REAL
LOVE
WORKS in giant letters mounted above the greenery along the driveway. Even after three years on this island a shock carried. Fort Canning Park where the famous gleaming elevator rose up the slope featured the same Hollywood Hills inspired lettering for identification. The Registry of Marriage building stood on Canning Rise, the little wooded hillock needing to be skirted coming from the direction of Bras Basah.
The house-mate Richard Ong was getting married. Early sixties was not exceptional for marriage in Singapore; an older Chinese man taking a younger Indonesian or Mainland Chinese wife was common too. Richard and Ami had a three year old daughter. Questions of residency and schooling made formal marriage prudent.
Two witnesses to the marriage were required. The landlord Mr. Tan, away on a trip to the States, was not able to fulfill the function as promised. Richard's roommate was unreliable. A couple of work-mates had undertaken the duty, but Richard remained nervous. A reserve witness would reassure the anxious groom. In the event the two young work colleagues kept the appointment, all was well. A $15 charge was added for the substitution of the original witness, Landlord Tan. Never mind.
Indoors the aspect was of a train station, German or Swiss. A pair of screens listed counter numbers and gave a kind of wedding-bells chime for each update. It needed a few ringings to recall the old Avon Calling TV advertisements from a generation ago down in the great Southern land. Loud peels echoing in the chamber.
Neat attire was more in evidence than formal gowns and suits; these were administrative affairs, not textbook magazine romances come to fruition. There were a couple of exceptions. Two giant floral hearts, plastic more than likely, stood in one corner behind a green velvet bench-seat for photographs. Couples and in one case parents of the happy pair exchanged positions in the tight frame. Order and smooth functioning like a well-administered transport timetable.
Within the room to the side the ceremony lasted a short twenty minutes, a young woman officiating from behind a large, colonial-style desk. The vows were made standing, a stuttering affair with the English being so difficult for both Richard and Ami—Sukami officially. Twice the clerk asked for the holding of hands and twice too for eye-contact during the exchange of vows. In this his second marriage bumbling Richard began placing the ring on the right hand of his bride and needed to be re-directed. Many brides and grooms would struggle at this place in the very same way. The older witness at Richard and Ami's wedding, a Tamil-Malay bachelor who described his Japanese proficiency as kamikaze—the chaps worked for a Japanese Tourism company—had pointed out the various mixed nationalities in the waiting area: mainland Chinese, Viet, Indonesian, Westerners, Thai. The various odd combinations were unmistakable. A multi-cultural triumph of sorts.
Would you like to kiss the bride? the clerk encouraged finally. This needed repetition too. Oh. Oh. Richard obliged once, then a second time, too quick for the Malay-Tamil photographer. And the lips Richard, the lips. Richard obliged once more.
WORKS in giant letters mounted above the greenery along the driveway. Even after three years on this island a shock carried. Fort Canning Park where the famous gleaming elevator rose up the slope featured the same Hollywood Hills inspired lettering for identification. The Registry of Marriage building stood on Canning Rise, the little wooded hillock needing to be skirted coming from the direction of Bras Basah.
The house-mate Richard Ong was getting married. Early sixties was not exceptional for marriage in Singapore; an older Chinese man taking a younger Indonesian or Mainland Chinese wife was common too. Richard and Ami had a three year old daughter. Questions of residency and schooling made formal marriage prudent.
Two witnesses to the marriage were required. The landlord Mr. Tan, away on a trip to the States, was not able to fulfill the function as promised. Richard's roommate was unreliable. A couple of work-mates had undertaken the duty, but Richard remained nervous. A reserve witness would reassure the anxious groom. In the event the two young work colleagues kept the appointment, all was well. A $15 charge was added for the substitution of the original witness, Landlord Tan. Never mind.
Indoors the aspect was of a train station, German or Swiss. A pair of screens listed counter numbers and gave a kind of wedding-bells chime for each update. It needed a few ringings to recall the old Avon Calling TV advertisements from a generation ago down in the great Southern land. Loud peels echoing in the chamber.
Neat attire was more in evidence than formal gowns and suits; these were administrative affairs, not textbook magazine romances come to fruition. There were a couple of exceptions. Two giant floral hearts, plastic more than likely, stood in one corner behind a green velvet bench-seat for photographs. Couples and in one case parents of the happy pair exchanged positions in the tight frame. Order and smooth functioning like a well-administered transport timetable.
Within the room to the side the ceremony lasted a short twenty minutes, a young woman officiating from behind a large, colonial-style desk. The vows were made standing, a stuttering affair with the English being so difficult for both Richard and Ami—Sukami officially. Twice the clerk asked for the holding of hands and twice too for eye-contact during the exchange of vows. In this his second marriage bumbling Richard began placing the ring on the right hand of his bride and needed to be re-directed. Many brides and grooms would struggle at this place in the very same way. The older witness at Richard and Ami's wedding, a Tamil-Malay bachelor who described his Japanese proficiency as kamikaze—the chaps worked for a Japanese Tourism company—had pointed out the various mixed nationalities in the waiting area: mainland Chinese, Viet, Indonesian, Westerners, Thai. The various odd combinations were unmistakable. A multi-cultural triumph of sorts.
Would you like to kiss the bride? the clerk encouraged finally. This needed repetition too. Oh. Oh. Richard obliged once, then a second time, too quick for the Malay-Tamil photographer. And the lips Richard, the lips. Richard obliged once more.
No comments:
Post a Comment