The Anniversary

 

Our fourteenth wedding anniversary passed without any notice. It started with celebratory feelings in the first years, moved on to a bit of less enthusiastic, then ironic occasion, and now it is more or less a normal day. Looking back at the photos of the day, we look like two people in love. That day was unassuming – just us and two witnesses in the town hall. We had a high tea afterwards.

Knowing what I know now, that was perfect for me. When my now husband proposed to me we almost immediately agreed that we wanted to be outside to get married and that the best place would be where we had met – South Africa, and on the beach (husband loves sea sand sun and is often convinced that so do I even though I am a mountain spirit and take a hill over a beach any time) where we first kissed. It was one of the kisses when the earth moves under your feet, the one that convinces you that something special is happening.

It was soon clear that a beach wedding was a great but impractical idea. Formalities of a wedding between citizens of two different nations and non-residents had made it clear that obtaining the legal document would be much simpler where we lived. No problem, we will have a beach ceremony, it will make no difference.

Then it became clear that my friends and relatives wouldn’t be able or willing to travel so far. Considering that I was already living far from them all, it was fine. Husband had enough family and friends to provide enough good company. Now I see that I had already set myself as a stranger in the group, coming alone, staying alone. For us as a couple it was practical – we could be in Africa all of December (using craftily the fact that the end of year grants most employees a longer time off plus annual leave plus the benevolence that the word wedding stirs even in hardened and life-beaten managers and human resources staff) and combine it with holiday and honeymoon. Husband was living in the UK for three years and was happy to have time with his friends and family and the sort of December he was used to – a summer one.

That beach day’s anniversary is in December, but through the years I have come to see the November quiet wedding as the one to celebrate. It was truly a day for us. We were together, made a legally binding commitment to one another, and had a beautiful day in the company of good friends in the city where we were living together. It seemed like the love would only get stronger, the world belonged to us and we would be together forever. It was special and in its low-key unpretentious way it didn’t show it but it let us feel it.

I wore what I wanted. I took out a long, beautiful, full skirt of black and grey fabric, combined an outfit, and wore blue (for something blue) net stockings underneath, I dressed and made up for myself. Picking up the traditional white outfit for the beach was much more complicated, I was thinking about where we would be, what would people say and how the photos would work out… But on that November day, we were simply having a good time. And that is why it was special.

I felt a real connection to my partner and to the people who witnessed the ceremony. On the beach, after I had spent the night alone as tradition required and husband had had a heavy night of getting back together and celebrating with old friends he didn’t belong to me, I could sense the difference. He was uncooperative during the time with the photographer, I could see that he would much rather sit with his mates and chat away. I loved the photo shoot, it reminded me of the blurry days of modelling and how often are you in a beautiful place, wearing a lovely dress, having your hair done and being perfectly put together? Oh well.

The rest of the day was a blur. It was long and exhausting and after came the deflation. The honeymoon was fine but we were now past peak romance, past the newness and the teamwork of last weeks. That culminated on the afternoon before the wedding, when we picked up the cake, had a last word with the decorator, and had our paper license for our beach ceremony picked up from the office, everybody was there or arriving and we were about to part – me back to our friends’ house, him to the hotel. We had a drink and talked and were at peace because our organizing was done and we were ready.

Looking back, it was a day for husband, I was just playing the role I was supposed to play. I enjoyed what I could but didn’t love it.

A couple of years ago, when our daughter was looking through the old photos of the beach ceremony, husband said that it was the best day of my life and I got really angry with him. How can he be so ignorant? I had never said that. If he were to truly look at the photos, I didn’t look as happy as on other occasions – the November city hall wedding perhaps, or our first holiday together (now THAT had honeymoon vibes) or when our daughter was born. He could see happiness on a special level there. He just lazily used a stupid cliché we all know and hear, a cliché that is used to make girls believe that wedding paves the way to everlasting happiness, fulfils them and makes their life meaningful. I will never ever bestow such nonsense on my daughter. Quite the opposite. If you were to ask me about happiness then what comes to mind are times when I was single, often alone, and doing what I wanted the way I wanted. And in connection to other people, time with my child trumps any romance that passed and is long gone…

As with every relationship, our evolved. When we were taking the vows in the city hall, we didn’t think that it would become so distant and deflated. Like any other fool in love, we thought we would show the world how it ought to be done. Instead, we found and faced our differences, faced challenges and changed. Things happened, good and bad. It is okay not to be dizzy with happiness. As long as you know that the other one is there for you, I think it is enough.

Sometimes I think about the very beginning of living together, the intensity of it and I am glad it is over because it was exhausting. Once we were more settled, I could find myself in the new role and be myself again. I put a bit of distance between us, but so did he.

I would rather have a quiet relationship knowing that I have my base and can focus on everybody being well so that I can do what I want or need to do than live like one of the utopian couples who always agree with one another, never argue and love to do everything together. Yeah, right.

As a loner, I carved out an existence where I can cultivate my existence and my husband can keep having his bonds with mates. He might have thought that I would be by his side at all times, unquestioningly joining in everything, but he had learnt that he has his space and I have mine and that is how it worked out. Good, bad, I don’t know. But pretending that endless romance is there would be much worse.

The one thing that I now know and that I had no clue about back then, before all the anniversaries, is that as a woman, I am expected to become the second half, the supporting part, the keeper of home peace. I am to like what he likes, be happy when he is happy, and want what he wants. When a man says We, he means I and the rest… It is sad. Only after marriage did it dawn on me that we are silently being pushed to be accepting, accommodating, loyal, polite, quiet, and, most of all (and my personal knicker-twister-upper) grateful. Husband automatically assumes that he is right. If something goes wrong it goes wrong. If it involves me, well, I must have made a mistake. The way misogyny powers the world can be very subtle. Even blokes who consider themselves open-minded and good have certain assumptions about life that they would never consider wrong. After years of marriage, I know I won’t change everything, but I am very careful about the little messages I put into my daughter’s mind as a part of her upbringing.