She is Beauty, She is Grace

The memories a woman makes before she gets married are fond ones for the rest of her life.

And as a daughter looking at her mother and grandmother before her, a marriage as fond as the memories before it is a matter of risk and luck. It is a plunge women are courageous enough to make, not knowing whether the events beyond this horizon will constitute just as fond memories, or something else entirely. My mother and grandmother didn't know what they were leaving their old life behind in favour of, but they were brave enough to find out. I lack that bravery.

I grew up believing (and I have seen little to no evidence against this) that marriage has an element, however small, of subjugation attached to it. You're bound to more than just a person: you're bound to their beliefs, their family, their obligations, and a lot more. Unwittingly, you find yourself conforming to the ways of your partner and the new environment that you have entered. And the events that you've had to leave behind…just fade into fond memories that only have a chance at being a part of your new life.

My grandmother, mother, and I are lucky that the memories of the two older ladies have embodiments that can be visited, in the form of relatives and old friends. For them, it is a break from the intrinsic subjugation of everyday life. For me, it is a window into an unbridled, unburdened version of the women that I supposedly resemble.

I don't mean for this piece of writing to be poignant. It's just…my mother's and grandmother's beauty is striking when they are in this element. My grandmother could talk for hours about events, places, and names I know nothing about, but I'll just sit there taking pleasure in how relaxed her smiling face looks. It's a look not even I can induce in her, but she's beautiful when that look adorns her face. I wish we got to see it more often.

And my mother – oh, my mother! I am attached to her the way she wasn't attached to hers. I've heard her stories on a spectrum, evoking every emotion I am capable of feeling. Then going with her and seeing the characters that bring her stories to life – that is a joy and honour in itself. Then hearing her unbridled laughter and looking at her carefree face – how can she ever doubt that she is beautiful?

We humans love that which is rare. And I love the stolen moments when my mother and grandmother aren't under the shadows that loom over them everyday.