A wedding in the time of Coronavirus
It’s a Friday night in August and we are chatting to my sister on Facetime the night before her wedding. Unfortunately because of travel restrictions, we are unable to attend. She’s busy putting some flower arrangements together with my family and some of her friends. Then suddenly out of nowhere, Noah’s face crumples. He starts to cry, then proceeds to wail uncontrollably. He realises that we won’t be physically present at his favourite auntie’s wedding. The weight of his disappointment is so tangible as he sobs into my chest - it fully encompassing my own sadness for missing out on my little sister’s wedding.
I composed myself and suggest that we can pick some flowers for her wedding tomorrow morning. His face immediately lights up. Going outdoors is always a treat but since the further lockdown restrictions, we are only allowed to go out once a day for exercise, for a maximum of an hour. Picking flowers for Auntie Bea’s wedding will be tomorrow’s daily exercise, I say. He agrees and his sadness visibly melts away.
The next morning, we arm ourselves with a bucket and a pair of scissors. We roam our neighbourhood looking for flowers. Winter is ending, and Spring is giving us a peak into her seasonal blooms. We return home with a bucket full, a mirage of different colours and types of flowers.
“This is really beautiful” he says, as he points out at the cherry blossoms.
My mother insists we dress up as if we are physically present at the wedding, so that we can take family photos later. It’s an odd request - but now as a parent myself, who can deny a mother a family photo of her children & grandchildren, even if part of the family is “present” through screens. As much as we are reluctant, it’s a refreshing change to have to dress up after spending all of the last 4 months in comfortable home clothes. Noah exclaims that these pants are “not nice because they are not soft” - a result of him wearing track pants everyday. We tell him he has to wear it because it’s Auntie Bea’s wedding. He reluctantly agrees.
As we gather around the laptop and the music begins. My sister walks along the garden with my mother and with my niece in front throwing petals on the ground. I choke up a bit - my little sister is all grown up and getting married. The camera moves to a different view and I’m quickly snapped out of my emotional state as Noah exclaims in horror “where’s Althea? I can’t see her. I want to see Auntie Bea! Where’s Auntie Bea?”
As my mother hands over my sister to her groom, she says a few words, before her voice begins to crack being filled with emotion. My sister starts to tear. “Why is Auntie Bea sad? Why is she crying?” Noah asks. It’s a happy cry we tell him. It doesn’t seem to register, as more questions follow.
The ceremony ends & lunch starts. I ask my brother to put the camera in a corner of the room like a wallflower while I watch people eat lunch and mingle. It’s the closest thing to being present I tell myself. As lunch finishes and everyone starts to depart, I look at the time realise it’s nearly dinner time here in Melbourne - a reminder that we live in a few thousand miles apart.
The advancement in technology is truly wonderful, allowing us to interact with our loved ones in real time despite borders and time zones. I can safely say that without Facetime or Zoom, I’m not sure whether we would have survived the gruelling months of lockdown restrictions - for that I’m truly grateful. But if there’s one thing that the coronavirus has taught us, besides the importance of washing one’s hands regularly of course - is that no matter how introverted we might be, we all need for physical interaction. And as much as technology made being apart easier, nothing is as precious as being in the same physical space as your loved ones. A sobering reminder to myself that always be present when amongst loved ones rather than being occupied with technology.
I’m not sure when we will be able to see our friends and family in Singapore again, but I’m damn well looking forward to it. We are all.
