No, not mine. My sister's.
The date had been fixed for a long while, and ever so slowly it's been creeping in on us. Now, finally, it's here. Not that I've been awaiting it with any great anticipation; in fact, I've been totally oblivious. It's been my sister's affair through and through. (I did offer to help, but it seemed that I'd only get in the way.)
It's only been in the last few days that there's been any sign of an increase of activity. Relatives from out-of-town have started pouring in, so there's that little familial chaos of getting everyone settled in properly. But with my parents taking charge and and several extra pairs of hands, I thought it best once more to just stay out of the way.
Thus far, no one has really noticed. I'm happy enough to let things stay that way.
Finally, W-Day is finally here. The women are all aflutter with activity, getting their hair and make-up done and fitting their shoes and dresses. Several vans have come and gone to pick up the relatives.
And I, with only a barong tagalog, a camiso de china, a pair of black pants, black socks, and shoes to think of, am simply curled up with the sci-fi book that's been occupying me the past few days. I'm comfortable as a cat, watching everyone rush about hither and thither.
If there's any lesson that the events of these days are teaching me, it's this: elope.
Wedding day. Not mine. My sister's.