chao banana.

Couldn’t quite figure out how to accurately express the %!@$$%^ frustration and irritation I feel when people mistake me for being a filipino maid.

First was last week, when I went for a walk with Lisa and an elderly woman asked: “You are from Philippines?” 
I told her “I am from Singapore!” while fervently rolling my eyes and walking away. Dunno why so kaypoh… 我是哪国的人又管你什么屁事! 👿

Then yesterday, when a door-to-door surveyor asked: “Is your Mam or Sir at home?” 
To which I curtly replied:WHAT Mam or Sir?” 

But yet somehow I couldn’t find it in me to reject doing his NS/Army government survey, so I peppered sarcasm throughout the interviewing… For example, question was: “As a Singaporean, how do you feel the image of the Army affects you?”

I said: “Apparently I don’t look Singaporean, so maybe I shouldn’t be affected.”

Another question: “Your occupation is…?”
“Obviously you think I’m a Filipino maid.”

Yes, I am actually VERY offended when people think I’m pinoy. 😡


Want to quit this country.

Time and time again, I’ve been told by expats how much they love it here – the cleanliness, safety, prosperity, etc. But being born and bred here (and without the financial means to upkeep the high costs of living) makes me one doubtful Jane.

But now that I’ve planted the seed of migrating somewhere else, the following has dawned upon me:

  • People who move here are people who can afford the costs of living here – so naturally they would have no complaints about prices they would have known prior.
  • You only move to a new country if there was “something wrong” with the previous one – which is why most who have relocated would give you bad reviews if asked what their previous country is like.
  • There’s something here they want/need/enjoy – for some it’s the all-year tropical weather, for others it’s the business-friendly environment and various schemes tailored for aspiring entrepreneurs. Truth is, as a local, sometimes you just can’t get enough capital to start-up with sky-high rentals and overheads.

So now to find that place on Earth for me and the family where we can be less restrained by the the overpopulation and crampings of finances…

Motherhood Mysteries

How strange that
what the peace & quiet
I envisioned in my head

is nothing but

an awkward loneliness
that I wasn’t
quite prepared for

And all only because the littlest one has started her first step towards an increasing independence – school.


As my emotions spin out of control, Christina Perri’s “Human” keeps playing on loop in my head. Because yes, I’m nothing but human.

Older and jader.

I’m pretty sure age has caught up with me, because things that used to seem SO IMPORTANT are now like… pffffft.

The fancy weddings that last only a night, its memories though may endure a lifetime yet brings nothing more to a marriage except its hefty bill.

True, I might still wish for a lavish wedding if I was rich enough… But nah, I’d rather have that money for a trip around (half) the world and a shitload of fancy things. :mrgreen:

If these young ‘uns are gonna have kids, they probably have no idea what’s coming for the rest of their lives… *evil chuckles*

Hopefully one day I will see through “much needed vacations” for what little significance they really hold. Meanwhile, I’ll just have to learn to make the best out of the 3D2N Legoland trip that the kids so enthusiastically paid for. (Expenses excluded, of course.) But w00t my kids are bringing me on a vacation!

It’s not the gifts.

I have come to realise that the reason why I shun my own birthdays is because no one bothers to celebrate it with me. It’s not about the gifts, but the fact that nobody actually wants to spend the day with me.

Maybe it’s because I’m a terrible person. Maybe I have severe body odor. I don’t know, and honestly at 31 now, I probably shouldn’t even care anymore. Except I do.

It’s about the chalet BBQ where few turned up and proceeded to cluster among themselves instead of around the birthday “celebrity”.

It’s about the year where the husband almost forgot my birthday.

It’s about the time when I was 9 (or 10) and my mom slapped me in front of all my birthday party guests.

This year, I thank the special people in my life who took the time, effort and money to send gifts and spend time with me:

  • Elaine, who sent a Starbucks gift card all the way from Hawaii
  • Charlotte & Ben, who brought their 2 boys and a large durian cake, along with Hello Kitty pastries from Breadtalk
  • Joshua, my firstborn, who gave me 50 cents to “go holiday with daddy”
  • my mom-in-law, who delivered a velvet miu miu angbao  with $xxx inside

As for the husband… more could be done after all that he’s fucked over. So no special mention for him. *flips hair*




A not-so-happy birthday to me. The boys nearly toppled the entire fridge yesterday.

