"Being married" – a year ago, these words were foreign to me. Well, not exactly foreign but I was merely acquainted with them.
You see, I used to be a typical career woman. I loved clinching deals and sniffing out new ones. I always joked that there was no need to get married; it was better to make loads of money and check myself into a home when I grew old. There was no need for dependency. That was passé.
They say you meet "The One" when you least expect it.
I remember asking my colleague about her husband and how she knew he was "The One." They got married within six months of meeting each other. She threw me a hackneyed “when you know, you know." I secretly rolled my eyes and thought, “Whatever."
So, it was at yet another work-do that I would meet "Him," and I was highly inebriated on sangria and Dom Perignon. But even when the so-called beer goggles wore off, his looks and personality still charmed me as the evening wore on.
Before long, we started dating, and our relationship just got better as time went by. How strange. I was used to the cliché that things only go downhill henceforth.
We only saw each other on weekends as he worked in Hong Kong and I, Singapore. To bridge the gap, we would take turns traveling to one another's home base every Friday and return to our respective countries on the late flight Sunday.
One of the things we would do over the weekend in Hong Kong (Horse Racing in Sha Tin). In this picture, it appears that the horse is headless. Fear not, his head is bent over to his left.
This arrangement worked out fine as we were both busy bankers. We coped well until he received news that he was going to be posted to New York City.
I have never had much faith in long-distance relationships. Hong Kong-Singapore was manageable but sometimes still a pain. New York-Singapore? How about no way, Jose? I loved my job and my colleagues, not to mention my family and friends. It was a hard choice.
It was around that time that he proposed marriage. Now, I love risk, but this was going to be the biggest test of my love yet. Risk in business could be hedged. Risk in love -–in my opinion – ends in a binary result: you either win or you lose.
But you know what I decided in the end.
Yes, I quit my job, packed my bags and moved to New York after our civil marriage in Singapore. I had taken on a new role: an unemployed housewife.
Even after a year, I am still not used to putting down “homemaker” as my occupation on custom forms. I cringe each time I have to write that down. But I don't mean to offend all the great housewives out there. It is the hardest job one can ever do. It is such a selfless job, but one for which I feel I receive no personal gratification.
Beware the amateur chef!
I was simply not accustomed to my new life. I used to be rewarded in dollars for the amount of hard work I put in. Now, the math was incorrect!
My husband was empathetic. He knew how career-minded I was. He felt guilty about uprooting me from my job, my family, my friends and, most of all, for the loss of my sense of independence. He even suggested drawing up a "contract" with an arbitrary salary, so that I could pretend that he had employed me, if that would make me feel better.
No, he wasn't suggesting a prenuptial agreement. We both think that kills any romance in a relationship. It is akin to a self-fulfilling prophecy that your marriage will end at some point.
Eventually, I decided on a fancy new work title with my "boss": I am now the Secretary of Home Affairs. Literally.
I deal with everything at home – from leaking pipes to bank managers. I wear more hats than I thought I ever would. Oh, and my work wardrobe has also grown: On some evenings, I dress up as a corporate wife. Then I get to wear sweats to the gym and casual clothes to run errands.
My new best friends!
But I no longer wear power suits, which I miss. I have an undefined job scope, which I still cannot fathom at times. I have no colleagues to chat with, and I can go an entire day without speaking to anyone.
Instead of whining, I should tell you the perks of my new job.
I get to wake up at 10 a.m. everyday. No more 7 a.m. breakfast meetings and midnight conference calls. My time is my own. I have salsa lessons three times a week and Spanish classes twice a week. I have also learned how to cook and clean. I dictate what I do with my life, for the most part.
But these changes have also been a shock to my system. I can no longer tolerate caffeine or alcohol much, and I get tipsy after two glasses of wine. Mind you, I could chug a bottle or two in my heyday.
In a sense, I am detoxifying my body and my spirit. I now have time to say "hello" to the wine merchants downstairs. I have time to chat with fellow shoppers and I have time to write blogs!
I am now in the second year of my new job, which I cannot terminate as I wish. I did not get a pay increase but I did receive a paltry year-end bonus – just like the rest of the average Joes serving the powers-that-be in the banking industry!
I am in awe of women who are full-time mothers and homemakers. This tale is to thank my mum for her years of dedication to her family. And to all the great homemakers out there – three cheers for you all!
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