What You'll Forget About Your Wedding Day

I got married in 2024.

I remember the weight of the suit on my shoulders.
I remember the sound of my name being called differently that day.
I remember the feeling—very clearly.

But the moments?

Those slipped through my fingers like water.

To this day, guests still tell me things that happened at my own wedding.

"You didn't see your mum's face when you walked in."
"You missed what your brother did just before the vows."
"Do you remember when everyone laughed at that part?"

I don't.

And that's the part that unsettled me.

Because this is my industry. This is my life's work. If anyone should remember, it should be me. I planned the sequences. I knew the timeline. I understood the machinery of the day.

And still—time betrayed me.

The Day Doesn't Move the Way You Think It Will

A wedding day doesn't pass like a normal day.

It folds in on itself.

Time doesn't tick—it collapses. An hour feels like ten minutes. Ten minutes stretches into something elastic and strange. You're present, but you're also being pulled in ten directions at once: responsibility, emotion, expectation, joy.

You don't watch your wedding.
You survive it—beautifully.

You feel it deeply, but you don't store it neatly.

Emotion Arrives Before Memory

Here's the quiet truth: most couples don't remember their wedding day as a story. They remember it as a feeling.

Happy. Overwhelmed. Relieved. Grateful.

But feelings without context are slippery.

If the day was calm, memory settles gently.
If it was stressful, memory edits generously.

You remember being happy because you were meant to be. Not necessarily because you can trace the happiness moment by moment. Psychology fills in the gaps kindly. Not dishonestly—just mercifully.

And that's where photography steps in—not loudly, not dramatically—but faithfully.

Photography Is a Witness

At Inkanyezi Creations, we believe photography exists for one quiet reason:

To stand as a witness.

Not just to an event—but to a decision.

A decision made on a specific day, in a specific emotional state, surrounded by specific people who will not always be there in the same way again.

It witnesses vows spoken before life complicates things.
Parents standing a little taller with pride.
Hands trembling slightly—not from fear, but from the gravity of choosing forever.

Years from now, when life gets loud and messy—as it always does—those images will still be standing there, saying:

This is how it felt when you chose each other.

The Things You Never Knew You Did

Some of the most moving moments happen after the wedding—when couples see their photos.

A mother's tears she tried to hide.
A father dancing with a joy he didn't know he still had.
A smile that arrived unannounced and stayed longer than expected.

"I didn't know I looked like that."
"I didn't know they were watching me like that."

Photography doesn't just remind you of what happened.

It introduces you to parts of the day you never met.

Memory Needs Help

Weddings sit at the intersection of attraction, love, commitment, family, loyalty—forces larger than any one person. To assume we'll remember all of it clearly is optimistic at best.

Memory fades.
Narratives blur.
Time erodes detail.

Photography resists that erosion.

Not aggressively.
Not nostalgically.
Just honestly.

It holds up a mirror to a day you were too busy living to fully see.

And sometimes—years later—that witness becomes more important than the celebration ever was.

Not because the party mattered less.

But because the meaning mattered more.

That's why photography exists.

Quietly.
Patiently.
Waiting for the day you need reminding.