Feminism? Bah!

The other day, my girlfriend complained that her husband would not renew her road tax and car insurance for her. His reason? He wanted her to be independent and learn to do it herself. Fair enough, coz this woman has never in her life renewed her license herself, or did the taxes, or balanced the cheque books. I suppose the husband’s reasoning is valid, should he unexpectedly drops dead, she should be able to handle her personal affairs herself. He did not want her to be too reliant on him, lest she becomes lost in the jungle of modern life. But then again, this girlfriend of mine is a lawyer for god’s sakes. She goes to court and fights with old mean judges. She reads and prepares contracts thousands of pages thick. She can’t be so naive as not to be able to do such simple things like renewing her road tax. 

When I asked her about it, her reply was simple – the guy is her husband. He should be doing those kind of tasks for her. She is the wife and should not be bothered with the nitty gritty details that came part and parcel with adult life, and especially with married life. That is what husbands are for!

 That is what I would like to ponder today. In this day and age where women everywhere are screaming bloody murder for equal rights and feminine rights and gender equality, are there still girls who expect to be waited hand and foot by their masculine partners? Are there still high powered, balls busting, corporate ladder climbing women who turn into ditzy babes the moment it comes to domestic affairs? 

Women today have come a long way. As early as in the 1800, women have begun to join the paid work force, to seek higher educational opportunities and to perceive a new sense of selfhood. The early feminists maintained that women had the same rights to political, religious, economic and social independence as men simply because they were no different from men. They deserved complete sovereignty because they, like men, had only themselves to rely on in times of crisis. Today, they have won the right to vote, to obtain equal education, to sit in the Supreme Court. They have proven that they can handle responsibilities of tough professions like supreme court judges, astronauts, pilots, even presidents.

 So, after that long and hard struggle, isn’t it fair that they be expected to be able to do something as simple as renewing the road tax? Or for that matters, other tasks that have always been regarded as “husband duties”, like mowing the lawn, rotating the tires, changing the light bulb, doing the plumbing, checking out that suspicious sound in the middle of the night and chasing away that scary mouse. My view is, yes, it’s fair. But only, only, if the husband chips in doing duties that have always been regarded as “wifely” duties, like changing the baby’s diapers, doing the dishes, the laundry, preparing meals etc. And they have to do it without prompting, mind you. It doesn’t count if they do it only after being nagged by the wife a million times.  

So, tasks should not be segregated according to sex, but rather, by the individual’s capabilities and skills. Wouldn’t it be ridiculous to expect the wife to cook all the time when the husband is a world class chef? And wouldn’t it be equally ridiculous to expect the husband to repair the television set when the wife is an electronic engineer?

And like many things in a relationship, it should also be a matter of give and take. So, the same way that I know my husband can wash those dirty dishes, and I do it for him anyway because I know he does not like doing it, the same way it should be that I let the petrol tank of my car go dangerously low just because I just hate filling in petrol. I suppose one of these days when I am stranded alone in the middle of nowhere with an empty tank, I could figure out how to work that petrol pump thingy, but for now, I expect that my husband do it for me. Not because he is a man and I am a woman, but rather because he knows that I don’t like doing it, so he should do the task I regard unpleasant for me. I suppose on some level, I guess there are still some women out there who expects men to open doors for them, not because they can’t open the door, but rather, because it is nice to have them open it for you. The same goes for giving up their seats in buses, and offering to carry your things, or for that matter, picking up the tab on dates. And I don’t see it as a sign of weakness, rather, a sign of respect and appreciation, for the, not weaker, but gentler sex. 

But then again, maybe I am old fashioned. Maybe some women today do get offended when a man opens the door for her. Maybe she’d rather the man go through the door himself first, and let that heavy door slam in her face. And maybe she thinks that she should stand in that crowded train in her Gucci high heels.  But for me, rather than take that crowded smelly train, after a long hard day at work, or shopping, it still feels much better if my man picks me up right at the door step. And I believe, after a long day at work, my husband likes me to prepare his meals for him. It is not about sexes. It’s about appreciating the people around you, and showing that appreciation in the way that you know best.

Why Do I Write?

My rambling thoughts in my runaway mind goes thru topics at the rate of 10 topics per given second. I have no clear idea what I am thinking of at any given time. I will be thinking of one thing this second, something totally different at the very next.

Writing lets my mind relax. It forces my mind to focus on whatever it is I am writing about. My mind still wanders, but at least it wanders at a slower rate. It is not running in ten different directions at one time. Imagine a hyperactive kid with too much sugar. That is what happens in my head. At least with writing, my head is still a kid with ADD, but minus the sugar. More manageable.

I’ve tried blogging a couple of times. My blogs died. For whatever reasons. But now, I hope to write more. More for myself than anyone else. I hope to gain from its therapeutic benefits. Or so people say..

