My partner and I got married in 2011, the year he graduated from university in Sydney. It happened the week before Christmas. I bought a $99 dress online – an ivory knee-length piece that I still wear to some parties. Our wedding rings weren’t expensive, but they were our rings for life. My husband had saved up to buy them. To me, that felt like luxury.
Only a handful of friends were invited to our wedding. One of them did my hair and make-up. I booked dinner at a restaurant near Melbourne’s Docklands. The whole thing cost less than $2,000. In many ways, it felt like a perfect day. The only problem was that being overseas students, neither of us had family around to celebrate with us. Little did we know that would change.
Two years later, we would find ourselves having two more weddings.
The happy couple’s first wedding in Australia. Source: Supplied
In 2013, after getting our permanent residency in Australia, my partner and I decided to take an overdue trip back to our respective home countries for a visit. My husband grew up in Bangladesh, while I came from China’s icy Harbin. Incidentally, both of our parents felt it was the perfect opportunity for a wedding do-over while we were in town.
Our first stop was Bangladesh, where my in-laws organised and paid for a traditional, 400-guest wedding. My brother-in-law was the wingman. He was also our wedding planner – the person who not only picked out my wedding gown, but also organised bridal hair and make-up without complaint.
On my Bangladeshi wedding day, I was taken to a “celebrity beauty salon”. Though I couldn’t speak a word of Bengali, everyone made me feel welcome – a little famous, even. I had two traditional saris for the home ceremonies and a bridal lehenga for the reception. The lehenga was floor-length, red and heavy. The traditional gold jewellery pieces were hefty, too. I had never worn so many things on my hair and body. That alone was a surreal experience for me.
Since my husband came from a Hindu family, we had a small religious ceremony at home, attended only by his relatives. The scale of the evening quickly shifted, however, at the wedding reception – where more than 400 guests showed up. Naturally, I didn’t know most people’s names. But even my husband had barely met half of them. We were told that ours was a “small” celebration. I had never been more blown over by small things.
The second wedding in Bangladesh. Source: Supplied
A month later, we left the subtropical heat of Bangladesh for my hometown in Harbin. It was deep winter in China. My parents, uncles and aunts had to pick us up from the airport with fur jackets in tow, wrapping us up before ushering us into the car.
My husband was an instant hit with my relatives. Though he had zero Mandarin skills, everyone seemed to love chatting with him. In my hometown, he tried and fell in love with hearty north-eastern Chinese cooking – meat buns, braised pork, spicy side dishes – and thanks to the daily practice, he finally learned to properly hold his chopsticks.
We were exhausted after our travels and the Bangladeshi wedding, so we asked for ours to be simplified. My parents agreed to invite “only” 200 guests
When the first snow came, my husband was mesmerised. Since he was born in a hot country, he had never seen snow. Thanks to his utter enthusiasm, I saw winter in my childhood home with a renewed sense of awe.
For our Harbin wedding, my parents organised everything. Traditionally, there are three parts to the day: the reception, an official ceremony and an enormous party. We were exhausted after our travels and the Bangladeshi wedding, so we asked for ours to be simplified. My parents agreed to invite “only” 200 guests.
I bought my dress the week before the big day. It was a white gown with fur shoulder straps, which cost no more than $200. Mum took me to her own hairdresser for hair and make-up. The stylist was confused when she noticed my lack of enthusiasm at the whole thing.
“Aren’t you happy to be a bride?” the stylist asked.
Angie and her husband in China at their third wedding. Source: Supplied
Tired and jet-lagged, her insistence on good cheer was the final straw for me.
“It’s my third time getting married,” I snapped.
Later, I explained that even though this was my first and only husband, it was our third wedding in as many years.
The most incredible thing about our wedding in Harbin – besides being able to celebrate with my parents – was getting to feast on the food I grew up with. Things such as liangpi (spicy cold noodles with mixed vegetables), roast duck, braised abalone with mushrooms and steamed cod – all the greatest hits. On the night, each of the 20 banquet tables was served around 30 local dishes.
To top the evening off, all our guests gifted us with red envelopes. This meant we broke even on party expenses and managed to avoid a huge wedding debt.
More than a decade on, I can still hardly believe our tri-nations “wedding tour”. Yet the evidence is there: each time we look at photos from the trip – our smiles a little frozen, our eyes droopy and jet-lagged – we are reminded that those were the parties of a lifetime.
