Weighing the Issue

Forgive me for being a girl today.

I never had a problem with weight. Except during my pregnancy, I never went above 48 kilograms (about 105lbs), which I think is ideal for a petite frame of 5’1”. I guess I am one of those women whom others would say is blessed with good genes. Most notably during my adolescent to early adult years, I could eat like a horse and still get away with it. Today, I am a 33-year-old mother of one, and the weighing scale tells me I am around 43.6 kilograms (96lbs). Not bad, I suppose.

Yet vanity is making itself felt today. I feel that my mere mortal body is succumbing to the force known as gravity, and everything is headed south.

I look in the mirror this morning as I am dressing up for work, and I turn a critical eye on myself. I find myself a bit wider in some places, a little loose in some, a tad sagging in a few areas. *cue in the cuss words*

I know, I know. Don’t give me grief for the fact that I weigh less than a hundred pounds, and here I am complaining. But I know now that having low weight doesn’t necessarily mean you’re exempted from all that excess baggage.

Disclaimer: I am not blaming my pregnancy for this. It’s the most wonderful thing that’s ever happened to me, so far be it for me to point my fingers on it. It’s just that I realised, during that phase, my skin stretched out far more than it was ever used to (I gained 35lbs then). Now that I couldn’t shrink back to my original form, those blasted fat cells took the opportunity to fill in all those nooks and crannies, thus giving me all this flab (and grief). It doesn’t help that I read up a bit and was reminded that fat actually weighs less than muscles, and so I therefore conclude that while I may weigh less now, I still damn well look pudgier than usual.

This should probably be my cue to dust off my old sneakers and start running for fitness again.



Now the problem is, I find too many excuses NOT to exercise.

First of all, it’s too friggin’ boring. I have an issue with routines/repetitiveness, and if there’s one thing I frequently see on exercise manuals, it’s the word repeat. Can’t I just do it once and everything will magically transform thereafter?

Second, I get sick when I overexert myself. Don’t laugh at me…it’s true! I’m such a lazy-ass that any form of physical exertion leaves me feverish for three days! Ask my husband. Back when we were still dating, he casually invited me for a game of lawn tennis. I was a bit rusty since I haven’t played in a long time, but – what the heck – it’s great bonding, right? Wrong. I had a 39-degree fever and body aches for a few days and sent my then-boyfriend into near panic, and that’s when I remembered that childhood malady: during the first few days of PE class, I’d be absent because of fever. I thought I outgrew it, but turns out I didn’t. Think that’s an isolated case? The first time I was here in Singapore and walked too much, I developed a fever. Pity my poor, unused muscles.

And thirdly – and most importantly – I don’t have time. I wake up early to go to work, and I come home with just a few hours to catch up with my family’s day. How can I sacrifice quality time with them for such vain shenanigans, right?

My husband is trying his best to help me. Recently, I’ve been on the receiving end of small tokens from my always-generous husband: an mp3 player and a good pair of cross trainers. Bless this man, he really knows how to handle whiny little me! Instead of telling me bluntly to go out and do something about my “problem” (which will almost certainly be met by an absolute refusal), he is gently coaxing me to take my new playthings out for a spin, i.e., go jogging or something. I actually told him good-naturedly that I recognise the tactic, to which he replied that, had I known how to ride a bike, he would’ve bought me my own so we can cycle every weekend.

Sigh. I really should stop making excuses and run a few laps this weekend.

On the other hand, brisk-walking from one mall to the next is still a form of cardio, right?




many thanks to Getty Images for the royalty-free photos

Rants and raves on the last day of the year

Well, at least the last day of my 32nd year.

There are two ways to approach this milestone. Since I like to save the best for last, maybe we’ll start with the glass-half-empty perspective.

Tomorrow is just another date on the calendar. I will find myself hitting the snooze button as my alarm goes off at 6:40am, and wonder why I even bother to set the alarm that early if I won’t get up, anyway. I’ll drag myself to work, pretend I’m busy for a while, then give up at precisely 6:25pm so I can be out the door by 6:30pm. I’ll zone off by around 11:00pm. And then it’s the same thing again the next day.

Tomorrow, I am reminded how much it sucks that, out of the 365 days in the year, the hubby’s boss decided that now would be a good time for him to visit Beijing. So I’ll be stuck in a place far away from the home I’ve always known, unable to visit my mom for my usual sumptuous birthday spread, and won't expect the deluge of siblings, nephews and nieces to wish me a happy birthday. A few cold ones with old friends will not even be a remote possibility. And I’ll surely be missing the flood of happy birthday text messages.

