When my husband and I eloped in December 2020, we promised ourselves that we'd have a big party later.
We hurried to marry because we wanted to start a family. I didn't realise I was traditional until it became imperative for me to do one before the other. "If we're creating life", I told my confused partner, "I need the paperwork legally binding us together".
We didn't know when "later" would be, given the pandemic. Charlie's immediate family was in Victoria but mine were beyond the closed borders in Western Australia and Sri Lanka. I didn't know when I'd see them for a hug, let alone a party.
So, we eloped. Then we blinked and three brutal years of newlywed life flew past, with the ongoing pandemic, miscarriages, my father's death, IVF and the unique overwhelm of living in a house while renovating it.
Planning a party free from tradition
After our fourth miscarriage, Charlie and I decided to manufacture some joy and started planning a definitely-not-wedding party. When we emailed the invites, we made it clear that this was just a party and no overseas or interstate guests were obligated to come.
To our surprise, and my social-anxiety ridden horror, most RSVPed yes.
I went into a tailspin. As an eight-time bridesmaid, I knew that even as a fake bride, there were many meticulous details to plan. Then Charlie reminded me that there were no traditions for this party. We were already married, we could do whatever we wanted.
So, we did away with perfection and focused on what was important to us; good food, booze, dancing and a lot of fun. We had only two must-haves, Sri Lankan food (mine) and a live band (his).
There would be no bridal party. Two of our favourite people would conduct a not-wedding ceremony. The guests would decorate an arch on arrival, which we expected to go terribly wrong but be funny.
Charlie and I would walk in with both of our families, the kids with bubble guns. We'd ditch a wedding dance in favour of a duet of an 80s banger with the band (Two Strong Hearts by John Farnham, complete with dance moves), who would go on to play only 80s bangers.
So much more than a party
Given much of the planning was around 80s bangers, I was stunned that the actual event felt like so much more than a party, even after being married for four years.
My whole extended family descended into Melbourne days earlier, so that both families could fill our home the night before the not-wedding. It was surreal to have them together under our newly stable roof.
My family who I had deeply missed and hadn't all been together since 2018. Plus there were my in-laws, the best one can ask for and the reason life was bearable when the borders were closed.
Being able to get dressed-up with my family was something I didn't take for granted. The ceremony, planned as a lark, was oddly emotional under an inexplicably beautiful arch. Charlie and I swapped rings for the first time, one detail we had kept for when everyone we loved was present.
We made new vows in the presence of so many and they felt different. The first vows were punts on a future that held far more grief than we could have foreseen. And here we still were, holding each other's gazes with love, hope and promises.
Something changed that night
In the lead-up to the not-wedding, I was overwhelmed by the generosity of everyone in our lives. Friends helped with the bar, and family found the caterer, paid for the suppliers and helped with the set up and pack down.
The evening was a carousel of so many different parts of our lives coming together. Speeches by our parents (minus my father, who was in every smile I saw) and our siblings coloured in many parts of our lives unknown to the other. Friends from our past and present worlds collided. I wore flats the whole evening.
It was a long overdue win with many after parties, where guests got lost between them. There were no cons, apart from the Fitzroy North residents who called the police at 9pm on a Saturday evening because the music was too loud.
Aside from those ding dongs, there was a key takeaway for me. Charlie and I were so determined to start a family, the weight of failure was a constant ache in my soul. But there, in front of my eyes, were all the branches of all the trees that we were already part of.
I felt the ache lift that night. It has become much lighter since.
Sashi Perera is a comedian, writer and former lawyer based in Naarm/Melbourne. Find her on Instagram and Substack.