Kidz!

What is it about kids that make mankind want to produce them over and over again? Aside from the fact that the process of making babies is highly enjoyable, well, at least for 76% of the Malaysian population according to a 2003 survey by Durex ;)

But lets face it, companies like Durex do give us the means to enjoy the process without having the need to taste the fruit of our labour. So why do we constantly have the need to remove those little caps from our little friend down there? After all, girls, did we not go through that 12 hours of excruciating pain trying to squeeze out something the size of a watermelon through an opening the size of an orange? And guys, did you not witness all that blood and gore and screaming and pain, after which you swore never again to touch your partner for as long as the both of you shall live? So what is it about those tiny little faces that make us lose our sanity and go through the pain and anguish all over and over again? It is a little difficult to fathom isn’t it? They may be only ye high and ye wide, but even at birth, they already have their holds on their parents lives. For you see, the moment a couple have a baby, WHAM!, their lives change forever. 

The changes they would have to make, the sacrifices they would have to take. This is especially true for their very first child. For the first child, they would trade in their beautiful sporty 2 seater Honda to an ugly bulky Toyota Unser which will be fitted with a baby seat, for the child to sit in obviously. And a rocker, in case the baby gets tired and needs to sleep. And of course the car will be stocked with enough juice, in case the baby gets thirsty, with enough Gerbers, in case the baby gets hungry, and with enough diapers, in case the baby goes poopy. Not to mention the toys to keep the baby occupied, and every conceivable product that have ever been produced on Barney the Purple Dinosaur to keep the baby entertained, and first aid kits, change of clothes, strollers, a medicine cabinet. All those, for the 10 minutes trip to the store down the block. And of course, with a child, a quiet night with your partner that you used to enjoy during your courting and newly wed days, well, that is simply an impossibility. Instead of the mature movies you so really enjoyed previously, you are now forced to pay nine bucks to watch a movie about a fat orange cat and a stupid drooling dog. Instead of enjoying the escargot with dom perignon and crème brule at that fancy restaurant, you are battling with Happy Meals. And watching TV? Forget it. When you have a child, your Astro will be constantly between channels 60 to 63, you KNOW the theme song of Tiny Planet by heart, you CAN find that hidden mickey and you KNOW the names of all four teletubbies.  

Also, once you have a child, you can kiss goodbye those Sunday morning romps that you and your partner used to enjoy. It’s a wonder how a couple can manage to have more than one child when attempts at intimacy are punctuated with questions like “Mama, what are you and papa doing?”.

And having a child is also very expensive. Diapers, formulas, baby food, toys, they are all so very expensive, you might as well arrange for your salary to be paid straight to Carrefour.  

So why or why, are we insane enough to have children again and again? As a mother, let me tell you why. 

Having a child is the most beautiful feeling you can ever experience. For one, there is nothing more ego boosting than having a toddler of your own. This little person, worships the ground that you walk on. You may sing like the biggest reject from American Idol, and they still think that you are the best singer in the universe and insist you sing Knick Knack Paddy Wack until you feel like throwing up. Your body may be like Roseanne Barr’s, but they still think you are the most beautiful goddess that has ever walked the planet.  Let me share with you what my 5 year old Adam said to me recently. In one of my mid life crisis stage of old age denial, I was wearing a rather tight tee with low cut jeans. A little, (ok a lot :p ) of spare tires were showing under the tee. Delightfully pointing to my really really prominent stretch marks that criss crosses my middle, Adam excitedly cried out, “Mama, you have stripes. You are so beautiful. You look just like a tiger. Can I have stripes too?” Now, how much better can it get? Only in the eyes of a 5 year old can stretch marks on their mother’s tummy look beautiful. 

In their eyes, you can do nothing wrong. Well, at least that’s true up until they reach adolescent years, after which you evolve from being super cool mom to super geek. But that’s another topic for another day.   Of course it’s hard, especially emotionally. The worry that they cause you makes you think you are constantly suffering cardiac arrest. Every cut they suffer, every fever they get, cause you to worry endlessly. You just want to protect them from every harm, from every heartbreak, and you just want to bash the head of that boy who pushed him in the playground yesterday.  I suppose all parents can all go on and on and on about how their children have affected and changed their lives. I suppose, we all get a little crazy when it comes to our kids. And I suppose on some level, I still reminiscence about those times where I can have eight hours of uninterrupted sleep, of the times where I can spend 500 bucks on a pair of boots, or of those times when I could go on holiday on a whim without having to consider school holidays. 

But one look at those chubby face, one spontaneous “I love you mama”, one peck of those wet slobbering kiss, and I know that I would not trade them even for the world, and I would do it all over again in a heart beat.