Category Archives: Love & Marriage

A Letter From Me to You, You and You

Dear {You},

{Papa and Mama}, I know I was a mess in the early months of motherhood. Sometimes, I still am. I cannot even begin to tell you both how thankful I am for you, for someone like me to have you as my dear parents. If not for you, I wouldn’t know what love is. If not for you, I wouldn’t have survived being an absolutely clueless mother to Faith. If not for you, I wouldn’t know what sacrifice means. Both of you are unconditional love personified. I can only wish that I am capable of giving Faith half the love and care that both of you have given me. Thank you for showing me what it takes to be a parent, and more. Faith is infinitely blessed to have Ah Gong and Ah Ma in her life.

{M}, I want to thank you for being such a strong pillar in my life. It’s tough to be the sole breadwinner and yet, you have been completely supportive on my wish to be a stay-at-home-mum. You have not once frowned upon my decision of giving up years of postgraduate education and good salary for this (even when I felt torn apart), and you have never griped about making ends meet on your own. You work so hard to provide the best for Faith and me, to the extent of neglecting your own well-being and giving up little luxuries for yourself, that it pains me to watch you live the consequences of my decision. I’m so, so sorry that I have not said this to you sooner, but you are my hero.

Sometimes, I can’t believe how blessed I am to have fallen in love with you, to be loved by you. I’m far from perfect, as a wife, as a mother, as a human being. But you, you, step in selflessly to make up for what I cannot do, and you have never ever judged me to be a lesser person just because I failed to rise to the occasion. How is it that I deserve such a wonderful man like you? I’ll never know, but I promise you that I’ll try to be better, because you make me want to be better.

Thank you for helping me to be the best mother I can to our child.

{Faith}, you are the greatest little person to Mama. I haven’t learnt as much from school as I did from you. You taught me to be patient, to be loving, to see the best in the most trying circumstances, to marvel at the tiniest miracles that I took for granted before you came along.

What really astounds me is how strong you are. You have been ill for three weeks. Yesterday, I watched you throw up helplessly and you cried as though you were in pain. I reckon you were frightened, but you stopped crying and started dancing the minute I cleaned you up; it was as if nothing had happened. In that instance, I thought about how I would curl up in bed, overwhelmed with self-pity and lethargy, had I been struck with bouts of high fever, hacking coughs and the vomitting bug. I felt ashamed and inspired at the same time, because you are but 20 months old, yet, you are so much more resilient than Mama. You make me want to be much more than I am, so that I can love you the best way I know how.

Thank you for giving me the privilege of being your mother, to learn from you, to look at the world through your eyes, to share with you, and to watch you grow.

(My brother, sister and friends}, I wouldn’t be a mother, if not for you. Thank you for helping me with Faith when I try to gobble down my lunch. Thank you for wiping away my tears when I feel defeated with the challenges of motherhood. Thank you for taking me out for dinner, even though I turned you down a million times before that because I couldn’t get away from parenting duties or was just too darn tired to head out. Thank you for not being mad at me when I run off to chase my toddler midway through a conversation. Thank you for telling me that it’s okay to not be okay. Thank you for sticking around and keeping my head above the water. Thank you for sharing my joy as a parent, even though I may babble on too much about Faith and annoy the hell out of you. You know who you are.

They say it takes a village to raise a child. I can see why they say that now, so…Happy Mother’s Day to one and all, because I don’t think this day is possible without you, you and you.

Your daughter, wife, sister and friend

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Married Life Blooper #3: The Tale of Four Butt Cheeks

M and I were about to turn in for the night, after a particularly drawn-out and tiring day. As he hoisted the duvet  up to his neck, and snuggled under the covers, he mumbled, ‘Do you know that I love you very much?’

And I, being all manja, asked him the question that most men feared.

Me: Will you still love me when I grow fat?

M (half-asleep): I love you, no matter what.

Me: Even with the face of a char siew bao?

M (still half-asleep): Yes, of course.

Me: Even when I have four butt cheeks?

M (jolted awake): FOUR butt cheeks?!

Me: Yes, four.

M: Why would there be four? Where would the extra two cheeks be?

Me (*rolls eyes* not that M could see them in the dark): Underneath the first two, LAH!


Me: …

The shit we say.

The Way I Say I Love You

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I am not one who tends to be all loving and gregarious and warm in person, mostly because I am afraid of saying the wrong thing. Often, I fumble for words and end up not telling someone how I feel because I spend too much time thinking about whether I would overwhelm people, or hurt someone, or generally freak people out with my weirdness. So if you have met me in person, you would know that I hardly initiate conversations and I mostly respond to people only when asked to, well, respond. I prefer to sit back and listen, than to fire away and be the life of the party. Yes, I am usually that quiet, aloof oddball, especially in a group of people. (But I have improved substantially since I got to know M, because his confidence in speaking up has rubbed off a little on me, which explains why I am a little less awkward these days, especially when I meet people one-on-one.)

