my brother's wedding

My oldest brother got married. The event drove several very obvious things home: marriage is a big deal, life's hard, I've gained a sister and I am still a kid.

Back when they thought they'd have more time to plan the wedding, they took me to look at dresses and rings, and I couldn't really get into that. Flying to New Mexico, I felt little anticipation; I had a sense of going through the motions because of the practicality of the ceremony and its haste. This lasted until the moment I saw my brother and his bride, dressed--he in something other than his normal sweats and she with a winter coat covering the white but still instantly beautiful. He was so happy to see us, kept thanking us for coming; it's been a long time since someone has been that happy for my presence and I felt so lucky to be able to give it to him.

The mass was in Vietnamese, and I couldn't quite get into those formalities either but somehow I found myself near tears anyway. I almost felt like the older sibling--the one who's proud and weepy. Things that are of value are continual; they don't happen in a moment, but there are moments where these things concentrate and come to a point and make you hyperaware of them. You always wish for the happiness of those you care about, but during certain parts of the mass I could feel the strain of me physically asking for it. I'm not going to pretend that I feel that as often as I should, and the tug was like the loving ache a muscle makes after a long time in disuse.

The circumstances of the event weren't ideal, and I so wish that it had been better for the both of them. His wife is balancing school, of which she's missed much lately, their new life together coming into being and something in her old life passing away. I honestly don't know how she finds the strength to do it, and I wonder at how I get overwhelmed with my own life when it is so much easier. The happiness that day should be will always be overshadowed by the sorrow that it was. For me, so invested in memory and story, that would be so hard to accept. Without having any tangible evidence, I sense that she will and gracefully so. She and I get along, but we don't have too much in common and haven't really talked at length about many things. But it's easy to see there is much to look up to and learn from in her, and it hit me for the first time that it will be very different to finally have a sister in the family, and one who isn't actively trying to take care of me but is just showing me by being.

So it happened that marriage, birth, and death--the events of a lifetime--were crowded into the space of one day. I thought about how none of my days in twenty-three years has been quite like that day for her, and I can clearly recall being fazed by the sudden realization that I am a child. And that all the experience I hope for, the majority of it lies ahead and that I shouldn't want to hurry it. It comes hard and fast, and you need all the time before it to brace yourself (uselessly, probably) against the parts that don't fit.

Though he didn't show it, I know it was hard for him too, to have things done this way, having to cut so many corners for something he's wanted for a long time. Yet he adjusted so well, and found happiness in it all. And it made me very glad to have had the opportunity to speak about his selflessness in the speech he asked me to write. Sometimes I forget how much my oldest brother cares about me (much more than I actively deserve), because we only see each other once or twice a year, and neither of us have time to have the frequent conversations we used to have. When he first asked me to make a speech for the wedding, I was a little overwhelmed, because things have been so incredibly busy. In my semi-exploded state, to write something meaningful in a few days about an event we only knew was coming a week in advance seemed like too much to ask, when of course it wasn't and I was just being self-absorbed. As short as it is, it took a long time to write but like with most words that take time, I learned a lot about how I felt in the process of writing. After, I was really thankful and honored that he'd asked me to do it. He so rarely asks me to do anything and it was nice to contribute something concrete to his moment.

So here's what I said.
*
This is the first wedding speech I've ever made, and at first I thought it would be really difficult to write. And well, it was. When I asked Hoang what I was supposed to say, he said to me, "What else is there to talk about? Me and Vy!"...And while that seems obvious, it was helpful to hear.

Because as much as a marriage is about the union between two people, it's about the two individuals themselves. So in thinking about this, I thought about these individuals. One who has always been family, and one who has become family.

While I was growing up, Hoang always felt like a parent to me. Not just because he set my bedtime and wouldn't let me eat too much candy, but because he gave without expecting anything in return. As a child I found this to be natural. But when I got older I realized how rare it is for a person to give more than they take.

So when I met Vy and saw the same generous spirit in her, I knew it was something special. She extended her full self towards our crazy family, and with Hoang, she was unquestionably selfless. And so Vy reminded me as an adult of what Hoang taught me as a child: that a true connection between people is not about, like they say, give and take, but about give and give.

With their marriage, Hoang and Vy give not only to each other. They also give all of us faith that two such caring people do exist, and can find each other. For that and much more, we wish you many blessings, happiness, and much more.
*

The actual speech went about 82% the way I had practiced it--had to give some pause for laughs (I was struck slightly ajar by actual laughter), for having to talk louder because there was no microphone, for a couple slight misphrasings, and for how people started clapping and making noise at "many blessings," leaving the "happiness and much more" drowned in chopsticks against glass. I'm glad that part went 82%. For all the quiet steadiness of life thus far, it's the noise you often remember and you often look forward to.