Not in Vain
The wedding is going to be massive – we are going to have at least 500-600 guests and an elaborate ceremony that will last from Saturday evening with Buddhist monks, through Sunday morning (the bride will be up at three having her hair prepared), eventually conking out as evening falls (thank goodness the provinces don’t do nights).
I was cringingly aware that my finances fell way short of the family’s expectations, but the disparity was resolved with breath-taking simplicity. I told them how much I felt I could stump up (small change by western standards, but I’m not on a western salary, nor do I have property or investments back home like most expats; even by Cambodian standards it’s a rather modest sum for a wedding), so the parents immediately decided to dip into their own pockets to make up any shortfall. That’s not the custom here and I do feel a little bad about it, but on the other hand I do deeply appreciate how they so readily accept my limited resources, and it increases my confidence that I’m going to have a superb relationship with my in-laws (by the way, a dowry is also customary but they’ve shrugged their shoulders and said ‘never mind’ over that too).
Besides, it is the custom at weddings that guests bring cash rather than gifts (so no toast racks or cut crystal glasses, thank goodness) and there’s every chance it will add up to something close to the parents’ outlay, so they should break even. Another symptom of how far I’ve moved: we spent an afternoon in a modelling agency and I loved it.
The family wished to have wedding invitations made up with our photos on the card, which necessitated a trip to a photographer. With my fiancée’s best friend’s husband being in the karaoke video business, we were taken to the photo salon used by the country’s top models, singers and movie stars. I watched as my fiancée had a make-over which took two hours (I just had to throw on a couple of costumes – dig the skirt and the silly shoes, but I still managed to forget to comb my hair), and then it was time for the photo shoot.
I was impressed with the way that we were treated exactly the same as the other ‘customers’. We jostled for mirror and changing space with one of Cambodia’s leading actresses – eventually she lost out and retreated behind the screen to do her thirty-odd costume changes. She was a really nice lady with no hints of ‘prima donna’ behaviour. She repeated a mantra I’m hearing all the time – ‘You’re not like other foreigners’ – it’s meant as a complement, and very kindly bade us farewell with the comment that she was jealous of the missus having such a humble husband (I just got shy and forgot all my Khmer). When we descended the stairs to the shop front we found ourselves caught up in the shooting of a youth TV show.
I’ll finish with a not so much ‘curious’ aspect to the wedding preparations as downright scary. My beloved’s best friend, the one who fixed us up with the modelling agency, offered my fiancée some further assistance. With the best of intentions, she insisted that Western men don’t like small breasts and urged her to go to a beauty salon for a boob job before her husband discovers the true nature of the assets.
Evidently for just a few dollars you can take a ‘medicine’ to enlarge your breasts. Surely if it were that straightforward – and safe – it would be available over the counter in Boots the Chemist. I dreaded to think what this elixir might involve; anyway, she was relieved at my response since she figured her mum wouldn’t have been too impressed if she’d gone ahead (another example of my inadvertently saying the right thing). What women do for vanity is quite sickening in this part of the world.
Sralang Apsara
