'I do' without the to-do: Why I opted for a simple wedding instead of going all out
Every week, PhilSTAR L!fe explores issues and topics from the perspectives of different age groups, encouraging healthy but meaningful conversations on why they matter. This is Generations.
July 16, 2026 was a sunny Thursday morning. Oscar and I were on the freeway, driving toward our own wedding.
"Calm, cool, collected," he said. I repeated it back to him. We were just listening to our favorite songs. He’d already seen me in my white dress while we were taking turns getting ready in our bathroom.
Our preparation didn't involve an army of vendors; it was an Ari-Oscar production. We walked into the mall, picked out our outfits, and brought our trusty phone tripod into my purse. There was no endless checklist—just us.
It felt like one of our usual weekly dates, only slightly more special. We wanted an intimate moment that belonged entirely to the two of us. In the end, it was an eight-minute ceremony, and everything I’d ever hoped for: a simple declaration of love, with the person I truly love, done completely on our terms.
Growing up, I was taught the classic "Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed, Something Blue” is the ultimate wedding checklist. Check the boxes, follow the script, throw the big party, invite everyone.
But I’ve never been great at following a script, and when it came to my own wedding, I couldn’t help but ask: What happens when you throw out the rules entirely?
Our version was a quick courthouse ceremony and a quiet lunch afterward—a simple decision to rewrite those four classic lines.
Something Old
“Old” wasn’t a family heirloom; it was the weight of old expectations.
For years, I carried a vision of how my life was supposed to unfold—and eventually, how I “should” get married. My mom and dad had a grand celebration and got married at a young age, and somewhere along the way, I imagined I would follow a similar path.
But as life unfolded differently, I realized that some of the expectations I was carrying weren’t really mine anymore. Choosing a simple courthouse wedding meant letting go of the idea that our marriage had to look a certain way to be meaningful. It was my way of finally putting those old expectations to rest and making room for something that felt more true to us.
Something New
What came next was something entirely new: a wedding that didn’t follow the usual script.
Skipping the big celebration in favor of a simple courthouse wedding was our quiet detour from the expected template. It was just the two of us, a few important people, and the decision we were there to make.
We weren’t trying to recreate anyone else’s idea of a perfect wedding. We were creating a beginning that felt like ours.
And in the end, the new thing wasn’t just the way we got married. It was learning to trust that our life together didn’t have to follow a familiar timeline or look like anyone else’s to be right.
Something Borrowed
Throughout my 20s, I lived under the pressure of self-imposed timelines. It felt like living on borrowed time, constantly checking my clock against everyone else's expectations.
I used to think 34 was “late” to be a bride. There were moments when I wondered if I should have been married earlier, celebrated earlier, figured everything out earlier.
But standing on those courthouse steps with the person I love, that feeling suddenly seemed so small. I wasn’t running late; I was right on time.
Maybe the time I spent waiting, growing, making mistakes, and figuring out what I actually wanted wasn’t wasted time at all. Maybe it was what brought me to that exact moment—and to the person standing beside me.
Something Blue
It wasn’t a blue garter or a piece of jewelry—it was the sky.
Clear, bright, and it seemed to do all the decorating for us that day. There were no big flowers, no grand ballroom. Just blue skies above us and a beautiful day unfolding exactly as it was. Somehow, that felt fitting.
After years of imagining what a wedding was supposed to look like, I found myself standing beneath the simplest backdrop of all, realizing that I didn’t need much to make the moment feel beautiful.
We had each other. We had the people who mattered. We had the sky above us and a whole life ahead of us.
There is so much heart, joy, and beauty in big, traditional weddings, and I genuinely love watching everyone come together to honor those traditions. But as the years passed and my priorities shifted, Oscar and I realized what mattered most for our story: a peaceful, quiet day focused entirely on the simple promise we are making to each other.
Whether you say "I do" in front of two hundred people or just two, the magic isn't in the production. It’s in choosing a moment that feels genuinely, unapologetically yours.
Generations appears weekly at PhilSTAR L!fe.