Fortunately Josh was strong enough to push the fridge back in place, but it couldn’t prevent all the food from falling out. Sigh. Naturally I went berserk and got all ape-shit on them. On the bright side, no one was hurt (except the eggs that were broken).

There are no plans for any celebration of any sort. Not sure if there will even be a cake, since there has been no talk of it.  Everyone has gone on their usual routine, and so must I. So when asked about my birthday plans for this “special day”, I have simply been telling everyone this is what I’m going to do:

  • clean the floor
  • do the laundry
  • take care of Lisa
  • pick up Josh at 1pm
  • pick up Kee at 5.30pm

Yup. Those are my grand plans for turning 31. Basically the same shit that I do every weekday. Nothing special about today at all except legally I am now 31.

2014 has been an awful year so far. Hopefully since everything has pretty much been rock bottom, the only way left now is to UP. *fingers crossed*


In a blink…

In the blink of an eye, my children have all graduated from their baby stages and gained newfound independence and confidence.

This morning, Kee exasperatedly announced: “You guys are so slow. I’m going downstairs myself. The school bus is already here! Mommy, can I go down by myself?” To which of course I replied positively – with an understandable amount of mollycoddling mumsy concern – and he gleefully closed the gate behind him as he shouted goodbye.

Moments later, I tried to glimpse for him from the corridor, but only saw the tail lights of the school bus blinking and it drove off! So I called the driver just to double-check Kee’s safe arrival. He said: “Keegan came up the bus by himself. He said all of you were busy so he came down by himself. Your son is growing up to be very independent just like his older brother!”

*cue mom pride*

As for Josh, he has been walking himself to school for the past couple of weeks. I don’t think it started out willingly, but rather under Daddy’s constant nagging. Dad certainly doesn’t mollycoddle his future commandos like the way I do, and whenever the boys are slow or late, he yells at them to hurry up instead of helping them get dressed like the way I would. (He also often forgets to feed them breakfast, citing that the boys should be aware of their own hunger instead of being served.)

The little lady is still very little (in my eyes) but her temperament is slowly improving. Less tantrums, more manners and greater independence. She puts her empty milk bottle away in the sink each time after she’s done, and if I allow it, I’m pretty sure she would get her own snacks. Problem is, being the glutton she is, I don’t allow her to do so because she would polish off every single food item in the kitchen!

Now comes the time when I am counting down to the loss of their baby-like innocence and the gain of my long-lost freedom. It is both exciting yet sorrowful to look forward to. Thus, the neverending contradiction of motherhood.


One day I might write a book…

And title it “Married to a Pathological Liar”…

Barely a month into 2014, and already it has delivered its first major bomb of the usual “promise made just to be broken”.

I need more freedom to achieve my own financial independence, so I need not rely – let alone trust – a man with my own happiness. I’m going to take that trip to Disneyland on my own. No, it’s not going to be the same, but it beats waiting around for it to happen. Especially when I’m waiting for it to come from someone who has repeatedly lied so many times over.

Screw romance. I’d rather fly solo.

Vacation Options

✓ limited budget
✓ limited babysitting options
= very limited options
= no choice
= no vacation

Somehow when he said we would go for a holiday again for our 9th wedding anniversary cum my 31st birthday, I had already foreseen this coming… but I decided to give it the benefit of doubt. Now I wonder why I was positive-minded enough to do that – repeatedly.

Like a fool being taken on a (figurative) ride, I am.


Lisa and I have a morning routine of making a bottle of formula milk together. And recently it’s somehow turned into a calling for the devil…

Me: How many spoons of milk powder?
Lisa: Six!
Me: One…
Lisa: One…
Me: Two…
Lisa: Two…
Me: Three…
Lisa: Six…
Me: Four…
Lisa: Six!
Me: Five…
Lisa: Six! Six!
Me: Six! Last one!
Lisa: Yay! SIX SIX SIX! Now shake shake. *mimics bottle shaking*

*sigh* Guess someone really needs to not get ahead of herself at counting.