Takuya and Tomomi Get Married!

Back in September, my friend Takuya told me he’d be getting married in January, and asked me to sing at the reception. I felt really honored to be invited to this—my first—Japanese wedding, and was pretty sure the singing thing was just a joke he said over a few drinks. It turns out he was serious, though, which cranked my nervousness level up a notch. Now, not only would I be the only foreigner in a crowd of Japanese guests, following whatever unknown etiquette and wedding protocol there is, but I’d be playing the piano and singing a solo, too!


OK, so being the only foreigner isn’t that bad, since I am pretty often. Usually, I’m with a group of friends, though, not venerable family members and business acquaintances! I felt pressure, like the weight of the entire American culture was resting on my shoulders, and I’d better not mess up. Plus, Japanese girls are always so beautiful in their cute expensive dresses (or kimonos) and elaborate hairstyles that I was afraid I’d be frumpy and foreign and unattractive beside them. Weddings are formal and stiff enough anyway, which makes me uncomfortable, but being stiff and formal in another culture is even scarier.

I think I prepared more for this wedding than for any other one! I bought my dress two months beforehand, spent too much money on a piece of sparkly rayon/polyester to cover my shoulders, watched countless YouTube videos on how to do my hair (but which I never really mastered), fretted over what jewelry to wear, and polished my shoes in preparation for the big day. I wrote out a two-minute speech in bad Japanese that one of my friends re-wrote in good Japanese. I even did the Japanese gift-giving tradition of money in a special envelope, since they don’t do gift registries here. And of course, I practiced playing and singing every day.

Choosing which one to do was hard, since I’d feel ridiculous singing the traditional wedding pop songs most people suggested. I finally settled on a nice arrangement of “Be Thou My Vision” by the Martins, since my brother sang that song (although not that version) at my sister’s wedding back in 2002. I really wanted to play a piano piano, but they didn’t have one at the wedding hall. So I had to make do with a keyboard that my school was nice enough to lend me.

In retrospect, I didn’t need to worry half as much as I did, but on the day of the wedding, I so nervous it was hard to breathe. I took a taxi to the wedding hall at 9:00 a.m. and ran through the song twice with Takuya playing guitar. It went OK. But my hair that I had so meticulously put up in the morning was coming undone, and I had to ask one of the wedding hall attendants to re-do it for me. Then I remembered I hadn’t practiced my speech, so I started working on that while sipping the coffee that one of the attendants brought me. Another girl brought me a small cup of nihonshu sake, which helped me relax a bit. I kept telling myself that Takuya and Tomomi are doing a whole lot more to be nervous about than I am, but it didn’t really help.

The whole vibe to the wedding was different than a traditional ceremony in the U.S. (for obvious reasons). Instead of a church, the wedding venue was a beautiful brick hall with a small chapel upstairs and a large room downstairs with big glass doors that led into two meticulously maintained gardens. There was no priest or pastor; instead, an attractive woman with a voice like silk guided us through each part of the ceremony as the master (matron?) of ceremonies. There were no bridesmaids, groomsmen, flower girls, or ringbearers, either, just the employees of the chapel, who glided around efficiently, making sure everything was running smoothly.

The wedding ceremony itself was held in the chapel, big enough to seat the 50 guests with about five chairs left over. Before the bride and groom walked in, we watched a short video that had copious pictures of their wedding rings in it. Then the great doors opened and Takuya, together with his parents, walked in with a long red ribbon strung between them. In the same way, Tomomi and her parents entered the room a moment later (no one stood up, but there were many pictures taken), also with a ribbon. There was no bridal march; instead it was all Japanese pop, albeit romantic Japanese pop. At the front of the room, the ribbons were taken from them, and Takuya and Tomomi stood in front of the room by themselves. They read their vows aloud from a card, together in one loud voice. All I really understood was “Today in front of everyone” but I'm sure it was very nice! After they exchanged rings (given to them by one of the black-attired attendants), they held their left hands up in front of the guests, who clapped. Takuya planted a chaste kiss on Tomomi’s forehead, then the new couple, as well as their parents, signed their three separate certificates and held them up high in front of the room. There was a lot of bowing, picture-taking, and reserved clapping, and it was over.

