I called the roofer today, and he says the roof is a mess. Disheartening, but at the same time not so surprising. Like the flooring in my apartment, the roof has multiple layers made by people in the past who didn't want to spend the money to actually remove the previous layers before putting on a "new" roof. The roofer says it's getting really heavy, with seven layers already. He will give me estimates for different options at the end of this week. I wonder how I will pay for this. But it didn't bother me long. I take things as they come, I guess.
I am sleepy. Last night came home around 2:15 and went to bed 2:45, four hours of sleep. I have a new guest, a guy. A friend. A teacher. An ex of someone else I know. I don't think they are talking much. In some twisted way I am relieved to see that not all breakups eventually become friendships. Relieved that it's not so abnormal to never be friends with people who have disappointed you in giving you the connection you want.
I just finished going through the pictures I took at the wedding last Saturday. I like them. I still don't know what direction to take next with photography, but at least, I like them. I want to tell stories. Personal. Subtle. Not big ones like in photojournalism. Personal smiles, personal relationships, personal struggles, small ones, ones we don't think anyone cares. But of course, if we didn't care about the small ones, then we wouldn't know how to connect to people on the big issues they have.
The wedding was unorthodox. It took place on a rooftop of a friend. The newly weds managed to make friends, deep friendships, enough to be able to pull this off, without hiring caterers, without renting a venue, without even sending out fancy invitations. On a budget, but more importantly, fun. Fun in that bohemian way, without totally throwing away the old institution of marriage. The gay communities of the world are struggling to make their marriage recognized legally, but then marriage can be too traditional for the people I hang out with. I don't know anyone who says for sure they would like to get married, including those with longterm partners. One of the people who attended the wedding had been with her partner for over 28 years. And someone who didn't attend said she didn't because she didn't want to support the institution of marriage. These are the type of people I hang out with.
Still, here we were, on the rooftop with an invisible alter and a secular "priest" who made sexual jokes and said in the end, "With the power *not* entrusted in me, I pronounce you man and wife." She's the best friend of the bride. There is no mockery of marriage because they wanted this ceremony with their closest friends in their new city. If there's any mockery, it is about the materialism and formality of marriage that hasn't changed much in centuries. There were some formalities. The father of the bride still brought her to the "altar". We had to wait a bit for them to show up (walking very steep stairs to the rooftop). And they read each other their vows. The bride's was so moving that many people had wet eyes. The groom's was moving in its own way, memorized, filled with nervousness.
She made her promises. They promise to be together and when things are tough and rough they will remember that day when those promises were made. You don't need formalities to make these promises more real, more keepable. Their sincerity was not hindered by formalities that often could make things look contrived. For me, no better sign that they loved each other enough to make those promises before their friends and family (without reference to God) is they couldn't stop looking at each other. I've never seen a couple so involved with each other after all these years dating. They came to the scary city of New York together, for New York, for themselves. Not for a job or for anyone else.
I was jealous, as you can guess. I have always wanted to move someone with someone for us. To start an adventure together. To make a decision together and implement it, not because we can't do it ourselves individually, but because the sum total of happiness and value of experience outweighs the individual happiness many folds.
It was also a time to get to know this tiny clique of tango dancers even more. I had already known them, been welcome to their world before. But now I am getting to know them. I don't think I've made real friends, apart from my "date" (my art buddy) and the teacher I always want to hang around with. There was, surprisingly, hardly any tango danced or played.
Looking back at the photos I saw a lot of joy, from the newly weds, of course, but also from the people around. While we don't always want to be in a crowd, while we sometimes desperately want to be alone, something about the rooftop, about the view of Manhattan, about the sunset over the skyscrapers, about the view of the surrounding factory-converted-to-lofts, about this artsy neighborhood of Bushwick, something about all this that made us feel connected in one way or another, to at least some extent, to ourselves, through this surrounding, through the people we know. I was not ecstatic, but more peaceful. The wedding made me a little pensive because, of course, I wish something like this would happen to me. But much more than that, I was happy to be there. I was happy my closest friend in this country was my date.
When I saw the couple again (at a milonga, of course), they seemed like before the wedding. The exchange of vows didn't make them look older, more mature, didn't make them grow wings of angels. That wasn't the point of the wedding. The exchange of the vows were internal. The enjoyment with friends was an event. But still, when I see them being sweet and beautiful together, I remember the sunset, the Manhattan skylines, the rooftops of Bushwick. I feel happy that day happened in my life.
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