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I do, however, love to write. Feelings can take the form of handwritten letters, emails, post-its, messages, even blog posts, and I word and offer them more freely and unabashedly, than if I were to communicate them in person. I love that I can write my thoughts down without having people scrutinise my facial expressions or my tightly wrung hands. The time alone with my pen and paper, or even the phone, is void of distraction, and that allows me to be…free.

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There are, however, certain things that can, and should only be said to someone when you look at him or her in the eye. A heartfelt letter, or a simple note by the lunch bag works, but shouldn’t we all try to tell that special people in our lives that we love them, in person? I know that I don’t tell people that I love them as often as I should. I don’t say it to my parents, or my siblings, whom I love with all my life. I sneak it in, when my husband and I are all tucked into bed, after we turn out the lights, because I’m too shy to look at him in the eye. I sneak it in, when I gaze at his profile as he watches the telly, because I know in the split second of words tumbling out of my mouth, he would be too distracted to glance at me before I hastily look away in embarrassment. The only person whom I consistently say it to has got to be Faith, who is far too young to be all weirded out by her Mama’s profuse declaration of love for her.

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But I can say it with cake. And I love to say it with cake. It starts with what I know about the likes and dislikes of that special someone, and branches out into ideas on flavours and textures that he or she would love. It then grows with days of labouring over the stove and the oven, hunching over the cake as I try my best to make it look nice, battling with the humidity and often, my daughter who pleads for my attention every two seconds. And then the moment comes, when the birthday song is sung, the candles are blown out and the cake is cut. My special someone tucks in and exclaims, ‘This is amazing!’ and I pretend to be busy with brushing non-existent crumbs from the table. That moment is perfect because I have said I love you in the biggest and smallest way possible, and no one gets weirded out. I get to retreat to my little oddball corner and feel like I have gone all out to say I love you with a slice of homemade cake.

And this was the case for my husband’s birthday this year. I don’t earn a salary, and I don’t do much other than take care of my family’s needs. I didn’t and couldn’t get him a present (it would really come out of his pocket, rather than my own…), and the only thing that I could do was to really think about what he loves, come up with flavours to surprise him, and get down to making him a cake that I hope he would adore. I don’t know if he was just trying to make me happy by saying that he loved the cake, but I was glad that he appreciated my efforts. I was glad that I made it, a Toasted Coconut Cake with Lemon Curd and Lemon Italian Meringue Buttercream. I was glad that he knows that I love him…and that’s all that matters.

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I love you, darling.


Not Your Average Superheros

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These two people boast an arsenal of mysterious superpowers that can make me feel ANYTHING.

They can drive me nuts. When I’m awake. When I’m asleep. When I’m just trying to be alone with my thoughts. When I’m trying to talk to them (ANSWER ME, DAMMIT).

For the annoying ticks they are, they have the strange ability to make me laugh. When I’m in the middle of a WAAAAAAAA-WAAAAAAAAA breakdown. When I’m out somewhere where it’s highly inappropriate to snort like a sow as I attempt to stifle my laughter. OMG, awkward much.

And then, they often harness the kungfunoshadowkickdrunkenfist power of making me melt into a puddle of loveydoveychocolatey goo. Like the other day, on a late afternoon after M came back from his overnight shift. F was really driving me up the wall with her wacky new tantrums the entire day (hello, Terrible Twos!) and I was flat out of battery by mid-day. M promptly took on his parenting duties, in spite of exhaustion from lack of the sleep the night before, and distracted F. He thought she might be running high on fuel and decided to chase her back and forth between the bedroom and the living room, where I was plastered to the couch. That’s not an unusual sight as we often chase F around and she LOVES to be chased. But on that day, M decided to kick it up a notch and he….planted a big kiss on my lips whenever he reached the couch. And you know what, F followed suit.

So it was RUN-LIKE-ELEPHANTS-ON-A-STAMPEDE-and-SHRIEK-WITH-DELIGHT followed by a big fat kiss on Mama’s lips, rinse and repeat.


Told you they aren’t your average superheroes.



The Here-and-Now

I have lost count of the number of times that I chased after the has-beens, what-ifs and maybes.

When I was a child, I was in a hurry to grow up in every way possible. I would try on my mother’s high heels, play with her humble stash of makeup, ask to go to the playground on my own, plead to go out with my friends, and buy my very first grown-up wallet (my mother used to attach a coin pouch to the inner lining of my pocket using a safety pin so I wouldn’t lose it….again). I even saved up to buy five curry puffs from my primary school canteen (and kept them in the pocket of my skirt…) for everyone in my family because that made me feel like a steward. I remember thinking that it would be nice if I could be an adult, kinda like Tom Hanks in the movie ‘Big‘, because I wanted to make my own decisions, and that seemed like the coolest thing a kid could do at that point.

