I told you I was from a family of storytellers.
Monday out.
It’s gonna be a short entry from me today (maybe. We’ll see) because I’m about to head out to my local park and complete a challenge (See yesterday's post for my thoughts on Christina's punishment)!
I highly enjoyed reading everyone’s lies, especially seeing the truths that remained within those lies. Often those truths were twice as fascinating as anything else . . .
But for my just another blog entry, I feel like I owe some explanation of Kate. See, I didn’t make up anything about Kate for last week’s post. I’ve had an imaginary older sister for going on five years now. Kate was conceived in the fall of 2003, and came into fully realized being some three years later. It started like this:
My mother, as I have mentioned, is a minister, and as one of a handful of local ministers for my school district, she was periodically invited to speak at the meetings of my school’s FCA (Fellowship of Christian Athletes). She did the program for one such meeting the fall of my sophomore year. She’d found a story she wanted to tell, and that’s precisely what she did.
She introduced and then told a first-person narrative about a woman and her daughter, Katherine. I don’t remember much about the story beyond the fact that the Katherine in it was grown with two children, estranged from her mother, and loved sunflowers (I have a feeling the sunflowers were important to the overall point).
Well, somehow the people at my school missed that this was a story Mom had found and told in first person, and they instead believed that the story was a personal story, and so for the rest of the day, I had classmates asking me why they’d never heard about my sister and how they’d always thought there were just the three of us siblings.
Early in the day I would laugh and patiently explain that, no, I didn’t have an older sister, it had been a story. But as the day wore on, I finally got tired of explaining, and so I just started saying, “Oh, Kate? Yeah, she’s been around forever. She lives in Kansas, and she’s got two kids – Jeremy and Jessica, cutest little buggers you’ll ever meet. She graduated before we moved here.” And people believed me. That’s the astounding part in all this. People who had known me and my family for six years suddenly believed I had an older sister and a niece and nephew I’d just never talked about before.
The story died down over the weekend, and I’ll admit. I kinda forgot about Kate until my first semester of college. Somehow, I’d never mentioned the incident to my older brother, but during fall break of my freshman year, Kate somehow came up, and Matthew wanted an explanation. I told him the story, he thought it was hilarious, and, long story short, Kate was born that night. We discussed details of her life and family all through dinner, giving her a husband (Ken Murdoch. He’s an accountant, but he plays jazz saxophone on Wednesday nights) and a birthday (Leap Day, 1980, which is, unfortunately, two years before my parents got married . . .) and an occupation (high school English teacher who also directs plays). Her kids got firmed up ages and personalities, her high school got a name, and as soon as we got home that night, we made her a Facebook page. Which, now that I think about it, needs to be updated . . .
Jillian, Kate’s youngest, came about because the first of my generation of existent grandkids got married three years ago, and we needed a reason why she couldn’t go to the wedding. The family is moving this summer for the same reason. We’re not sure what’s going to happen when one of us siblings gets married; some huge and unexpected event, no doubt.
So, yeah. That’s Kate. It’s just like any other sibling relationship, really. We can’t keep track of her kids’ birthdays or how old they are, and we’re always forgetting her anniversary (which is actually in about a week, now that I mention it). Matthew and I are kind of collaboratively in charge of her and of deciding things about her life, and when she writes notes on Facebook, it’s one or the other of us pulling the strings. We intend, one day, to write her biography, to be called My Life as an Imaginary Sibling. We like to wait until people have gotten to know us for awhile and then casually drop Kate into conversation and see what happens.
I told you I was from a family of storytellers.
Monday out.
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Week 12: Just Another Blog
It's just another blog week! Question to consider: What's on your mind?
Also, as a reminder, next week is Challenge Week, so I hope you're all thinking hard about how you plan on completing Carlyn's challenge.
Christina, I am inclined to acquiesce to your request, as the same anxiety plagues me. I think punishments should possibly be ever so slightly embarrassing, but nothing that causes real discomfort. Girls? What do you think?
Also, as a reminder, next week is Challenge Week, so I hope you're all thinking hard about how you plan on completing Carlyn's challenge.
Christina, I am inclined to acquiesce to your request, as the same anxiety plagues me. I think punishments should possibly be ever so slightly embarrassing, but nothing that causes real discomfort. Girls? What do you think?
Friday, May 27, 2011
What Friday hasn't told you about the time she met Daniel Radcliffe
I want to second what Carlyn said, I really like our blog too!
