The Pre-Wedding Story

Two weeks before my wedding, my mother appealed for a second bridal outfit: a white wedding dress. I resented her for the short notice during a period of madness, but I did it anyway.

It was not that her request was reasonable. It is the opposite of reasoning.

We Vietnamese have a legitimately gorgeous traditional wedding gown, which was agreed upon when two families agreed on the plan a year previous.

My mother waited through the months and the many preparations required for a Vietnam-based wedding for which the bride, the groom, the groom's family and many of the couple's friends would travel from abroad. Then, amidst the busiest time of it all, she declared that it had always been her dream that I would get married in a Western-style white dress.

Renting a white dress for a Vietnamese wedding is fairly straightforward. Most brides choose such a dress for their big day and the carefully curated pre-wedding photoshoot. So rental stores are in abundance.

On any other day, I would not have complained about the two weeks' notice that Mum gave me. But it was not any other day.

It was three days after my entire in-law family (parents and siblings) landed in Hanoi for a week of travelling before the wedding, and two days before I would be off as the nominated tour guide and interpreter for the trip.

I was being pulled in many directions and places, still reacclimating to the heat and humidity of the homeland where I lived for 10 months out of the last seven years previous to the wedding. But I squeezed in a visit to a rental shop to get myself a white wedding dress that I didn't want.

My in-laws weren't the only ones who travelled to Hanoi for our wedding. They were the first, yet my friend Mandy was the last.

After two flights totalling ten hours, Mandy landed at the city's airport in the afternoon before the big day.

After two flights totalling ten hours, Mandy landed at the city's airport in the afternoon before the big day.

At 7 pm, I sought her out from the airport crowd and got us a taxi back to the centre of Hanoi, where my parents live. We hadn't seen each other for five years, and Mandy needed to return to Xian in two days, so I determined to make every minute count, catching up and having fun.

There was one problem, though: I felt like throwing up.

7 pm in downtown Hanoi means chaos. We encountered careless driving in the half-light from the many drivers trying to get home for dinner, which was not at all good for those with travel sickness like me. To make things worse, I was sweaty and weak with a fever that started three days previous when I was touring with my in-laws 1,000 km south.

My stomach upturned each time the driver slammed on the brake. My throat itched, but I dared not to cough, terrified it would start something nastier. I had to stop talking to Mandy because of the nausea. I felt bad for not being friendly, but I was more exhausted.

Somehow, I survived the journey. Mandy and I returned to my parent's house just in time for dinner.

The food was plenty as my parents welcomed our guest and sent off the bride-to-be. But I could only stay at the table for ten minutes while eating nothing.

Then I crawled back to my childhood bed.

The following two hours were blurry. I drifted in and out of consciousness. When I awoke, I apologised to someone: Mandy, whom I took to my home and left sitting in my room without any companion; my soon-to-be husband, who worried sick about me on the phone; and my family, who insisted on me eating at least something before the big day.

At 10 pm, rescue came in the shape of my best friend, Miki. She brought some salted plums for my travel sickness and took Mandy back to her place so that I could rest without feeling guilty.

As I was alone at last in my room, suckling the familiar salty sweet from my forever comfort food, my tummy stopped rumbling, and my mind became clear: It was time to stop letting guilt dictate my actions.

I had been running around, trying to make everyone else happy because they made the effort to be there for my wedding day. In the process, I got myself a fever and quite the exhaustion, which lasted a few more days, including the supposed most important day of my life.

But, thanks to the salted plums, I let myself be completely happy holding on to my man's hand, even if my lack of energy meant I failed to give my guests the biggest smile and the warmest welcome.