When I started working, I was in a hurry to be somebody in the company I was working for, and to earn a handsome salary so that I could give my parents an allowance, buy them a house with a pretty garden, get my first car, etc. (But of course, I had to throw myself into the pursuit of a postgraduate degree and regress to being a student who was broke as hell from the age of 25 to 28, which largely represented a stage in life where my peers were starting to climb up the ladder at work and have some semblance of financial independence.)

When I was slogging through PhD, I couldn’t wait to graduate, so I could kickstart my late-bloomer of a career, be (yay) finally un-broke and put the skills I have learnt to good use. And yes, as I got married whilst getting my degree, I yearned to have a child too but we shelved the plans because pursuing a PhD whilst having a kid in a foreign country just didn’t make sense (to my disappointment).

Then I finally became a parent.

The sleepless nights, and state of being generally clueless about what a newborn needs, had me wishing that my daughter would grow up as soon as possible. I also thought about the times when I was young and carefree (read: before I became a parent), and occasionally wished that I could turn back the hands of time, and be the kid that I was. The kid who had the drive to propel herself, without incessant worries weighing heavily on her mind and cumbersome burdens on her shoulders.

Today, Faith is a little over 19 months old; she is is learning incredibly quickly and trying to be the big girl she wants to be. I look at her, and then at my dear husband, who has really, really gone through thick and thin with me since we became parents, and my heart aches a little. I whip out old photos and videos, and giggle as I watch my then-newborn sneeze for the first time. And then, I shed a tear or two at how she used to fit in my forearm, and how she and I used to spend the waking moments talking about anything under the sun. Well, I talked, and she listened, babbled, laughed and sometimes, cried. I can’t help but wish for her to stop growing up, to let me hold her tiny being close to me for a little longer, before her desire to be big gets…bigger.

As I meditate on this, as I lament the future of my past and the past of my future, I realise that the only sensible thing to do is to live in the here-and-now. For today makes yesterday’s future and tomorrow’s past, and try as I might to cling onto the has-beens, and get a whiff of the maybes, only the here-and-now matters. After all, it is the here-and-now today that makes tomorrow’s memories, memories that I will keep for life, memories that I will share with my loved ones.

So yes, Faith will grow up to be an angsty teenager at some point. My husband and I will only be getting more wrinkles here on out. A couple more spare tyres may unfold on my belly. There is no stopping time and the scary thing that is change. But I reckon the here-and-nows with my loved ones make everything so much better than if we were stagnant, living in the past or over-thinking the future.

To all of our here-and-nows.

Married Life Blooper #2: OK….WHAT?!

SO. Valentine’s Day zipped past us. If you must know, we don’t celebrate the occasion, and went out for our usual dinner date on Friday, only to find bosoms after bosoms of flowers shoved in our faces, and eateries after eateries filled to the brim with lovestruck couples.

To avoid the crowds, we hurried home to veg out in front of the telly after some good curry and gelato, and M decided to ‘express’ his love by tracing out what he wanted to say on my arm, something that he often does.

(Italicised conversations below are traced using our fingers on each other’s arm. All others were verbal or …abusive.)

M: I ♡ U

Me: 2 (meaning to say I love him too)

M: LUDD (short for love you deep deep)

Me: 2





*SLAP SLAP SLAP* (on his chest, by the way)



M: That’s what you were writing?! OH MY GOSH, sorry, I didn’t know what you were tracing, so I just went OK!

Me: Don’t bluff!




‘WHAT am I marrying…whale in white, ah?’

Moral of the story: Be clear on what your wife is asking before you reply, especially when you watching TV, or worse, football or playing video games. One wrong move and your wife will blog about it.

Your Hand In Mine

My beloved husband,

I know, I know…I have avoided anything that reminds me of our lives in Boston. It must be funny to you how I refuse to even have Korean fried chicken now but trust me, it isn’t funny at all to be reminded of the morning (more like all-day) sickness that hit me when I was pregnant with Faith. You and I know that life was terribly tough then.

But of course, life was tough because of the unfortunate events that happened on top of the morning sickness. What started out as an adventure that we were both looking forward to quickly spiralled into a teary mess whilst we were en route to the city. I will never forget how we huddled together for the remaining hours of our flight, stricken with fear and doubt, when I told you I bled heavily on the plane. We didn’t know if our pregnancy was viable, and we spent the first six hours of our lives in Boston getting prodded and weeping at the ER in MGH. Who would have guessed that we would spend the next six weeks either muted with fear for our baby’s well-being or crying in the serviced apartment that we called home in Boston. Well, I didn’t.