After the ceremony came lunch—a delicious 6-course affair of smoked salmon, soup, butter fish, yuzu sherbert, roasted chicken, and rice in broth. It’s a shame I was too nervous about my impending performance to do more than just nibble at the plates as they were set before me, delicious as they were. I tried to make pleasant conversation with the people at my table—a couple from Takasaki with their 9-year old daughter, a 38-year old man from Osaka, and a 28-year old guy, the easiest to talk to because he could speak Spanish, too. We watched well-wishing videos from Takuya’s brother in New York and his friends in Chile, and a slideshow of Takuya and Tomomi growing up—so cute! Then for about half an hour, friends and relatives went to the front of the room to make speeches, none of which I paid any attention to but all of which I’m sure were kind and interesting. What I did keep noticing was the hip-looking photographer with the chinstrap beard as he slid around the room taking pictures . . .

Then it was my turn! I took a deep breath, said to myself, “I can do this,” and walked the million miles across the room to sit at the keyboard. Takuya picked up his guitar; I flipped the “on” switch on the keyboard. We shook hands gravely and said, “OK, let’s do this.” I pressed the keys, prepared to hear the song wafting from the speakers.

Nothing happened.

I tried again.

Still nothing.

“Sho-sho o-machi, kudasai,” I said politely (please wait just a second).

Two attendants rushed over to see what was wrong. While they fiddled with switches and plugs, Takuya told the audience, “This is Jaimie’s first Japanese wedding, and she’s really nervous, so let’s give her a loud round of applause to make her feel better.” Everyone started clapping and I started laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. My nervousness began to slip away. That’s when I noticed that some well-meaning person had mistakenly plugged the pedal into the power outlet, and vice versa. So I did a little switch-a-roo, and we could start for real.

The whole thing went off without a hitch! After the first verse ended, a few people burst out into spontaneous applause—because it was so good, I hope, not because they thought it was the end. I even hit the high note without too much trouble. No one could see my right leg trembling on the pedal, even though they might have been able to hear some of the wavering in my voice. The thing is, though, as soon as I was actually playing, I was mostly okay.

When the song was over, it was speech time. I had forgotten to bring my notecard up to the front, so in my broken Japanese, I said:


“Thank you so much. The truth is, when Takuya asked me, ‘Please play at my wedding,’ I thought it was a joke. Because everyone was drinking. But, it wasn’t a joke. Really, I feel very happy to have been invited here. (Switch to Spanish) It’s an honor to be here. I hope you are always very happy. (Back to Japanese) Forever, forever, I wish you happy. (Spanish) Congratulations. (Japanese) Thank you.”


When I sat down again at my table, I felt so relieved that it was over that I downed a glass of beer. Finally, I could relax and enjoy myself.

The rest of the afternoon went by quickly: there was a long, outdoor dessert buffet loaded with wedding cake, cheesecake, chestnut pie (similar to pecan pie but less sweet), assorted jellies and puddings, sweetrolls, ice cream, and other deliciousnesses just waiting for me to eat all of them. I also caught a picture of Mr. Photographer with my own camera while he wasn’t looking . . . but shhh, don’t tell him.

Finally, all the speeches were over, the tears were shed, the final “omedetous/congratulations” said. It was time for Party #2.

Most of the guests went home, but about twenty of us went to meet Takuya and Tomomi at a restaurant in Takasaki. One of the wedding hall employees, a beautiful 27-year old girl, came too. We hung out there, snacking on izekaya food and drinking assorted beverages until 6:00 p.m. There I learned that while I’d been sneaking glances at the photographer all day, he’d been sneaking glances at me, too. “He really wants to meet you,” Sanae confided in me. “He told me.”

So, at Party #3, this time in downtown Takasaki, I found myself sitting across from Yuu Inoguchi, suitless and camera-less but still hip in his olive green sweater and black hat. We ignored most of the other guests, who were busy knocking back as many beers as possible, to begin the getting-to-know-you process. His English is just about non-existent, so we relied heavily on my so-so Japanese, an electronic dictionary, and Takuya (“Como se dice ~~ en japones?!”), whom we called over often. Throughout the course of our conversation, we discovered that we like a lot of the same things--movies, outdoorsy things, mountains, reading in the park, that sort of thing. And it was really fun to talk with each other. I don't have any illusions--we just met after all--but I am smiling with possibility. If nothing else, we'll be friends, and having new friends is always great.

So, in the immortal words of Takuya Sato, “The past is the past, the present is the present, and the future is the future."

Happy Happy Wedding Day!