A wedding, Bruce Lee, and a bumpy boat
Last week I wrote about my learning of romance through my sister, Maria’s, first love in Cavan. This week, I’d like to invite you to her wedding. But before that I want to talk about Bruce Lee.
Maria idolised the Chinese Kung-Foo-Fighting Super Star; her bedroom walls were papered with posters of the actor. I relished Saturday evenings when she’d invite me into her room as she applied makeup for a night out in Manchester. Once finished she’d stand and address a poster, “Well Bruce Lee, what do you think?” I’d affect his accent and answer for him, “You look beautiful, will you marry me?” She’d laugh, “Don’t be daft, Bruce wouldn’t look at me, he’s got the pick of the world’s most beautiful women.”
To me, Maria was the world’s most beautiful woman, Bruce would be lucky to pick her.
Given the age difference between my siblings and I, Saturday nights were spent alone as they socialised. I didn’t mind, I enjoyed having the television to myself.
One evening I heard a sound inconsistent with my Saturday nights – the key in the door. Someone was returning home unexpectedly. I stood up with an instinctive feeling that something life-changing was about to happen. And it did, for into the living room of our Manchester home walked: BRUCE LEE.
He stood smiling next to my sister. He extended his hand: “Very nice to meet you, Gerard; I hear lots about you.” His English was broken, his handshake wasn’t; it was strong and firm. I couldn’t speak, so I smiled shyly. He looked exactly like he did on Maria’s posters.
My eyes met Maria’s, before her gaze returned to Bruce. Eventually she spoke, her words confusing me, “Gerard, this is Waiman.” My head swivelled from him to her, “What – wait – who?” Little did I know the man I sincerely thought was Bruce Lee would reroute my future.
Like Maria, we all grew to adore the ambitious young Chinese man. Her acceptance of his marriage proposal was met with all round approval. Their union was the catalyst for my parents' decision to return to Cavan; for they would leave the newlyweds our Manchester home. The wedding was a bitter sweet occasion for me.
The wedding day arrived and the congregation waited for the bride. Mam whispered in my ear, “It’s like the United Nations in here.” English folk sat alongside: Chinese, Indian, Muslim, and my relatives from Mountnugent in Cavan.
After the ceremony, an explosion of confetti was accompanied by cheering and the flipping of Zippos as people lit celebratory cigarettes. Needing to escape the cheery chaos, I pushed through and away from the celebrations. From a distance, I watched the scene in front of me through a televisual slow-motion lens. My beautiful sister glowed triumphantly in her gorgeous gown as people thronged around her, taking photographs and throwing congratulations. Maria smiled and shook every hand offered to her. My sister was now Waiman’s wife, but in this moment, Maria was my Miss World. She’d already told me the day would be a whirlwind and had apologised in advance if she didn’t get to give me much of her time, and I was alright with that. This was her big day, and her little brother wasn’t going to get in her way. It was a sad day for me, but a week before the wedding, Maria had made a promise to me, which made it easier to bear. “Listen Gerard, when I get back from honeymoon and you you’re leaving, I’m not saying goodbye, because I promise you it’s not that, it’s, ‘see you later.’ Do you understand?” I shrugged, “See you later is all it is.” We had nothing else to say, so we said it with a silent hug instead.
An approaching boy made me switch off Miss World and turn the real world back on, “Hello Gerard, I’m Sang,” he said, offering me his hand; it was Waiman’s nephew. Although I didn’t know him, I felt an affinity, which was affirmed when he said: “I leave Hong Kong to live in England, and you leave England to live in Ireland.” I nodded and asked, “Do you like it here?” He didn’t hesitate, “Sometimes good, sometimes bad.”
I said nothing in return because his words resonated. I suspected my move to Ireland would be an ever bumpy sea of sometimes good and sometimes bad – and I was ready to board that boat.