But if I look at the glass half-full…

Tomorrow is the first day of a brand new year in my life. I will find myself hitting the snooze button as my alarm goes off at 6:40am, then snuggle back into my warm pillow and enjoy the luxury of sleeping a bit longer. I’ll be thankful to have a job to go to in these tough times, accomplish what needs to be done, and be grateful to have some spare time to check my email. I’ll start packing up by 6:25pm so that by 6:30, I’ll be rushing home to my son’s delighted squeals, big hugs and warm kisses. I’ll start feeling deliciously languid by 11:00pm. And then I drift off to Lala Land to prepare for another wonderful day.

Tomorrow, I am reminded that, no matter where in the world he goes, I have a good husband 365 days every year. I can’t wait to see the presents he is sure to have picked up for my son and I as he goes around Beijing. I have a new home away from home, enjoying the quiet reverie for a change, where I can have some quality time with my mother, whom I will surely be speaking to over the phone as I drink my morning coffee. No cold ones with my friends, but, recently, I’ve had some quality smokes with representatives from each phase of my recent past: an old high school classmate (haven’t seen him in about 15 years), my college buddy (adopted her in between “Mraz-zing”), and a former colleague (also my son’s godfather – stayed in our spare room for two days…and soon, we will be neighbours!). As for the text messages, I probably wouldn’t miss it that much because Facebook will surely live up to my expectations.

And so, with that, I raise a glass that runneth over and give my Divine Writer a toast, for giving me a wonderful life, and for the gift of wisdom that helps me see things in the proper perspective.

Happy birthday to me :)

A Most Dreadful Gesture

I was checking my Facebook account the other day when I came across a link posted by one of my contacts. It was about a wedding proposal. Out of curiosity (and maybe because, deep inside, there's a cheesy gal in there), I clicked the link and watched it.

There was nothing fancy-schmanzy about it. No romantic, candlelit dinner, no spectacular beaches at sunset. What actually made it special was the video the guy made to propose to his girl. It basically showed a cut-to-cut compilation of his smiling self, medium shots, with some road signs/establishment names behind him...such as the U-turn sign, the last two L's from "Shell", the McDonald's "M", stuff like that. All together, the signs spelled "Will U marry me". Plus points for the guy for his creativity and effort.

What ruined the moment for me was when I saw him kneeling in front of the girl, that classic pose while offering the engagement ring. Okay, I know I have a sappy streak, but for some reason, I find that gesture quite pretentious.

What does kneeling mean?


To kneel is to beg. So now a man has to beg a girl to marry him? How pathetic can you get? If you need to beg to get the girl you want, then there's something really wrong in the picture. Take off the rose-coloured glasses to get a better look at things.

It means devotion, true. But I only kneel in front of my Divine Writer. I am devoted to my mother but I never did that to her. Sure, I kneel in front of my cat, but only to pet her.

Kneeling connotes subservience. Remember the olden times when servants will kneel in front of their kings and queens? Hard core romantics may argue that it means they are willing to "serve their queens"...but how come they expect women to pick up their dirty socks and cook them dinner - can someone clarify who is supposed to serve whom again?

Humility? Maybe. But men are expected to "wear the pants" and be the "head of the family" in our patriarchal society. It has been ingrained in their earliest memories that they are the masters of the house. I don't think they'll give up the claim. So why waste the moment kneeling on the day you propose? They shouldn't promise a lifetime of humility when their basic, socially-conditioned, testosterone-driven nature goes against it.

I'm a deeply romantic woman. My husband knows how romantically creative I can be, and I have made him weep tears of joy on several occasions. But kneeling in front of a woman to propose marriage is not for me. At the risk of sounding like I'm sour-graping, I'm glad my husband did not propose to me as such.

In my humble, personal opinion, a marriage is a union of equals. Therefore, there should be no expectation of subservience. It should be give-and-take.

My husband and I once talked about this, and we agreed that we should never refer to the other as "my better half". We choose to call the other "my other half". We're "partners" in every sense of the word. Because we complete each other. Because one is not "better" than the other; instead, we make each other better. We complement each other's weaknesses as well as our strengths. And our life's decisions are never based on who gets to have the final say; rather, we arrive at a mutual agreement that we are both comfortable with, that we feel would be best for our family, and would not leave any resentment in the other's heart just because one of us needs to give way to a designated decision-maker.

So please stop kneeling. Unless you want to give a blowjob.

Happy Valentine's Day!



