Perspective
It had been five years since I had graduated from university. Five years that seemed like a lifetime to me. I had moved to a different country and now lived a seemingly different life to most of my university friends, though still managing to keep in touch – the wonders of modern technology!
I would often fret over missing important milestones in the lives of my university friends when I first moved away – weddings, babies, a new job, a promotion. My fears were put to rest a year ago when a spate of wedding invitations started to flood my inbox – destination weddings, small weddings, avant-garde weddings.
A few weeks ago, I received my fifth such invitation. A unique invitation to a livestream event, the couple had decided to invite just a few close family members in person but still wanted to have the broader friend group join in the celebrations.
Let me tell you a bit about this couple, they were as unusual as their wedding invitation. The girl, Tara, had been the daughter of a high-ranking Indian diplomat who had been transferred to over a dozen countries as Tara was growing up. As a result, she had friends everywhere in the world but no one she was especially close to. Alex, her fiancée, was the first in his family to attend university, coming from a less well-to-do background where labour was valued more dearly than higher education. We were all part of the same programming class our first year and formed a group of five friends who’ve stayed connected since then.
They weren’t initially very close, as you can imagine. They just did not have many life experiences in common. However, halfway through our second year, Tara had a massive row with her family over what she should study and her career path, a saga that eventually resulted in her having a meagre allowance and being cut off financially apart from her tuition being paid. Alex was the only person who could empathise with her financial situation.
They have been together since then, through highs and lows – Alex getting accepted for a master’s program across the country, Tara trying her hand at an open relationship to overcome the distance and almost breaking off what she had with Alex in the process.
Seeing the invitation brought a smile to my face. They deserved this happily ever after, given everything they had been through.
As I scanned through the email, my eyes hovered uncertainly over the third paragraph. The wedding would feature a video reel of all their friends wishing them the very best in their married life. All virtual guests were requested to provide a video of their wishes.
I swallowed deeply and sweat began to seep through my t-shirt; I hated the prospect of having to record a video and potentially watch it.
A few days later, on a winter Saturday, I decided to record my message.
“How long should I make my message? Under a minute?”, I wondered aloud, before quickly shaking my head at my own suggestion.
“That is too long no one will want to listen to you for more than thirty seconds,” I berated myself, rolling my eyes.
I sat down on the couch and began scribbling down a few notes on what I was going to say.
Hi Tara and Alex! I am so happy for you and I wish I could be there at your wedding. Wishing you a very happy married life and we will surely celebrate when I see you next.
“Oh no, this makes it seem like I am miffed at not being invited to the wedding. I need to change this.”
Hi Tara and Alex! I am so happy for you guys and sending you my best wishes for the day. Hope you guys have a very happy married life and we will surely celebrate when I see you next.
“To be honest, I am not sure when they will play this clip. Maybe the wedding festivities are already over, so I should not send them any best wishes for the day. I think ‘Hi’ at the beginning is also extremely formal.”
Tara and Alex! I am so happy for you guys. Hope you have a very happy married life and we will surely celebrate when I see you next.
I nodded to myself with a sense of achievement as a smile deepened across my face. I had finally fought through my own vocal criticisms. The message was short and sweet, and would also, thankfully, mean that I would not have to endure seeing myself on video for too long.
The message decided, I then turned my attention to the camera on my phone through which I would be recording myself. I first placed the phone on the coffee table, but the angle was too low highlighting my double chin and long neck.
“I look like an obese ostrich, the angle has to change,” I grumbled.
I began piling magazines and picture books on the coffee table and built a throne for my phone to stand on.
“Much better, I have a well-dimensioned face now! But I look quite dark on the screen,” I sighed, dissatisfied with the outcome.
I walked over to my bedroom and unplugged the lamp, carrying it back with me to the couch where I was planning on doing my recording. I angled the lamp such that the light would fall on my face and then checked myself in the camera again.
“Almost there! I just need to fix my hair now so it does not look like I am housing an unkempt nest fit for a sparrow,” I announced to no one as I got up to go to the mirror.
After three attempts at combing and re-combing my hair. I was finally satisfied with the way I would look in my video.
I sat down on my favourite couch, well not exactly a couch but the baby-blue settee that was next to the bookcase. The phone was a few feet in front of me on the coffee table. I hit the record button and began reading the short message I had composed. I triumphantly pressed the stop button when I finished and decided to view my handiwork.
The video clip, as I replayed it, felt very impersonal. I could almost picture a politician giving a partially rehearsed speech while occasionally glancing at his notes. My voice had a steady tone throughout, and the exclamation point in the first line of my written message had hardly translated to the clip.
“If they saw this they would either think I was somehow upset at this wedding taking place or that I was disinterested beyond a care,” I shook my head. “This won’t do.”
The second attempt would be livelier, I decided. I wanted to show them that the message was truly heartfelt.
I plastered on a wide smile and pressed play, spending the next few seconds undulating my voice and gesturing wherever I thought appropriate to bring more oomph to the whole affair.
“I look like a circus monkey,” I lamented as I watched the recording. “This sounds like bad or overdone play-acting along with an attempt to communicate everything through some obscure sign language.”
By this time, I was comfortable with the message I was going to give and decided to try something new – imagine that Tara and Alex were sitting where the phone stood. I would not have a sheet of paper and would just give them the simple congratulations, which was the original intention in any case.
I pressed play and spoke to the camera.
“This is perfect,” I smiled to myself after watching that last video again. “I think this is the one, but let me wait for a couple of days and play it again and make sure I still like it before I send it.”
The next weekend, I received a reminder email to send the video across for the wedding.
“Oh, I completely forgot about this video. Let me look at it again and send it across,” I admonished myself.
Having found the clip, I was immediately disconcerted as the thumbnail had captured a highly unflattering facial expression, probably as I was mid-sentence.
I pressed play and rewatched, bringing back to mind all the trials and tribulations of filming this innocuous, supposedly happy, and carefree video.
“Is it normal for people to hate how they appear on screen?” I wondered out loud.
Eventually, I decided to just send the video across rather than ponder over how I appeared or presented myself.
The day of the wedding came, and I had completely forgotten about the video request and the product I had managed to deliver and submit.
The excitement of watching my friends get married, albeit remotely, took over. I decided to dress up for the occasion, pretending to transport myself to the intimate gathering with lights, music and chatter – instead of sitting on my couch alone with a half-empty glass of wine that was emptying with unforeseen ease.
My friends looked breath-taking, but as the ceremony started to come to an end, I became anxious that the videos that all of us friends had recorded might actually be played for the guests in attendance. Thankfully, I had misunderstood the intention of the videos, they were to be viewed by the couple privately and not broadcast for public humiliation.
I took a screenshot of Tara and Alex and sent it to them with a quick congratulations text before shutting the stream and going to bed.
A few days later, I received a response from Tara and Alex.
“Thank you so much for your wishes. We got to see your video as well, one of the few that seemed warm and genuine I must say (this stays between us). You look so good and healthy! And happy as well. We can’t wait to come and visit you soon.”
I smiled at the message as I read it through bleary eyes, still in my bed in the first throws of waking up.
I wondered, staring at myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth vigorously a few minutes later, “What a different perspective people have on themselves compared to what others have of them!” Toothpaste dribbled down my chin as I lost track of my brushing.