I also wanted to briefly discuss punishments... I don't want to be difficult/lame/evade punishment, but where do we stand on our ability to veto a punishment? I'm speaking in terms of if they make someone really uncomfortable/anxious/panicked. Specifically (for me) the idea of handing out things to strangers who didn't already ask for whatever it is I'm handing out... just the thought of it gives me a slight anxiety attack. I had to do that once for a psychology class (an in-class experiment) and I just froze up in a state of panic and someone else had to do it... :/ I don't want to wiggle my way out of a punishment by any means, but just the thought of doing something involving strangers makes me nauseous. I feel bad requesting this though, so perhaps whatever you have me do will just be super embarrassing, ridiculous, or something along those lines.
Anyway, onto more fun topics: all your stories have been really fun to read! I hope you enjoy mine as well. :) (I'll also be using asterisks like you guys did.)
Today I'd like to tell everyone about the day I spent with Daniel Radcliffe. I believe I've mentioned before that I went to the grand opening of the Wizarding World of Harry Potter theme park with some of my best friends on June 18, 2010*. Well, I was not entirely upfront about the events of that day. We arrived at the theme park at the early hour of 5 pm, just as the sun was rising*. The air was already heavy with humidity, as is the case with Florida summers. There were probably about 100 people there with us as we waited at the main gates and we ended up being let into the park two hours before their official opening time*. They rounded us into the amphitheater at the back of the park, right next to where WWoHP had been built and we waited there for about half an hour, when they then led us into the park (!!!) to be in the background of the Today show as they interviewed the cast*. Well, flash forward a little bit, we watched the interview and then were escorted back out of the park to wait at the entrance for the grand opening ceremony, when fireworks would go off and they'd pull down the big banner*. At 9 am we finally got to officially enter the park, go on the rides, eat at The Three Broomsticks, drink Butterbeer, in general- enjoy ourselves, which we did!*
It was around 11 am that my day took an odd, but exciting, turn. While attempting to find the ATM, I took a wrong turn down an alley which ended up leading to the "behind the scenes" area of the park. I got all turned around, couldn't find my way out, and ended up taking a door which I thought would lead back to Hogsmeade. I instead ended up in a back room with a sofa and bowls of snacks set up, I briefly wondered who they were for*, but was quickly distracted by the bathroom right across the room. Past the point of caring whose bathroom it was, I used it. After getting that over with, I was free to look around and wonder where exactly I was. I was standing in the middle of the room, looking around with a confused look on my face, when I heard someone approaching up the hallway. I didn't have any time to move when the person arrived in the room.... and it was Daniel Radcliffe. I was in his makeshift dressing room. He froze and looked at me in a confused "should I be afraid, are you crazy?" way and I froze and looked at him in a "I'm completely mortified, but also really excited" way. After an awkward pause, I explained in a shaky, nervous voice that I'd gotten lost and was so embarrassed and sorry and would leave now. He was so nice though, he introduced himself and we talked a bit about the crazy day and how much fun the park was. After about half an hour I got a call from my friends wondering where I was and if the Deatheaters had gotten me. I hadn't realized that half an hour had already gone by and I told them I'd be back to meet them soon. This isn't some story of a clandestine meeting with my favorite actor in which we suddenly fall in love and promise to see each other again as soon as possible. I just thanked him for being so nice and said that I enjoyed talking with him, asked for a picture with him (he obliged) and then headed off to find my friends and enjoy the rest of the park. It was all so crazy and exciting, but also just... normal.
I'm going to be in NYC this summer to see him in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying and I'm hoping to run into him again to say hello, we'll see if he recognizes me!
And that's the story of how I met Daniel Radcliffe!**
**Please don't sue me Dan, everyone here knows it's not completely true!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Thursday is really tired...zzzzzz
Well you guys, it's about time I made a confession. I have narcolepsy. You see, sometimes, I will be writing, or studying Arabic, or talking to somebody, when all of the sudden uhesafihurh
Sorry about that, my head hit the keyboard. I normally edit over that, but since I'm telling all of you the truth, I figured that I wouldn't need to hide it anymore. But you see, this is why it takes so long for me to post my blogs, because I keep falling eoajodkja asleep, which significantly alters my ability to complete any task in a timely manner.
Now that you are made aware of my problem, I hope that you will be understanding, and I hope that this won't change the way you feel about me in any way. Gosh, it feels so good to clear the air and tell you about this. Maybe if I'm not so stressed from keeping it secret, I won't succumb to sleep as odaejjojsd often.
