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TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER

an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: elsewhere :: profile


11.26.14

I got married last Friday in a hotel just outside of Sligo. I can't pinpoint my favourite part of the day. Was it entering the ceremony venue, narrow, dark, intimate, a grotto lit by familiar and friendly faces? Looking into each other's eyes as we recite our vows? Listening to Uncle Yuan reading as celebrant, slowly and surely in his third language? The blessings delivered by friends? Who cares that it has rained all day: "Now you will feel no storms, for each of you will be shelter to the other." Ashe! Aho! Post-ceremony, everything is a blur of welcoming faces and good wishes. By night's end, we're on the dance floor, surrounded by young and old, cousin and friend, sweethearts all, enfolded in a circle of song. Years ago, "I found a fox/caught by dogs/He let me take him in my hands."




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