Thank you to Getty Images for the royalty-free photos

A True Story

I'm a big fan of karaoke. And if you're like me, I'm guessing that you have a "trademark" song. You know, that one song you instinctively look for and warble even before your first bucket of beer arrives? Yeah, that's the one.

For some strange reason, my trademark song is "I've Never Been to Me" by Charlene. It's an old 80s song. It is the sad story of a woman of pleasure telling her tale to a downtrodden housewife...a jaded soul rolling in wealth and "fabulosity", yet longs for her one true love. It's a poignant story of loneliness amidst wordly pleasures and wealth.

"Hey lady, you lady
Cursing at your life
You're a discontented mother
And a regimented wife.
I've no doubt you dream about
The things you never do,
But I wish someone had talked to me
Like I wanna talk to you...

Oh, I've been to Nice
And the Isle of Greece
While I sipped champagned on a yacht.
I moved like Harlow in Monte Carlo
And showed them what I've got.
I've been undressed by kings
And I've seen some things
That a woman ain't s'posed to see.
I've been to paradise,
But I've never been to me."

No, it is not my story. But it reminds me of someone I know. Let's call her Margaux. And, yes, I changed her name to protect her identity.

Margaux was my childhood friend. Nothing really special about our friendship -- we sat next to each other in grade school, traded secrets, let her copy off my homework because she was too lazy to do hers. At an early age, she got into relationships, attended parties of all the popular kids, led the campus dance troupe and generally did all those "cool" and "hip" things that popular students in school get into. We sure had a strange way of defining "cool" and "hip" back then. But she was nice.

After our elementary years, Margaux transferred to another school. An institution known equally for women of substance and women who...well, women. Apparently, she did not fit into the first category. Because of proximity, and maybe because of the disparity of our interests and circles of friends, we drifted apart and lost touch. No big disaster for me, though, and I'm guessing she felt the same.

Fast forward to more than a decade hence. I was surprised to find a note in my inbox from her. A pleasant surprise, indeed. I eagerly replied and said hello, all the while praising cyberspace for opportunities such as this.

It was only a few hours later when I received her reply. The contents of her message surprised me. Not because I'm not used to hearing such stories, but because it's not really something you share with someone you haven't spoken to for the last 10 years or so. The words came pouring out of her like water from a broken dam during a storm. Niagara Falls, baby.

Margaux shared that she has several kids now. When she was still with Husband #1, she worked abroad and sent all her earnings to him. Margaux broke up with him after she went home to an empty bank account. Turns out he spent everything she earned on frivolous things. Jerk.

I was also surprised to find out that she worked for almost a year in this Asian country where money comes easy. There was a quick disclaimer that she "did nothing of that sort", but that she "earned easy money". I did not prod her any further, but of course, my imaginative mind tends to run away. Not that I want to think the worst about her, but it seems to be a logical conclusion.

She now has a second husband and has other kids with him. But they now live on a day-to-day existence because of mismanaged wealth. They lost all their properties and business due to excessive spending, drugs and gambling. According to Margaux, they now live off the money given to them by charitable family members, which isn't much.

It saddened me because I've always known Margaux to be a happy-go-lucky person. While not ridiculously wealthy, her family (birth parents) was well-off and she lived a comfortable life. She had a lot of opportunites, but she let them all get away from her because of her circumstances. And now, while putting up a brave front, she is living a life of regret and bitterness.

She hardly talked about her husband. She only mentioned him twice: once, to say that he drank everyday, and the second time, to say that he lost everything to drugs and gambling. But he is, after all, still her husband, and they are together "for richer and for poorer".

The good thing about her is that she owns up to the fact that some of them are her mistakes.

So what do you say to someone like her? I just gave her a lot of encouraging words and said that she can always rebuild her life. It takes a lot of work, but it is not impossible.

Margaux and I are still in touch. Once in a while, she shares happy moments with her kids. I am happy because they represent hope for her...five good reasons to live and keep fighting. She's bitter about the little things she can't give her kids, such as a decent bed and the many comforts she enjoyed as a child, but I told her that all the material things in the world can never replace a mother's love.

Poverty is relative. In my eyes, they are not impoverished. They may lack a few luxuries, but they are together as a family. Sure, they all share one cramped bedroom and sleep on the floor, but they have a roof over their heads. They cannot afford designer labels anymore, but they have decent clothing. They may not eat out as often as they used to, but who says they have to, as long as they have three square meals everyday?

