Anyone who knows me would say I am…not spoilt exactly, but definitely pampered. I was an only child, and we always had live in domestics growing up. This roughly translates to my cup of milk being brought to bed each morning, my room being arranged daily, my laundry folded and kept in place in wardrobe, and my meal preferences being catered to.

My parents saw this as harmless affection, but my mother would often scold me saying I’d find it really tough when I grow up and have to manage my own place someday.

Boy, was she right.

In my defence though, I always wanted to be independent. I wanted to do adult things by myself, and I dislike asking for help (we ALL need help, but that’s another story). My parents would have gladly continued pampering me, but I was determined to break away. To ‘toughen up’. After all, I grew up seeing my mother and father work tirelessly towards giving us a better life, and I think it’s important for all children to experience that.

I quickly realised that, even if you do have a domestic, managing a house means that YOU are suddenly responsible for….everything. Sure, the Pilot helps whenever possible, but one person really needs to steer the ship. In our marriage, I more or less ensure our house is clean and tidy at all times- as Ammi says, if someone suddenly announces they are dropping in, you shouldn’t have to run around arranging the house, it should look presentable always– and that we are fed with home cooked meals as much as possible. That the taps are fixed, the patches on wall painted over, the lawn moved. Of course, I may nudge him or my parents into helping at times, but hey, I still am responsible for that!

As I write this, our second live-in domestic has packed up for good, as she needed to go home every two weeks and it wasn’t working out for us. The Pilot is home for 5 days in a row, so am not worried for now. But yesterday, me feet ached from constantly getting up to wash something, to straighten the tablecloth, to do the laundry, collect the garbage, fill my water bottle, and other countless little activities that make up a daily routine. Maybe I am too bothered, and perhaps over the years I’ll learn to be more efficient hopefully. But till I get there, I am anxious about what sort of mother I’ll be; how I’ll juggle it all, give everyone the attention they’re due, enjoy time with my husband, not nag my kids when I’m stressed, AND make my tea on time each morning. This is when I picture someone amazing like Mary Poppins coming to take over and help out, tea making included.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, housework is hard. Working for almost a decade felt easier in comparison.

I’d like to end this on a profound note, but the weeds in the garden are distracting me.

Oh yeah, that reminds me that I started this post, wanting to conclude with how thankful I am that I have a beautiful garden to look out into while I have my morning tea, and that I actually have time to enjoy the smaller things in life. Even though I have to go pluck the weeds that seem to have grown overnight right after.


A letter to Cookie

Dear Cookie,

It’s been about 10 days since you left us. Or rather, since we gave you away. I doubt time will ever erase the guilt I feel at not being able to be with you till the end, which is the unwritten contract between anyone who adopts another living being and takes them into their life. It’s not the first time I’ve said goodbye to a dog before its time was due, but you were my decision, and my responsibility. And I feel like I let you down.

I think about you often, and wonder how you are doing in your new home, with your new master, his wife, and their little son. I’m sure you’ve won their hearts already, with that cute face and constant smile. I bet they’ve tried to contain you and command you to stay still, and second guessed their decision to take you in. But like me, I hope they do everything they can to make the relationship work, despite protestations and heartache. Because they love you.

We loved you so much. I never felt like your master; you were my friend. Perhaps that was my mistake. Or maybe I overestimated your intelligence. I thought you’d understand (like dogs usually do), that a relationship is a two way street. You give, you get. But with you it felt like we were giving, and giving, and giving. And it was never enough.

Do you know what it feels like to know that nothing you can humanly do is enough? No, I don’t think you do. Instead, what you do know is what it feels like to be near someone all day, and to miss them when they’re gone. You made life difficult for your self, and in the process, for us. And it broke my heart.

We tried. You must believe that we tried. I would never have parted with you if I could think of a better way for both of us to be happy.

It felt like a breakup. The ones you know you have to go through because there was something lacking, even though you genuinely loved each other. Your mind says do it, but your heart says don’t.

My heart is still recovering. It’s pretty pissed off, in fact. Being hard is something not familiar to it, and it constantly nags me, asking me to change.

But I can’t. Cookie 😦 My mind tells me I did the right thing, and that you are better off because of it.

I really hope so, Cookie. I really, really do.

Lots of love always,



Pregnant ponderings: Being fat and proud.

So there’s a prompt in my pregnancy journal that got me reminiscing. ‘What I miss most from my life before being pregnant’. Here are some so far: Champagne. Getting out of bed easily. Sleeping on my stomach. Being able to tie/clasp my shoes by myself. My clothes! Panadol. Somewhat normal ankles. Pretty lingerie. Carrying things. Did I say champagne?!

 And what do I love?

