ST Jan 16, 2006

Script your own fairy tale
I grew up cynical of marriage. But one year into mine, I now see that the bliss can be real

By Tee Hun Ching
girl talk

I WAS in my early teens when it hit me that few, if any, marriages came close to the warm, fuzzy ideal often portrayed on TV.

Not that there were any big rows, slamming of doors or the scary like in my home. In fact, my parents always made it a point to take their fights behind closed doors.

But my siblings and I could always feel the chill when things were not right.

Pursed lips, tight smiles and terse exchanges were the marks of a frosty spell which could last days, during which I would feel helpless and listless.

Even when normal ties resumed, I strained to spot signs of affection.

Looking back, I cannot recall a single marriage outside of TV world that stood out as a beacon of happiness while I was growing up.

While none of my friends in school came from broken families, it was not uncommon for me to discover, during visits to their homes, that their parents slept in separate rooms.

The first boy I dated had to call home whenever we were out just to reassure his mother that he was not with his estranged Dad.

In fact, only one of my ex-boyfriends could boast of parents who seemed to get along.

I was not looking out for lavish bouquets, sweet nothings or passionate smooching a la celluloid romances.

Just simple signs of enduring intimacy, such as a playful nudge or an exchange of knowing looks that no one else could decipher.

Indications that, despite problems, a couple chose to grow old together not because they had to, but because they wanted to.

I was convinced that a marriage would eventually become a chore at best, or an unbearable yoke at worst.

Statistics seem to bear out my cynicism, as more couples here call it quits after decades of marriage.

In 2004, 20.2 per cent of divorces involved those who had been married for at least 20 years, up from 13 per cent in 1993, when the number started climbing steadily.

But, as I mark my first wedding anniversary, I've come to see that marital bliss need not be a figment of Hollywood's imagination.

IT IS up to us, really.

Sure, my husband and I might still be lapping up the honeymoon phase, when flaws are regarded as adorable quirks rather than tiresome traits, and misdemeanours dismissed as accidents rather than irksome habits.

But through trial and error, we have established some parameters for, hopefully, a life of harmony.

Given the negative examples we witnessed when we were young, we know now what not to do.
We make it a point to share nearly everything, from money to chores; we tackle issues of contention, rather than launch personal attacks; we say our piece and hear each other out, no matter how absurd we think the other person's stand is; we avoid going to bed upset, which cuts the risk of hurts festering.

Friction, we were assured during our pre-marital course, is a given when two people try to live as one.

A healthy relationship is marked not so much by the absence of conflict, as it is by how well a couple weathers storms.

If you choose to keep a mental ledger of who is right and who is wrong rather than view problems as a common enemy, the road ahead will be an obstacle course rather than a companionable stroll.

Problems can either fade to become wisps of memories, or snowball to become a time bomb - the decision is yours.

I always recall what Madam Judy Liang Ching Ping, the Beijing-born wife of British veteran journalist Dennis Bloodworth, said when asked if there was anything about her husband that drove her mad.

In 2000, the Singapore-based couple launched a book titled I Married A Barbarian, which captured their 42 years of interracial marriage.

I spent half a day at their home off Upper Thomson Road culling more nuggets for a feature to tie in with Valentine's Day.

'If you want the butterfly, you have to accept the caterpillar,' Madam Liang said in what her husband dubbed 'Pinglish', a fractured variant of English that he described fondly as 'more picturesque than precise'.

The motto had obviously kept the flame going. Endearing exchanges played out often during the interview, and little gestures spoke volumes about their love for each other.

While he knew just when to jump in and finish a sentence for her without seeming to belittle her, she fussed over him often, ironing out his brow with her fingers so as to 'make happy face' for the camera.

It was the first time I witnessed a real-life happy-ever-after.

'The passion might become less, but something deeper, more enduring takes over,' said Mr Bloodworth of the lasting union that had braved cultural gaps, language barriers and parental objections.

When I read about his death last June from lung complications at the age of 86, my heart went out to his widow.

Just knowing that someone loves you for who you are can make you a stronger, better person, I remembered the benign man telling me.

That afternoon with them, I learnt what the phrase 'the whole is greater than the sum of the parts' truly meant.

Yes, marriage in reality is nothing like Hollywood fairy tales; it can be far better. It is up to you to script the ending.