Yearly Reunions Called Weddings
At this age, every year brings another wedding. It’s almost a rhythm now—a close friend gets married, and the wedding becomes our annual reunion. These events are more than just ceremonies; they’re time capsules. They bring us all together again, like college days but with fewer shabby hostel rooms and more hotel suites. They’re full of laughter, board games, late-night talks, and endless dancing.
And don’t get me wrong—I love it. Weddings are beautiful. I show up with my game face on, ready to celebrate, to bring everyone together, to make memories that last. I’m genuinely happy for my friends. Seeing them take this huge step fills my heart with so much joy.
But there are these little moments—tiny cracks in the day where my thoughts take a turn. In the middle of all the love and celebration, I’ll find myself thinking: Why not me? When will it be my turn? The comparisons creep in: I don’t have anyone in NYC. Everyone else seems so ahead in life. Why am I even doing this?
In those moments, I feel small. I go quiet during a board game, drift away from the dance floor during the sangeet, or just shut down entirely. A part of me hopes someone notices, that they’ll ask if I’m okay or pull me aside to talk. But no one ever does—not because they don’t care, but because everyone is caught up in the joy of the moment. And that’s okay.
Eventually, I remind myself that no one is coming to pull me out of my own thoughts. So, I shake it off, fix my metaphorical mask, and dive back in. I find my way to the dance floor, laughing and dancing like nothing happened.
Weddings are strange like that. They’re full of love and joy, but they also make you reflect—on how far you’ve come, where you are, and how life has changed. Each year, there are more plus-ones in the group and fewer shared rooms with five people crammed in like we used to in college. It’s impossible not to compare. In 2013, we all started at the same place—wide-eyed and full of dreams. Now, our paths look so different.
Don’t get me wrong — there’s no jealousy or envy here. These are the most important people in my life. We may only meet once a year or talk just a handful of times, but there’s no flight I wouldn’t take, no sacrifice I wouldn’t make for them. One call, and I’d drop everything. I’m proud of all of us—where we’ve been, where we’re going. But it’s human to compare, to feel like you’re running your own race but glancing over at everyone else’s lanes.
That’s the thing about weddings. They remind you not just of the love around you but also of your own longings. They show you the joy of connection but also the weight of comparison. And through it all, they remind you to keep showing up—for others, yes, but also for yourself.
Because no matter how hard it feels in those quiet moments, the music always comes back on. And when it does, you’ll find your rhythm again.