I've got to go take my meds, so I will see you again next kldajojeo Thursday.*
*I actually do feel pretty tired most of the time.
Sorry about that, my head hit the keyboard. I normally edit over that, but since I'm telling all of you the truth, I figured that I wouldn't need to hide it anymore. But you see, this is why it takes so long for me to post my blogs, because I keep falling eoajodkja asleep, which significantly alters my ability to complete any task in a timely manner.
Now that you are made aware of my problem, I hope that you will be understanding, and I hope that this won't change the way you feel about me in any way. Gosh, it feels so good to clear the air and tell you about this. Maybe if I'm not so stressed from keeping it secret, I won't succumb to sleep as odaejjojsd often.
I've got to go take my meds, so I will see you again next kldajojeo Thursday.*
*I actually do feel pretty tired most of the time.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Wednesday is honored and grateful that you have invited her to your home on the wedding day of your daughter.
I really like our blog project, y’all.
Casey: I agree with your soapbox. In my own mind, there exists a world wherein all people are allowed to marry whomever they want. It’s always jarring when I’m forced to realize that this is not actually the case.
Christina: Hm… a punishment… I think Cassie has a great idea with the challenge. I also commend your choice of soapbox. I’m undecided on the subject of drug legalization (apart from marijuana—I think it’s rather silly that it is illegal), but if hard drugs were legal, it would make them much safer. I additionally enjoyed reading the discussion in the comments section! Also, that poor monkey… I can’t tell whether its face indicates happiness, good training, or complete hysteria.
Cassie: Kate sounds like quite the sister! I hope someday she gets to write a guest post or something. There’s another topic idea: Writing a “guest post” as someone else. Or perhaps actually getting someone else to write your post for the week. Or perhaps both.
Alexandra: I love your lie. Well crafted! The true parts fit seamlessly into the untruths. Awesome.
And now I will tell you the story of how I worked for the Mafia,* using asterisks just as others have.
It all started when I was 16, just after I got my driver’s license.* I was driving my Lamborghini down the street (it had been a gift from my grandmother when she decided she wanted a yellow one instead of a red one) when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, an elephant stampeded (can a single elephant stampede alone?) out of the forest by the side of the road.** Of course, I had graduated from strategic driving class not long ago, so I was able to get away, high-speed-chase style. But then I hit a telephone pole.
So I had all these car repairs that I had to pay for. To pay for them, I needed a job. The only job I was able to get was working as a banquet server for a local party center*… which was owned by a Mafia family.*
Everything was going swimmingly with my new job. I was serving salads, entrées, and desserts with customary Italian gusto (though I am not very Italian*), and being appreciated by all the guests and our maitre d’, whose name was Evil.*
And then one day, the banquet center was the site of the marriage of a mob princess* and a tiny shrimp of a man who disappeared into his sizable new wife during their first dance as a married couple. The robust maid of honor gave a lengthy speech about how she and Princess had met during school; the pint-sized best man avoided public speech altogether and cowered next to his diminuitive friend the groom. It was all quite lovely.
At this point, with six months on the job, I was one of the most tenured servers on staff. (The turnover was astronomical; some servers were never seen or heard from again.) Therefore, I was given the responsibility of serving dessert to the parents of the bride. As I inched toward their corner table, squinting my eyes against the dense aromatic fog of cigar smoke, the soundtrack from the Godfather started playing over the sound system.* Faces began to emerge from the smog, most of them mustacchio’ed and cigar-stuck. One by one, the faces, previously celebratory (if not jovial), each took one look at my pallid mug and turned decidedly displeased (though that could have been just my internal terror speaking). I not-too-hastily dropped each slice of cheesecake down in front of its new master and, through shortened breath and a cold sweat, made for the hills.
I was never seen or heard from again.
* True
** My hometown was truly the site of an elephant escape once when I was growing up. A circus came to town every year, and during one fateful tour, a zebra headbutted an audience member and an elephant escaped (and walked right in front of the car I was riding in with my father). I kid you not. The circus didn’t come back the next year.
Looking forward to the rest of the lies!
Casey: I agree with your soapbox. In my own mind, there exists a world wherein all people are allowed to marry whomever they want. It’s always jarring when I’m forced to realize that this is not actually the case.
