This was a video we filmed for Newlyweds Dish, and let me start by saying that The Boss and I did not pay for our own wedding. And that was the main reason that both of us automatically had less say in who was going to be present during our nuptials. In the U.S., couples paying for their own wedding is the norm, but in our Indian culture, it’s the complete opposite. In fact, it’s almost unheard of. There are a few exceptions though, like, a re-marriage for example, or a couple who chooses to get married later in life and has a stronger financial foundation at say, 35 than they would have at like, 26.

During the wedding planning process, the only time I got into a disagreement with either of my parents was when we were going over the guest list. I wanted a small wedding. A SMALL WEDDING. And by small, I meant like THIRTEEN PEOPLE SMALL. Of course I realized quite early on that wouldn’t be possible since our extended family (whom I’m very close with) totaled like, five times that number.

So then I said, okay, no more than 150. See how much I compromised, You Guys? I went from THIRTEEN to ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY. And then my dad yelled at me. Like, actually YELLED at me. And the last time he yelled at me was when I was like, 16. I thought I was going to cry, but instead I just went upstairs to my room…like I was 16.

Let me explain what happened.

I said, “I don’t want people who I don’t know at the wedding,” and he goes, “THAT’S ENOUGH!” and then my heart jumped out of my chest and landed on my foot. My dad went on to say that there were people from his life that were important to him, and he wanted them at the wedding of his daughter. And then he yelled (and I quote) “THAT’S THE LAST TIME YOU’RE GOING TO SAY ANYTHING ABOUT THAT!”

He was so right, You Guys. I NEVER BROUGHT IT UP AGAIN.

We ended up with about 220 people at our wedding, and I was okay with that after a lot of effort on my mom’s part to help me understand why we needed so many people there. My mom sat me down one afternoon (after she yelled at me the previous day for pretty much the same thing my dad yelled at me about, which made my heart stop twice in two days because the last time I got yelled at by my mom was also when I was like, 16), and then we had the following exchange:

Mom: Sabrina, if [bff] Tina’s daughter was getting married, wouldn’t you want to be a part of it?

Me: DUH.

Mom: Why? Because Tina is so special to you, right? Because you’ve been best friends since you were 7 years old. So when Tina has children, they will be even more special to you because she is so special to you.

Me: OBVI.

Mom: Okay, now Tina’s daughter tells her that she doesn’t want you at her wedding.

Me: WHAT?!

Mom: See how you reacted?

Me: Yeah, because it’s not her decision! Tina is MY best friend!

Mom: Exactly. So that’s how Dad and I feel. There are people in our lives who have been as close to us as Tina is to you. And even though we don’t see them all the time, or they didn’t have a hand in raising you like all the aunties and uncles you grew up with, that doesn’t mean they’re not special to us, or you’re not special to them.

Me: …

Mom: So it’s really hurtful when you say that you don’t want people we love, even if you don’t know them, to be at your wedding.

Me: …

Mom: Do you understand?

Me: I understand that I have an urge to punch Tina’s non-exsistent daughter in the face.

Mom: Ugh, Sabrina, go find something to do.

Someone should send my mom flowers for what she has to deal with. (Please include my name on the card).

At the wedding, there was a moment when I understood the example my mom gave me earlier. It was a moment when I met “their Tina.” I was chatting with some guests after the ceremony when two elderly women (maybe in their late 70s, early 80s) approached me. They were so overwhelmed to meet me, one of them held my face in her hands for what felt like several minutes just gazing at me with a smile on her face, her wrinkled skin angled slighting up around her mouth, the crows feet abundant around her eyes. And all she kept saying was, “I can’t believe you’re [your father's] daughter. We’re so happy to be here with you. God bless you, God bless you.”

Those two elderly women drove for more than 13 hours to be at my wedding, and I felt so humbled in that moment. Not because of how much they loved me, but because of how much they loved the people who birthed me. My wedding day was not about my clothes, or my bouquet, or my photographers. It was about this deep-rooted love that people had for my parents, and how that love transcended generations without losing any force.

Of course with any wedding, we did have to shave our guest list a little, but ultimately, everyone whom God had written to be at our wedding was there to celebrate with us. And I haven’t been yelled at by my parents since.

This reminds me of one of those word association tests. Like, someone at the grocery store said, CHEESE BALLS over the intercom, and Uzma was all, SABRINA!!! and went running. I’m so proud to be her sister.

I’ve also started my spiritual preparations for Ramadan, which will start in August. I usually try to pack up my thoughts and head toward My Zone 60 days out. It gives me a little bit of a head start since the month can be as overwhelming and emotional as it is amazing and beautiful. Other than that, The Boss and I have started talking plans for our three-year anniversary, which is just about a month away! Since we’re in Connecticut now (we celebrated Year 1 and Year 2 in L.A.), we’re toying with the idea of staying semi-local and discovering some of the beautiful spots in the cluster of states around us. Any suggestions and/or ideas would be welcomed and appreciated!

While I remain buried under a pile of Life, I thought I’d remind all of of us of a time when Punk Brother and Little Punk were tiny tots who could sit in my lap without blocking my vision. Yes, Friends, those times are no more. I saw the Punks two weeks ago, and again this past weekend, and I drowned in my own nostalgia of their earlier years. It was like Little BFF and the Punks all grew up over night. The last in line, Ladda, is still small, but she pretty much has no idea who I am since The Boss and I moved to L.A. before she was born; I’m pretty offended that she doesn’t seem to remember our meeting when she was 3 months old. How soon they forget.

So everyone is getting big, and I don’t like it. I’m proud of who the kids are turning out to be as little people — their personalities are budding, and they’re kind, loving and generous. But they’re growing up too fast, and seeing them reminds me that I really miss them; I guess I just didn’t realize how much until now. I snapped some photos of them over the weekend, which I’ll share in this space in a few days, but for now, an ode to the Punks’ younger days.

Brother and Sister from Sabrina Enayatulla on Vimeo.