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I never did thank you for what you did to keep me sane during the nightmarish weeks back then.  I didn’t even realise how frightened you must have been by the episode, until I thought about it this evening as I flipped through our photos taken in Boston. Yet, you put on a brave front for me; like you always say, ‘One of us has to be strong for the both of us when the other is weak’.

Remember how you took me out to Boylston Street on Christmas Eve, ever so determined to treat me to a good meal to take my mind off things? Even though we ended up having Taiwanese beef noodles in a dodgy part of Chinatown, I would never forget your optimism and how you held me close as I cried outside Arlington Street Church, which we chanced upon in town. Thank you for saying a prayer with me that night.

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Thank you for holding my hand the whole time when we were waiting for the test results on Christmas morning. I would have broken down completely if not for you. And yes, the trip that we had planned to revisit our honeymoon destination, NYC? Thank you for insisting that we go ahead. I was sick to the gut with worry, but believe it or not, I had the best time with you, even if smiles from me came in the stingiest snippets. I knew you wanted me to let go, and I really tried to be happy because I wanted you to be happy too. I hope you know that.

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It wasn’t easy when you started working at MGH. Your hours were terribly long; I remember you had to wake up at 4am and didn’t get home till 7.30pm. Even though you were exhausted, you took care of me when I was plagued with morning sickness. You held my hair up as I heaved, rubbed my back, held me in your arms as I sobbed with worry over our unborn child, and rushed back during your 30-minute lunch break just so that I wouldn’t feel alone.

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Oh, do you remember the snowstorm that hit us at the end of our stay in Boston? I was feeling well enough to finally step out of the apartment to stomp around in thick blankets of snow. We built a snowman and stuck the ‘Baby On Board’ badge we had gotten from the Tube in London on its chest. We laughed heartily for the first time in weeks, and threw snowballs at each other. The sharp, cold air made me feel alive with every breath I took, but most of all, the sight of you, so relaxed and happy in the snow, gave me strength and renewed faith.

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And just like that, your hand took me to our last day in Boston. We took our first and final walk around the residential area near Charles Street, and I was reminded that hope is around the corner every time we walked past a cheerful Christmas wreath. That we would be back home in Singapore soon, and answers would be revealed in good time. That you would be right by my side, through the good and the bad. I was ready for anything because I had you.

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I never did thank you for helping me through one of the toughest times in our lives, and I hope I am not too late in saying this…the tears that nobody knew we were shedding…heartbreaking conversations that only we would know of…smiles that were forced as we tried to make memories of the life in the city I was trying to forget, I couldn’t have gone through it all without your hand in mine. And as strange as it sounds, I don’t want to forget the terrible times we had in Boston, and I wouldn’t have it any other way, because you…you made it all worthwhile.

I am ready for anything because I have you. Thank you, my love.



May We Sing and Dance Forever More

As I pen the final entry for 2013 on New Year’s Eve, the not-so-little one naps by my side. Her chest rises and falls with every breath, her silky, fine hair tangled in a sweaty mess at the nape of her neck, and her long limbs stretched in peaceful slumber. How she has grown.

How I have grown.

This time last year, I was an excited, frazzled and tired new mother. Today, I am tired, still, as a mother to an active toddler but I am happier, more calm, collected and composed than I have ever been in my life.

2013 was a year of change.

Sure, there were losses. Freedom, friends who are allergic to kids, couple time, me-time. I have lamented over these more than I should over the past year and have come to realise that it is normal to weather these changes once one becomes a parent. The little one needs me; yet, we try to balance ourselves on that high beam, whilst juggling a dizzying myriad of multi-coloured balls, and at times, we dodge Bludgers whilst doing so. It’s not easy, but the beauty of this is how I have been challenged to sieve out what’s important, and hold that dear to my heart.

Like old friends who stay by my side even though we can’t hang out as often as before. Like new friends who bring good tidings and wish nothing but the best for me, who invite me into their lives and share their stories with me, even though I am a stranger. Like my family, who has loved me unconditionally and given selflessly, as always. Like my husband, who loves me and believes in me so very much, and whom I love more everyday, even through the fights and doubts that are such commonplace in newfound parenthood. Like my daughter, whom I do everything and nothing with, who kicks my sorry ass with tantrums and 4am wakings, who surprises me everyday with a new word, and lately, with new songs that she bursts into whenever she feels like it, who strokes me gently when I am down, and kisses and hugs me just because.

I cannot ask for more. And I wouldn’t change the world for what I have been given, good and bad. It has been a stunning year full of joy and tears.

As I watch my daughter stir from her sleep, knowing what is to come in a matter of minutes when she wakes, that she would tug at my hands for us to play…I wish for one thing. That we may sing and dance together forever more.

I wish this for you, and you, too.

Blessed 2014, my friends.