Fuyoh, twenty one years!

Twenty-ones is no joke.
Many of you haven’t even live for twenty one years.
But I have lived with the same man for more than 21 years.
Actually I lived-in for like half my life with the same person.
Counting fingers and toes, yes, more than half my life.

Hmmm…when we live with our parents, we get sick of them.
We find the mothers too naggy, the father something else (not sure what cuz my father died when I was a kid, so I have no ideas what fathers are).
We secretly wish to kill our siblings.
We cannot wait for the day to leave the roost and live on our own.

But with marriage, you don’t get such options.
No such things as, “Mom, I need to be independent, I am moving to a flat of my own.”
You have to die die stick to the same person.
Like it or not.

I have seen many marriages broke up.
Even the witnesses to my registrar of marriage or whatcallit those Government civil marriage thingie.
The wife has married someone else.
The husband isn’t, yet.

I just attended my niece wedding and seen the elaborate things they went through in their wedding.
My wedding was a simple one cos I wanted to beat the clock.
My father-in-law was dying of cancer.
So, I thought, hey, let’s get married so that he could go to his grave happily ever after.
My hubby was favourite son.
True enough, they even engraved all the unborn grandchildren onto the tombstone. *rolls eyes*
My boys’ names were etched in marble before I even start to produce.

So, anyway….all my brothers and sisters are married to only one.
And that’s the way I was brought up.
You only stick to one.
Till death do us part. Though of course, I never promise God that cos I don’t know Him yet mah…
Once, I asked my priest Fr Stephen, “Father, Father, since I never marry according to Christian rites, does that make my marriage ‘tak achi’ and I can remarry again or not ah?” (That’s why Father Stephen always remember me cos I am the notti notti RCIA student who asked all these stupid questions.)

I think the only way to stay married for me is to continue being myself.
I won’t change for a man.
I won’t change for anything.
I am I. I die die will be myself.
If my husband starts to nag me like my mom, I will pack my bags and move out.
If my husband starts to kong-kong (confine?) me like a father, I will cabut.
If my husband expects me to scrub the floor, polish the furniture and bring out the garbage, I will ask him go hire a maid.
If my husband…

ok, ok, that’s enough.
People are supposed to write romantic stuffs on wedding anniversaries, aren’t they?
Nay…not me. I am a practical person.
Don’t bother to send me mushy, lovey-dovey messages. I am happy as it is. Wait till I have completed the 50-years marathon, then only wish me, ok?

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