*This piece is written for any married or single women out there that has ever felt un-fabulous or sorry for themselves. You should never feel that way again.

I just had a rude awakening. I realized that I am almost middle aged (I know I’m exaggerating, but this is what I feel like), I’m no longer a pretty young thing (so many pretty young things out there and no matter what I do I just don’t cut it anymore) and my life is well, boring.

What the hell happened? Where did my life go? When did I go from being a singer who’s all kinds of hip and cool to a hausfrau who blends with the wallpaper in the background?

*Soundtrack from the movie Psycho when Norman Bates was lurking behind the shower curtain with the knife in his hand followed by a hysterical scream of – ironically – a pretty young thing*

EEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeekkkkkkkkkkk!!!!!!!!!!!!!

And as if it’s not enough, not only am I a boring hausfrau, I don’t even have the guts to be one of those boring hausfraus who live a somewhat exciting double life as a stepford wife one minute and a nymph the next (and who just happens to occasionally fuck the odd UPS/FEDEX/DHL/whatever delivery or handyman who knocks on their doors.)

Shit, I’m just a plain and boring hausfrau who seem to only obsess about her cooking (all the time) and even more often about eating! Although lately I have been having a new dream about opening my own restaurant one day (FYI, I’m yawning as I type this).

What’s worse, I don’t even have a kid! (not that I want to, can’t imagine how dead-end my life would be with one *shudders*) So what’s my excuse for falling down the abyss of dingy and dismal nothingness with no social life whatsoever? (And being eternally broke should not be one of them)

This feeling of self-loathing is probably because I’m going to be 34 in three weeks.

Yes, I am aware that I have finally confessed as to how old I really am, publicly. I’m doing this because I now have come to terms with the fact that it’s not as if I’m gonna be the next Lady Gaga, thus there is no need  to shave a couple or 6 years off my age anymore (the standard practice in the entertainment world).

I’ve landed back on earth, performed the much needed reality check and found out that although I’m a good singer, I do not live in the entertainment capital of the world, thus making opportunities for making it in the biz as slim as a virile but extremely ugly man getting laid by something other than his hand.

Plus, as good a singer as I am, I know my talents as a singer/songwriter is at best 6,5 out of 10 (Britney being 2,5 and Alicia Keys 9). Also, I don’t look the part anymore, so all the dreams I once had are running away from me (probably ashamed to be associated with a well-oiled drone of a homemaker as myself, kinda like how my ‘cool’ friends seems to be ashamed to introduce me to their other ‘cool’ friends) so now I have to get new ones, hence, the dream of opening my own restaurant one day.

Sighs.

To be honest, this is one of the very seldom times that I feel sorry for myself. I feel too privileged to be sorry for myself because I know that my garbage can eats better than 30% of the world’s population; that I have plenty to be thankful for; that I have many talents that comes in handy at times;  that I know a lot of things, trivial and otherwise; that I am an able bodied and sound minded person; and that as boring as my life might feel like, it sure beats the hell out of some other boring hausfrau’s who can’t sing or cook or write or bake with a lazy ass husband and hyper active kids to take care of. So I’m still in the lead, like the Blair Waldorf of a local brothel/cesspool/insert your favorite shitty place here.

But lately even knowing that I’m still in the lead don’t cheer me up as easily.

Maybe because I feel like instead of settling down or take root, I am instead settling with what I have in my life although I feel I can have more. I have even violated one of my very important self rule, one of the very few but very important life guidelines (oh, the horror!) which is:

“Thou shalt not think that others’ grass are greener, thou shalt not even think about looking at others’ belongings and feel all sorry for thyself after finding out others have a more awesome life/job/friends/spouse/bags/boob job!”

Yes, I am ashamed to say that I have been peeking into some of my friends’ life, with the help of the all knowing facebook, and saw that some of them seem to have very awesome lives. (But I’m happy for y’all though, seriously!)

I envy those single and/or fabulous friends of mine who are out all night with a bunch of equally cool friends, drinking, getting hammered and partying endlessly like there’s no tomorrow (and like there’s no backaches and headaches that will haunt them for at least 5 days after the said party <– side effects of being 30 something going on 56).

I miss the days when I was one of them, a kupu kupu malam social butterfly, the life of a party, a cool gal everybody wanted to hang out with; the girl every girl wanted to be and every man wanted to do.

Ok, I admit the flu medications I took this morning might have been stronger than I would expect – or did I mistakenly took Diazepam instead? – so I might be hallucinating a bit down memory lane here, but be a doll and save a whale. (Before I hear any snarky remarks: Yes, I’m a whale. Suitable in all sense of the word, size-wise and the fact that people like me are near extinction..)

But as I spiraled further down the abyss of self-loath and drab, I suddenly had a moment of clarity (and these things do not come very often to me, I think I had one in ‘94, twice in ‘98 and 2001, not more than 3 times between the periods of 2003 to 2006 and then it just stopped appearing altogether, kinda like my libido) and I knew I had to snap myself out of it.

“Goddamn it, girl. Listen to your sorry ass!” My sane self told my pathetic self.

“You’re comparing yourself to other people again, and you know what good it usually brings you, right? Nothing, nada, zip, zilch!

Now stop feeling sorry for yourself and think hard. Think hard about yourself and other friends of yours who were once a so-called social butterfly.” My sane self kept on saying.

“Think about them? And then what? And so what If I am feeling sorry for myself? Don’t I have the right to do at least that?” I asked

(at this point, Mr. Husband is looking at the both of us  with a very concerned look on his face)

“Well for one thing, let me tell you the synonyms of Social Butterfly. Hedonist is one, pleasure seeker is another. Both not necessarily with good connotations. If a social butterfly’s life aim is to constantly seek pleasure then it just means that they haven’t been able to find it. So you see, at the end of the day they are kind of pathetic, don’t you think?

To go on and on in life seeking pleasure and not being able to get it, not even able to locate where it is, now that’s horrifying! You should know how lucky you are that your life is not that empty! You’ve done what they’re still doing now, you’ve found your pleasures, and now you have something many of those people don’t: Contentment.

Contentment is not something that a lot of people have, and it’s not easily found. So be happy, be content that you don’t have to constantly worry about what you are going to do or where you must go every weekend in order to ‘keep on existing’ and to make yourself feel good.

Be happy that staying home and trying out new recipes; cuddling with your husband in bed while watching a nice movie or a marathon of TV series; having friends over and cooking for them; give you the highest form of joy, something you were never  able to experience during your hedonistic period,” my sane self stressed.

“Well, if you put it that way….” I reluctantly replied.

So boys and girls, the moral of the story is that I’m getting older, life is not by any means easier, people’s lawns will ALWAYS appear greener, but it just means that their water bills are higher, and they haven’t done their bit to conserve the environment which just makes them assholes. But I digress.

For all I know, those people I have been secretly envying might also secretly envy what I have. Maybe not what I have literally, but probably the sense of tranquility and contentment that I constantly ooze, not to mention the wisdom I have that is well beyond my years. (right about now, I can hear my brother Rama and friend Therry’s vomiting sounds in the background).

But basically, there is always something that we have, be it a worldly possession or something within, that people envy or admire. And there is always something that others have that we envy or admire. Nobody has it all, and nobody has nothing at all. And that’s the ugly truth.

Now, if you’ll all excuse me, it’s lunch time and I’m about to devour the beautiful dish I made that is sitting in front of me, staring at me for the past hour.

Ooh.. that’s one advantage of being a stepford wife right there! I’m able to make fabulous meal for a fraction of the price that those lovely singleton friends of mine (and some married ones as well) have to pay in a restaurant each time they want to eat something delish!

Ta-ta!