I pray that life will be kinder to Margaux. And I hope she also comes to realize the most important thing she has in her hands:

"Hey, you know what paradise is?
It's a lie.
A fantasy created by people
And places as we'd like them to be.
But you know what truth is?
It's that little baby you're holding,
And it's that man you fought with this morning.
The same one you're going to make love with tonight.
That's truth.
That's love."

Being Effie White

It's a shame to admit it, but I've only seen "Dreamgirls" today.

I'm not a huge fan of musicals. I don't hate them, but I don't like them that much, either. They don't exactly land on my priority list when I decide what movies to watch. Case in point: I have not seen a single installment in the "High School Musical" series. So sue me.

I have to admit that the recent tragedy in Jennifer Hudson's life was what lured me to watch "Dreamgirls". Does it sound too morbid? Not to me. I figured, hey, I keep seeing this girl on the news these days, I've seen her perform and be eliminated on "American Idol" (which, by the way, I still feel is an injustice) and I watched her accept her Oscar for this flick, so why not watch the movie?

Happily, I was not disappointed. Jennifer Hudson's big voice is already a given, but she breathed so much life into Effie White. Her character is fascinating.

We've all been an Effie White at some point in our lives.

In my case, when I look back on my past, I can recall those times when people took credit for what was the product of my hard work. Oh, I had lots of those. I remember moments when I've felt betrayed. They took the form and shape of "friends", co-workers, lovers, even family members. I also think I did my share of standing up to those who would love to see me fail, to lock horns and fight for my principles in the face of overwhelming bias and personal discrimination.

And even when you've faced several heartaches and heartbreaks, it doesn't make it any easier to deal with them. It still feels as shitty as the first time.

It's hard not to pity yourself during those moments. But, like Effie, it's up to us whether we choose to languish in the mire of depression, or use our big voices to be heard.

And WIN.

What was your Effie White moment?

The Facebook Phenomenon

A few years ago, Friendster was the coolest thing to ever hit cyberspace. It would have to be the biggest breakthrough in social networking (at least, in my unprofessional opinion).

Currently, though, it's competing neck-to-neck with many other service providers, such as Multiply, MySpace and Hi5, to name a few. Friendster may not be enjoying monopoly anymore, but I guess they could say that they have the singular honor of starting the snowball of social networks.

Enter Facebook.

My account is actually a few years old. I got a lot of invitations from FB buddies, along with the flood of others such as WAYN, Tagged, Hi5, LinkedIn, Multiply, etc. Truthfully, I opened some accounts just to get rid of the very persistent invites that some have been sending (read: to shut them up, hehehe). So my Facebook account was actually born out of that.

Up until recently, the only social networking tool that I've been faithfully updating was my Multiply account. My Friendster is, well, just there. I log in once in a while when there are message alerts, and sometimes to see my friends' new photos, but other than that, it's pretty dormant. I'm no longer interested to accumulate more friends there.

Ah, but Facebook is so different.

In the few weeks since I've resuscitated my account, I've made contact with former colleagues, old friends, long-lost buddies, classmates from primary school, even family members I had no idea existed (and who probably didn't know about me, either!). It also allowed me an opportunity to gain closure on an issue that I had long since buried and tried to forget about.

Now that I've got so much spare time in my hands, I'm quite surprised about the little discoveries I've been making. And I get dumbstruck when I think of how relevant those discoveries are to my life. Even a seemingly inane invite on Facebook now has a reason.

That's probably God super-poking me :)

On Patience

"Patience is a virtue."

"Good things come to those who wait."

"For everything, there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven."

These all pertain to that wonderful virtue that I wish I had more of. And in my Divine Writer's eternal wisdom, He thought that now would be a good time for me to grow some.

It's not easy for someone like me. At the risk of sounding like a spoiled brat (which my mother and husband both "lovingly" insist that I am), I'm used to getting my way. Immediately. Whether by coercion or sweet manipulation. I guess that is one of the downsides of being the youngest in the brood. Everybody pampers you and so you expect the whole world to lie at your feet. And you develop a sort of Machiavellian attitude towards life.

I'd like to think that, while my life isn't exactly charmed, I have been very privileged. But now that things aren't going according to my expectations, I vascillate between frustration and anger one day, and depression and self-pity the next. It's not a pretty picture.

But when you find nothing but blank walls, you recognize signs that you would normally miss during your humdrum march in life. And in the overwhelming silence, you learn to listen to your heart.

Whereas before I could only see a closed door, I now see the windows opening.

I marvel at my Divine Writer's sense of humor. I could never be half as witty as He is. He certainly deserves an Emmy.