Christina: Hm… a punishment… I think Cassie has a great idea with the challenge. I also commend your choice of soapbox. I’m undecided on the subject of drug legalization (apart from marijuana—I think it’s rather silly that it is illegal), but if hard drugs were legal, it would make them much safer. I additionally enjoyed reading the discussion in the comments section! Also, that poor monkey… I can’t tell whether its face indicates happiness, good training, or complete hysteria.
Cassie: Kate sounds like quite the sister! I hope someday she gets to write a guest post or something. There’s another topic idea: Writing a “guest post” as someone else. Or perhaps actually getting someone else to write your post for the week. Or perhaps both.
Alexandra: I love your lie. Well crafted! The true parts fit seamlessly into the untruths. Awesome.
And now I will tell you the story of how I worked for the Mafia,* using asterisks just as others have.
It all started when I was 16, just after I got my driver’s license.* I was driving my Lamborghini down the street (it had been a gift from my grandmother when she decided she wanted a yellow one instead of a red one) when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, an elephant stampeded (can a single elephant stampede alone?) out of the forest by the side of the road.** Of course, I had graduated from strategic driving class not long ago, so I was able to get away, high-speed-chase style. But then I hit a telephone pole.
So I had all these car repairs that I had to pay for. To pay for them, I needed a job. The only job I was able to get was working as a banquet server for a local party center*… which was owned by a Mafia family.*
Everything was going swimmingly with my new job. I was serving salads, entrées, and desserts with customary Italian gusto (though I am not very Italian*), and being appreciated by all the guests and our maitre d’, whose name was Evil.*
And then one day, the banquet center was the site of the marriage of a mob princess* and a tiny shrimp of a man who disappeared into his sizable new wife during their first dance as a married couple. The robust maid of honor gave a lengthy speech about how she and Princess had met during school; the pint-sized best man avoided public speech altogether and cowered next to his diminuitive friend the groom. It was all quite lovely.
At this point, with six months on the job, I was one of the most tenured servers on staff. (The turnover was astronomical; some servers were never seen or heard from again.) Therefore, I was given the responsibility of serving dessert to the parents of the bride. As I inched toward their corner table, squinting my eyes against the dense aromatic fog of cigar smoke, the soundtrack from the Godfather started playing over the sound system.* Faces began to emerge from the smog, most of them mustacchio’ed and cigar-stuck. One by one, the faces, previously celebratory (if not jovial), each took one look at my pallid mug and turned decidedly displeased (though that could have been just my internal terror speaking). I not-too-hastily dropped each slice of cheesecake down in front of its new master and, through shortened breath and a cold sweat, made for the hills.
I was never seen or heard from again.
* True
** My hometown was truly the site of an elephant escape once when I was growing up. A circus came to town every year, and during one fateful tour, a zebra headbutted an audience member and an elephant escaped (and walked right in front of the car I was riding in with my father). I kid you not. The circus didn’t come back the next year.
Looking forward to the rest of the lies!
Tuesday, May 24, 2011
Tuesday's Day in Athens
I'm in a bit of a rush, so I'll respond quickly to the gay rights point. :) Obviously I support it highly, and whenever I see someone cite the Bible, I will flat out tell them I won't accept that argument until they start wearing 100% cotton and refusing to shave. The 'pick and choose' attitude just seems contrary, both on the outside and on the inside. If you genuinely believe that, say, Leviticus is a holy text, why would you arbitrarily abandon half of it?
Ah well, I guess it's time to tell my story.
During high school, I on-and-off dated a man named Takeshi Takahashi*. I had met him through a girl I knew online, in a convoluted series of who-lives-where. Takeshi and his sister Yuriko* were born in Japan, Takeshi remained there for his education (for 8 years without even a bachelor's degree to speak of!*; and yes, he was 23 when I was 16*, deal with it) while Yuriko (about my age) went to England for school. She met a lovely woman named Nicole and the two began dating just out of secondary school. For further convolutions sake, Nicole's sister was attending school in New York*, where I lived. It was quite the international group, particularly once I moved to Vancouver. Soon after, I got the wedding invitation.*
Takeshi and I were no longer 'dating'* (it was 90% long distance, so to call it dating was perhaps a stretch), but for the sake of appearances, we flew into Athens together from Quebec City. Athens is a gorgeous city, and the art history major in me almost did not want to go to the event. That said, once it came time for dinner, I realized I'd prefer the Japanese-Greek fusion to pure Greek. Goat cheese and I have never mixed.*
It was a very small affair, truth be told, to the point where I was surprised I was invited. The family of the "brides", a few friends and friends of friends, maybe 30 people in total had attended. This was the first time I got to meet a lot of his family, as well. Kiba (RIP*) and Mitsuko, his younger brother and older sister, were the ones I was most interested to meet; I had heard great things, and needless to say, they lived up to my expectations. I wish I was still in touch with Mitsuko, in particular. I think we could have been good friends. I was also... 'lucky' enough to meet his grandfather, who was a German soldier during the war*. I didn't say much beyond 'hello' to him. I met some of Nicole and Dessie's family, as well, though only briefly. Overall, they seemed nice, though some seemed put off by the expense at a 'fake' wedding (as it was strictly a ceremony; the legal aspect was taken care of in England).
