Aaron's Proposal // Proposal Story short film

how he asked-torrance wedding-photography

THIS FILM WAS CREATED BY SUN & SPARROW FILMS // Proposal Story Short Film

With quivering legs underneath the table, Aaron sat across from Ellie’s dad, Boyd Wilson, the man who held the keys of yes and no in the palm of his hand. The time had come to ask the Gate Keeper for his daughter’s hand in marriage; and after handing Aaron the “yes-key” Aaron immediately unbolted the door of possibilities in thinking about how to ask Ellie to be his wife. From that day on the proposal planning commenced. Aaron combined Ellie’s love of San Francisco, her addiction to fortune cookies, and her desire to one day live in China into a proposal in San Francisco’s Chinatown.  After a scouting trip for their latest film in Northern California, Aaron and Winston drove to San Francisco to scope out locations for a day and a half, staying with two of their friends, Debbie and Andy Surman.

Once the location was locked, Aaron and Winston spoke with the Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Company and Aaron created a custom fortune cookie in Chinglish: “Today you will making a life changing decision.” The plan was simple. Aaron would pay for 1/2 now and 1/2 on the day of the proposal when he picked them up with Ellie. That way, it would be as unassuming as possible. After that, Aaron and Winston drove to Marind Headlands to scope out the actual proposal location and see how they’d want to film it. Winston helped plan out the best location for his brother, rented lenses, and made the proper planning preparations with Andrew, their other brother from another mother. After sneaking around by private-eying with Ellie’s incredibly awesome proposal-ready roommates, as well as her supportive you-can-use-these-diamonds-from-her-grandma-and-grandpa parents, Aaron was able to secure the perfect custom ring for Ellie: an Art Deco Marqis Cluster Diamond engagement ring.

Everything was in place for the perfect proposal for Ellie and on March 15th, 2014, Aaron asked Ellie to be his wife. Here’s the story:

THANK GOD FOR STUPID FOG.  It was glorious.

 She had no clue that I planned the proposal in San Francisco, across the Golden Gate Bridge, in the heart of Chinatown, stuffed with savory dumplings, deliciously warm shomei, and fresh,

crispy, fortune cookies, which I would never have known how to ask her unless some old Chinese man pointed us in the right direction, his quivering voice simply letting out, “Fortune cookie. This way.”

After fake-arguing about the overly priced pieces of sugary flowery Chinese crescent-shaped dough, I pulled the man card by seizing her hand and whisking her away to the breathtaking view of Marin headlands; this epic scenery of a place brimming with a Narnia of sentiments replete with nebulous blankets of mist creeping over the cinematic horizon, throngs of awe-struck men, women, and children, and my beautiful soon-to-be-fiance edging her way to the precipice, taking out her iphone, snapping 50,000 pictures with an I-can’t believe-how-beautiful-this-place-is-so-we-need-to-take-another-selfie attitude; an attitude that was forcing me to hunt for about “twenty (maybe fifty)” nets to imprison all the excited monarchs escaping from my insides because I had “other things” on my mind: my pumping heart, my sweaty palms, my racing eyes, darting this way and that, searching for Winston and

Andrew hiding out in the bushes with their cameras while Winston was blowing up my phone with text messages screaming, “The fog! We need to take the shot!” Crap.

Here we go…Once again, I arrested her hand as we hurtled down the hill and bounded over the railing, inching our way towards the now fog-covered mound in front of the resplendent San Francisco Bridge, a view I quickly released as my quivering hand clutched the elephantine box in my pocket:

The ring. Still there!

But the fog; this stupid I-can’t-see-jack-diddly-and-I-know-Winston-and- Andrew can’t-either fog (Winston more so because of his slanty eyes) is ruining everything! It’s now or never. So, standing there alone with Ellie on the solitary peninsula, I spun her around -this love of my life, soon-to-be-wife, confidant and supporter – and gazed into her gorgeous emerald eyes as my quivering lips finally uttered the words:

“This fog…(it’s ruining everything)…it’s…uh…. symbolic of you and me.”
Ellie: “What?”
Me: “Um…Yeah, it’s like you and me. Alone. Right now. In the fog.”
Ellie: “…”
Me: “…”
Ellie: “…”
Me: “…Let’s eat our fortune cookies.”

Quick-reading the tiny message, I pulled out the elephantine box from the depths of my $10 China jeans as my trembling right knee finally buckled, noodling to the ground, and once-for all mustered, “Ellie, will you make me the happiest man in the world by becoming my wife?”

The rest, as they say, is “history.”

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