Feeling validated for not being thin. It made me realise what a huge issue body image is for women, and why we always need a reason to not be thin. Trust me, I am all for being healthy, and being trim and fit have a myriad benefits. But there’s a sense of ease I feel now that I wish I could feel otherwise. It’s something that I haven’t felt even at my thinnest.

Maybe it’s a sense of purpose? Sure, I look in the mirror and wish I could look more elegant, that I could rock some heels to go with a nice outfit, that I didn’t have cellulite. But as my mother said, “Do not obsess over your body at a time like this. Think- do I want to be slim and not pregnant, or fat and pregnant? It’s one or the other”. (Well, for those not blessed with slim genes at least!). All my anxieties fade away when I think that this is probably one of the few times that any argument can be refuted with, ” I am growing a human being”. You think of that greedy little baby lapping up all those nutrients thanks to all the changes your body is going through and you feel thankful.

Actually, you feel pretty damn wonderful.

I hope this is something I’ll remember in a few months, when I’m bemoaning the leftover fat. That everything unpleasant has a purpose. It may not be a child in your arms, but it could be a better mindset, more self acceptance, self worth, strength, and basically, just pride in the human race.

After all, we were all little miracles once.

Baking a bun

Yes, I’ve got a bun in the proverbial bun. More like a little wriggly fetus the size of a lime. Our go-to pregnancy app tells us that she (I hope it’s a she!) now has proper fingers and toes, and that her tastebuds and toothbuds are starting to form.

We are very much the excited parents-to-be. Although getting married, all we heard was advice on travelling the world before settling down with kids, both the pilot and I harboured a desire to have a little human being to share our life with. And as he always told me, we have our entire life to travel the world. Healthy baby making years- not so much.

It’s still the early days, so apart from feeling fat, I don’t have any physical evidence to show off the fact that I’m pregnant. Perhaps there is a reason for the 10 months of preparation….at times, even that doesn’t seem like enough. I now have a whole new set of anxieties to deal with, predominantly- however am I going to survive with my rock and anchor next to me every night, especially during those first few weeks?

I was terribly sick last week. With no medical relief either, I was fed up and upset. Pilot had left on a long flight and I completely retired to my parents, to be cared for and comforted. I missed pilot with such fierceness, that the question that runs through every pilot wife’s mind kept flashing before me, “How did I think I could ever manage with these absences, this lifestyle? Will I ever be cut out for it?”. 

The times those questions flash through your mind are indeed the darkest times. But of course, they are temporary. He came back and swooped me in his arms, and life was perfect again.

(Even more perfect when I convinced him to cancel his next flight and spend some time with me :D)

There’s no going back in this life, in this relationship. And in 7 months time, when my life changes forever yet again, and I have yet another new person to love and cherish and make my life worth living, I am sure to agonise. And worry, and fret.

But I’ll never, ever go back. Because I don’t ever, ever want to.


It’s been a while since I last posted here. It was an angsty phase- being newly married and settling down together IS as hard as everyone says. And being pushed to the limits of understanding within the first few months (he was on a crazy schedule which meant horribly little time at home) was a crash course in what it means to ‘commit’ to someone. You can’t run away from it, and you can’t close your eyes to it. Because when you open them, everything is still the same. And it felt like eternity, and I was an unimaginably dramatic drama queen about it, but guess what? He was the one who was understanding. In my self inflicted state of despair, I was too busy thinking how hard it was to be understanding. But all that time, I was the one not being patient. It was him.

And now we have been married for a little over 7 months. I can safely say, it is the best feeling in the world. To know that you have someone you can talk to about your boogers, your period, just like you can discuss your future hopes and dreams, and to love someone so wholeheartedly and have that warm secure feeling that he loves you back just the same, and to know that you have your entire lives ahead together to live….be it through tough times or amazing times, but still together….

I love that feeling.

Me too, Mindy

“I’m the kind of person who would rather get my hopes up really high and watch them get dashed to pieces than wisely keep my expectations at bay and hope they are exceeded. This quality has made me a needy and theatrical friend, but has given me a spectacularly dramatic emotional life”

– Mindy Kaling

Hanged over

Tequila is evil.

Hubby’s friend got married yesterday and we had the best time at the wedding. We had to leave early because Hubby had flight early this morning. Which followed a flight he got back from just yesterday morning. Meaning he was on about 6 hours of sleep over a period of 2 days.

I don’t know how he does it. I wish he’d rest more often when at home. I feel responsible somehow.

Anyway, I slept in late today and woke up with a hangover. Was missing Hubby like mad. Mooched around, and watched some TV. Did the laundry. Petted dog. Uploaded pics onto facebook and instagram. Ate too many pieces of leftover wedding cake.

Then spent the last half an hour planning my day’s activities tomorrow. It ended with doing marketing (we’re all out of food!) and getting dinner ready and waiting in time for Hubby’s arrival late tomorrow night.

Till I realised he’s not coming home tommorrow, but the night after.