There was a time when all I have to do is step into a shop and get whatever I want without even blinking. I bought a $105 jeans without even stopping to think whether I need it or not.
When I had my first child, I just have to impulsively enter a Cerisi store and bought 5 boys outfit at one go. Sometimes, all it takes is one trip to the market for my saturday routine of spending $80 on my weekly supply of groceries and I came upon a makeshift table of babies clothes for everyday use and I'd blow $20 just like that.
I'm not a compulsive buyer. Nor am I a rich tai-tai. Spending on the above is chicken feed compared to the obscene amount of money the kids spend on these days.
I longed for those days. My weekly saturday trip to the market would involve me dragging my then 2 year old boy and promising him a trip to the playground if he's good. My first stop would be the seafood stall. I didn't blink if my choice of garoupa, squid and prawns alone adds up to $40. I always add an unplanned can of peach for him (he loves peaches in cans) to my list of groceries. Groceries for the week done, I'd let him play at the playground on the market square while I read the newspaper. He'll help me push the cart home and promptly fell asleep in front of the TV with the fan on. My husband would be pushing in the weekend shift but he'll normally be home by 3pm. So I'll start preparing lunch and dinner at the same time. I wanted that monotony because it provides a sense of security. There is nothing for me to worry about.
I wanted those days back.
How I longed to purchase an apple pie in macdonald's without hesitating. I'd give anything for a chance to choose between a $1.90 peach tart with a miserable slice of peach at Polar Puff or a $3.90 alternative at Delifrance but with real half a peach. Sometimes, when I'm stressed out at work, I'll take a cab to Clementi and purchase one bedsheet just for the fun of it.
No matter how it was back then, we always managed our spending. We're not rich and we only earn $2900 between us but there's always an available minimum sum of at least $40 in my salary bank a day before payday. It doesn't bother me that much because the bills would've been paid by then and we have no outstanding amount owed to any banks. We don't own credit cards and after setting aside a small amount in my secret account, $40 in my salary bank is nothing for me to worry about.
Things are so much different now. My pay day is on the 15th. By 16th, I have a total of <$10 to my name. Usually. I'm helping the best I can and I know he is struggling too. I knew where we went wrong but he refused to learn from the mistakes. He wouldn't admit that I am right and I wouldn't want to be dragged into one bitter fight after another. I have children who depended on me. I want them to be happy but I wish I could give more to them.
These days, my quota for lunch is $1.30. Anything more than that will disrupt my fragile budget. Sometimes, I don't even have $1.30. Sometimes, I'm a proud owner of $0.05 in my wallet. Sometimes none at all.
I feel so sorry for myself. All I have to do is look into my facebook account and my friends would be bingeing on nice lunches at swanky cafes or having dinner at one of those restaurants that charges exorbitant prices on atmosphere alone. Sometimes there would be photos of their nice and simple meals at the local coffee shop but that too is not on our "what to eat for dinner tonight" routine.
I may sound cruel and ungrateful here. Don't get me wrong. I do feel happy that the family is happy with whatever simple things we had. Our house is rented out and we have to rent a small studio apartment across the causeway to get by. We commute 39km everyday to send the kids to school but I'm glad so far, it has not affected their studies. We are still struggling with paying the banks and financing the car. No matter how hungry I was at work, we can still afford a nice meal for dinner what with the current exchange rate being at our advantage. At least there's bread and butter on the table.
I cried at what's befalling us but at the same time I looked back and realise that all these things happened for a reason. However, I can't help looking back at all those happy times and missing those happy days. I let him do whatever he likes and I get to suffer for it for the rest of my life. But I don't blame him. At least he didn't gamble, womanise and spend his time doing goodness-knows-what at goodness-knows-where.
I must accept the fact that I will no longer taste the little luxuries I used to take for granted. I must accept whatever fate gave me. As long as I am still strong enough to work, I'll just contribute to the household. I'll do so until I retire.
I wouldn't have much since my CPF is dried up to pay for our flat and he does not have any CPF at all. At this rate, I don't have to worry so much when I retire at 60. Whatever miserable sum I receive will go to whatever my husband has planned. Afterall, he was the one who planned on what to spend at every yearly bonuses I get. He drives a taxi (self employed as he so insisted) so he didn't get bonuses.
He is at his most happiest come end of the year when I get get paid extra and will be the most angriest I didn't get enough insisting on me confronting my superiors on why I didn't get enough (which I don't normally do because to me, something is better than nothing). I can only manage a bittersweet smile and let him blame me for not "doing enough work" and "too lazy to upgrade myself" so that I can get better pay and contribute to the family income nevermind that currently I'm already pitching in 85%.
Don't get me wrong. He is a nice person. He buys me lunch and gave me pocket money as and when he remembers but I feel guilty asking for it because I know he's struggling too. I longed for the freedom to purchase what I want because I'm a careful spender. I always save up for a rainy day. These days I couldn't even afford to buy lunch, how to save for a rainy day? I feel like Tommy and Gina on Bon Jovi's Living on a Prayer but I'm afraid to cry because my Tommy wouldn't whisper "baby it's ok". He'll scold me for not being grateful instead.
According to my family history, the girls don't live up to 70. Give or take a few years, I'll probably drop dead before I can get back the luxury of choosing between a $1.90 or $3.90 peach tart ever again.
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