Mostly because of the high entertainment value and weird encounters.
It’s Malaysia after all.
Plus, the larger the crowd, the greater the probablility of silly things happening I guess.
My brother and I arrived in Kuala Lumpur in the afternoon and were escorted to my uncle’s house crammed full of old people.
The ratio of kids (ages 0 to 30 years ) to old people (ages 31 years and above) are 1 to 4.
The pre-wedding dinner was a sumptuous spread of fried tom yam rice, fried vermicelli, curry chicken, stir-fried veggies, fried calamari rings (deceptively soggy despite its crisp appearance), fried ‘ayamas’ chicken, indian rojak, leathery satay (in order of queue).
We kids were deceived by the look and smell of the fried calamari rings.
We lined ourselves around the calamari rings section to deter anyone from reaching the dish.
When we piled our plates and taken a bite of the calamari, it was … pure despair.
Disclaimer: The photo is taken after the guests cleared most of the food.
This is not the actual pre-wedding dinner spread although it resembles a typical Hari Raya dinner buffet.
We kids had a very entertaining breakfast at the hotel the next morning, to the lovely Donald Duck rendition of some Hari Raya song. We made our way back to my uncle’s house to give our support to my cousin, who’s all dressed up to collect the bride.
Another cousin of mine is our driver-cum-babysitter and we trailed behind the motorcade festooned with white and pink ribbons. Along the way we saw an indian guy running with his arms swinging limply by his sides. Interesting.
The driver-cum-babysitter drove like an F1 driver, all Fast and Furious.
We were clutching against our seats as he raced across the KL highways.
He was so ‘fast’ he could hardly catch up with the damn electric blue car decorated with ribbons and pink gauze.
Thanks to the toll stations. we managed to pull behind the damn electric blue car.
One of the damn electric blue car’s passenger stuck his head out and looked at us, then behind us to check out for anymore losers trailing behind.
Ying san commented she thought he was going to give us the insulting thumbs down.
We finally reached the bride’s house and we kids were dressed so casually, anyone might mistake us for passersby who had just come back from the morning market and had decided to gatecrash a wedding.
In Chinese wedding culture, the bridegroom has to undergo various obstacles to prove his worthiness to the bride and her loved ones.
Now who says that women are in an unfavourable position when it comes to Chinese traditions?
My brother and I thought of various ‘challenges’ for my future prospective husband such as licking the feet of all the bridesmaids and bestmen, eating durian mixed with natto et cetera.
The photos show how my cousin was humiliated, from blowing eggplant shaped balloons to dancing like a Cantopop fan (both arms swinging slowly like a metronome to the music of ‘Dragonstea din Tei’), to making my cousin and his bestmen hump each other… sorry.
Speaking of humping, we caught sight of my driver-cum-babysitter cousin and my brother raping the roasted pig.
Sorry, they were moving the roasted pig to the car but the photo seemed to tell a different story.
But that’s not the end of it…
My cousin’s gramps had a go at the sucking pig.
That explains why the roasted pork was so finger-licking good. Sorry.
Back to the wedding, the official wedding manager (in red chinese top and black pants) known as ‘Tai kam cheh’ began the wedding rituals, shouting at the couple to bow to the deities and pay their respects to the ancestors.
Yes, shouting. She really sounded like she’s scolding the couple or the deities.
The most unforgettable moment was when she tip toed in the kitchen, turned around and giggled. While going ‘hee-hee’, she picked up a cleaver and held it menacingly as if she was going to dismember a corpse.
We kids started to sweat in our casual pants.
We watched her dismember the pig skilfully, chopping and dividing the animal into 6 large pieces.
Next up, the much-awaited bridal bouquet toss.
A long-cherished tradition of the West where the person who catches the bouquet will be freed from the chains of singlehood.
My cousin Yen, (↑) who’s dating a Japanese, told us she’ll participate just to make it look more crowded.
She said she didn’t care if she could not get the bouquet.
But a minute later, she told us she actually does give a damn about it.
Both of us took our position at the right side and saw the bride motion at her bridesmaids that she was going to toss the bouquet towards the left.
She threw the flowers into the air and it landed with a ba-thump at my feet.
There was a heavy silence in the air for a moment as everyone stared at the lump of roses on the ground.
I yelled at Yen to pick up the flowers but she just stood there hesitating.
I grabbed her arm and thrusted her hand onto the rosy lump. GOAL!
Next year, she’ll be inviting me to her wedding in Japan.
I hope her dad won’t try to kill me.
Yen gave me a rose as commission for my effort. Somehow, I could sense malice behind me (Ying’s aunt looked like she’s ready to punch me ala Bruce Lee) … …
Ying san did a Dissidia version of this photo.
And finally, the wedding dinner.
We dressed up and ruminated on our cousin’s romantic
‘My money is your money. Your money is your money.’
love confession to his bride while waiting for the car.
My brother really looked like a scheming and tyrannical businessman who’s made it big in the city while his rural country mother sits next to him uneasily.
No worries, he’s actually quite harmless.
He might even give you a frappucino on the house.
We girls noticed that the shoes each of us wore matched the dress the other was wearing.
Me in black dress but purple pumas. Ying in turquoise dress but black boots. Yen in purple dress but in turquoise sandals.
The dinner was good.
The service was within my expectations, which was pretty low to start since it’s Malaysia.
I got tipsy after a few glasses of red wine and was begging my cousin (driver-cum-babysitter-cum pork rapist) to bring me to the Ministry of Sound next door.
I became sober after I had a sip of the ‘çhampagne’ which the couple toasted everyone with onstage.
It was carbonated grape concentrate.
We also discovered that the towering bridal confection was a towering falsity made of coloured dough.
As long as there is LOVE, anyplace is paradise.
My brother is lovesick… … or he is just sick.