A couple of years back, a friend of mine – we had been flatmates at university – got married in London. I was in Israel at the time and reasoned with myself that it’d be too far, too expensive, too everything, and that was that.
The wedding was beautiful: a full Indian wedding in the middle of London, and all five of my university flatmates were there. All five of them. This was the only time we’d managed to do that since leaving university, since only three of us are from London, the other three are from Italy, France and Germany. It could have been the perfect reunion. This way though, the only one missing was – me.
Back then, I made a vow to myself to *never* miss a friend’s wedding again.
A couple of days ago, I found myself in a bit of a dilemma because of that. One of those said flatmates, the one from Italy, told me she was getting married this summer. The weekend of the wedding is the same one my oldest friend (and bridesmaid) chose to get married, though. Ah no, I thought. I’ll have to choose. But the Italian wedding was going to be on friday and sunday, the German one on saturday. Maybe, just maybe, I could do both.
I checked flight times. I re-checked. I tried several different airport. I emailed a lot with my friend in Italy. I learned that our French flatmate was going to be there, too, whom I haven’t seen in a long time either. I became even more ambitious, but still didn’t find a flight. I waited a couple of days. I checked again. And then, there it was: a flight that would bring me to the first wedding in Italy and back in time for the second one, and it was affordable, too. No thinking this time, I thought, and clicked “book”.
I won’t sleep much during those three days. I’ll be spending quite some time at airports, worrying about the timing, running from gate to gate, hoping for the best.
But I will be there. I will be there and hug and kiss my friends. We’ll laugh and we’ll cry, we’ll drink and eat together. We’ll BE together, if only for a couple of hours.
Nothing could be worth more than that.