The blend of the two cultures was the most interesting part of the wedding, for me. A Greek wedding and a Japanese wedding could not be more different, and the mix of garb and gourmet alone made it jarring. The ceremony was performed in Greek, a language I can't speak a lick of (though I do know that ophis is snake*, at least in Ancient Greek), but I caught a few words I could put together. God, love, the very basics. I am sure it was lovely, all the same.
The party was a standard affair, all things considered. A big cake and fine dining, a bit of music and a bit more liquor. Takeshi and I mostly sat together at our table and caught up on things, occasionally stopping to talk with a relative or friend. We spent another two days in Athens before returning to our respective countries (by now, Takeshi was living in Switzerland*). It was good to see a friend get married; the two of them are still happily together* and though I was not fond of the affair at the time, I look back at it fondly now as I prepare for my own wedding. And it was great to knock another country off of the list 'to visit'.
For those interested, the asterisked points are true.
Ah well, I guess it's time to tell my story.
During high school, I on-and-off dated a man named Takeshi Takahashi*. I had met him through a girl I knew online, in a convoluted series of who-lives-where. Takeshi and his sister Yuriko* were born in Japan, Takeshi remained there for his education (for 8 years without even a bachelor's degree to speak of!*; and yes, he was 23 when I was 16*, deal with it) while Yuriko (about my age) went to England for school. She met a lovely woman named Nicole and the two began dating just out of secondary school. For further convolutions sake, Nicole's sister was attending school in New York*, where I lived. It was quite the international group, particularly once I moved to Vancouver. Soon after, I got the wedding invitation.*
Takeshi and I were no longer 'dating'* (it was 90% long distance, so to call it dating was perhaps a stretch), but for the sake of appearances, we flew into Athens together from Quebec City. Athens is a gorgeous city, and the art history major in me almost did not want to go to the event. That said, once it came time for dinner, I realized I'd prefer the Japanese-Greek fusion to pure Greek. Goat cheese and I have never mixed.*
It was a very small affair, truth be told, to the point where I was surprised I was invited. The family of the "brides", a few friends and friends of friends, maybe 30 people in total had attended. This was the first time I got to meet a lot of his family, as well. Kiba (RIP*) and Mitsuko, his younger brother and older sister, were the ones I was most interested to meet; I had heard great things, and needless to say, they lived up to my expectations. I wish I was still in touch with Mitsuko, in particular. I think we could have been good friends. I was also... 'lucky' enough to meet his grandfather, who was a German soldier during the war*. I didn't say much beyond 'hello' to him. I met some of Nicole and Dessie's family, as well, though only briefly. Overall, they seemed nice, though some seemed put off by the expense at a 'fake' wedding (as it was strictly a ceremony; the legal aspect was taken care of in England).
The blend of the two cultures was the most interesting part of the wedding, for me. A Greek wedding and a Japanese wedding could not be more different, and the mix of garb and gourmet alone made it jarring. The ceremony was performed in Greek, a language I can't speak a lick of (though I do know that ophis is snake*, at least in Ancient Greek), but I caught a few words I could put together. God, love, the very basics. I am sure it was lovely, all the same.
The party was a standard affair, all things considered. A big cake and fine dining, a bit of music and a bit more liquor. Takeshi and I mostly sat together at our table and caught up on things, occasionally stopping to talk with a relative or friend. We spent another two days in Athens before returning to our respective countries (by now, Takeshi was living in Switzerland*). It was good to see a friend get married; the two of them are still happily together* and though I was not fond of the affair at the time, I look back at it fondly now as I prepare for my own wedding. And it was great to knock another country off of the list 'to visit'.
For those interested, the asterisked points are true.
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