she house wife keng at home say she is nation backbone while NS slaves break their back bones in NS slavery.
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Aunties are our nation's backbone
I HAVE become an auntie.
No, not because I've acquired a niece or nephew (although I have those too). But the day I found myself comparing the price of paper plates between two shops in my Housing Board neighbourhood, I knew that I had officially become an auntie.
So how did an overseas educated, card-carrying professional - who was voted "Most Likely to Become a Yuppie" at college - find herself joining the ranks of fish-prodding, bus seat-slapping, bargain-hunting aunties?
My transformation began when I took a break from the rat race to be a full-time mum to my two boys.
I quickly realised that on my family's reduced income, the price of fish and, yes, of paper plates, took on greater significance.
My new-found mission to feed, clothe and entertain my family on a budget has led me, like any self-respecting auntie, to leave no stone unturned in the search for the freshest, cheapest and the best value-for- money purchases.
I've even plucked up the courage to try out my rusty Teochew and Hokkien - all the better to sweet-talk butchers, fishmongers and greengrocers.
But, as eagerly as I've embraced my conversion to "auntie-dom", I have to admit feeling the occasional twinge of embarrassment.
After all, aunties are not always portrayed in a positive light. Anyone who has been pushed aside by an auntie with an eye on a bargain, or embarrassed by a middle-aged female relative fussing over her eating habits, marital status or income level, will know what I mean.
And will I someday develop an inexplicable passion for leopard- print spandex, line-dance and karaoke?
Mingling daily in the midst of true heartland aunties, I've made some discoveries though.
Behind the stereotypes of aunties, I've experienced sisterhood, fortitude in difficulty and down-to-earth sensibility. I've received plenty of free advice from strangers (like where to get the best minced pork).
I'm particularly tickled by a dignified old woman in her 80s, who frequently holds court at the coffeeshop, quietly smoking and listening to the chatter of younger aunties who surround her.
Her calm demeanour suggests that she has seen it all - marriage, births, work, illnesses, deaths, bringing up children, grandchildren and perhaps even great-grandchildren. Looking at her, my struggles as a mother of young children are put into comforting perspective.
If not for aunties, who would care for, and fuss over, our children and grandchildren?
Who would be there to wipe their sweat at the playground, rub medicated oil on their chests, and teach them respect for elders?
Who would keep shopkeepers and stallholders honest, and their prices low, in this age of escalating costs?
Who would bring up generations and hold our households together while others go out to compete in the rat race?
Aunties, we're the backbone of the nation.
The writer is a freelance writer and editor who lives in an HDB estate in the north of Singapore. She has two young children.
============================
Aunties are our nation's backbone
I HAVE become an auntie.
No, not because I've acquired a niece or nephew (although I have those too). But the day I found myself comparing the price of paper plates between two shops in my Housing Board neighbourhood, I knew that I had officially become an auntie.
So how did an overseas educated, card-carrying professional - who was voted "Most Likely to Become a Yuppie" at college - find herself joining the ranks of fish-prodding, bus seat-slapping, bargain-hunting aunties?
My transformation began when I took a break from the rat race to be a full-time mum to my two boys.
I quickly realised that on my family's reduced income, the price of fish and, yes, of paper plates, took on greater significance.
My new-found mission to feed, clothe and entertain my family on a budget has led me, like any self-respecting auntie, to leave no stone unturned in the search for the freshest, cheapest and the best value-for- money purchases.
I've even plucked up the courage to try out my rusty Teochew and Hokkien - all the better to sweet-talk butchers, fishmongers and greengrocers.
But, as eagerly as I've embraced my conversion to "auntie-dom", I have to admit feeling the occasional twinge of embarrassment.
After all, aunties are not always portrayed in a positive light. Anyone who has been pushed aside by an auntie with an eye on a bargain, or embarrassed by a middle-aged female relative fussing over her eating habits, marital status or income level, will know what I mean.
And will I someday develop an inexplicable passion for leopard- print spandex, line-dance and karaoke?
Mingling daily in the midst of true heartland aunties, I've made some discoveries though.
Behind the stereotypes of aunties, I've experienced sisterhood, fortitude in difficulty and down-to-earth sensibility. I've received plenty of free advice from strangers (like where to get the best minced pork).
I'm particularly tickled by a dignified old woman in her 80s, who frequently holds court at the coffeeshop, quietly smoking and listening to the chatter of younger aunties who surround her.
Her calm demeanour suggests that she has seen it all - marriage, births, work, illnesses, deaths, bringing up children, grandchildren and perhaps even great-grandchildren. Looking at her, my struggles as a mother of young children are put into comforting perspective.
If not for aunties, who would care for, and fuss over, our children and grandchildren?
Who would be there to wipe their sweat at the playground, rub medicated oil on their chests, and teach them respect for elders?
Who would keep shopkeepers and stallholders honest, and their prices low, in this age of escalating costs?
Who would bring up generations and hold our households together while others go out to compete in the rat race?
Aunties, we're the backbone of the nation.
The writer is a freelance writer and editor who lives in an HDB estate in the north of Singapore. She has two young children.
