What I Thought Being A Wife Would Be Like Vs. Reality
When I was single and hustling in the CBD, here’s how I pictured married life in my head: conquering deadlines in the office, then coming home to whip up dinner like a MasterChef finalist, light a candle, and sink into blissful couple time with my hubby. One can have their cake and eat it too, right?
But by the time I drag myself off the MRT, I’m already debating whether dinner will be cai png or the frozen dumplings + instant ramen I bought three weeks ago. Don’t get me wrong – I love being married. But I also feel like someone should’ve given me a handbook that said: “Wife life = multi-role employee aka bao ka liao warrior”.
Wah I tell you, here’s what waifu life is really like versus the delulu version in my head:
IMAGE: UNSPLASH
Expectation: I’d cook every night like a MasterChef contestant
I pictured myself breezing into the kitchen after work, apron tied, ready to multi-task and whip up a delicious yet nutritious meal with the speed of a MasterChef contestant. I even drew up elaborate meal prep lists on Apple Notes, complete with categories like “Monday: Pasta night” and “Friday: Vietnamese spring roll”.
Reality: If you talk to me for more than five seconds while I’m frying garlic, chances are it will burn. The husband has been banished from the kitchen multiple times. We’re lucky if I manage to cook twice a week – the rest of the time, it’s GrabFood or girl dinner (sorry, husband). I still have the fancy meal prep lists, but they’ve been buried under other Notes, somewhere below my half-baked workout plan from 2022. Double yikes.
IMAGE: PEXELS
Expectation: Our home would always be spotless and vibey
I dreamed of Pinterest-worthy interiors. The kind of home where you walk in and it smells faintly of vanilla candles, with soft jazz playing and throw blankets artfully tossed across the sofa. Like going for a staycation, except it’s my home.
Reality: I got what I wanted in my dream home, but maintaining it is the difficult part. The laundry basket is now a permanent part of our living room décor. We’re not sure if it’s an eyesore or just a new minimalist furniture piece. And candles? I light them mostly to trick myself into believing I have my life together. Oh, and let’s not forget the never-ending pile of Shopee parcels – my husband and I stare at them for days, each silently waiting for the other to unpack them (he’s the one who does it at the end, so I guess I won the game).
Expectation: We’d have deep, romantic convos every night
I used to imagine us lounging on the sofa with glasses of wine, deep in intellectual conversation or discussing our hopes, dreams, and deepest thoughts like some Instagram-worthy couple while Netflix plays in the background.
Reality: Here’s an actual evening conversation we had a few days ago:
“Did you pay the conservancy bill?”
“Huh, I thought you paid the conservancy bill.”
Followed by a 5-minute panic scroll through the AXS app to check if either of us paid. Honestly, marriage is less “romantic musings” and more “joint project management meeting.” I still 🫶🏻 him loads though.
IMAGE: PEXELS
Expectation: I’d always look cute at home in silk PJs
In my head, wife-life meant silky, matching pyjama sets, messy-yet-sexy hair, and an overall vibe of effortless chic. We’d sport matching Korean face masks as part of our 9-step Korean skincare routine.
Reality: Six out of seven nights, I’m in my oldest work T-shirt, paired with mismatched shorts, and a messy bun. The silk PJs exist… but only come out on special occasions. Or when I remember they exist. Where did I last put them? They must be buried under all these T-shirts that elicit a quiet sigh out of my husband when I put them on.
Expectation: We’d be totally in sync
Two hearts, one beat, right? I thought being married meant instant telepathy – finishing each other’s sentences, moving through chores like a well-oiled machine, never once disagreeing on the “right” way to do things.
Reality: We’ve had an argument about… how to fold clothes. Yes, folding clothes. He insists T-shirts should be rolled; I insist on the classic fold. Since he does the laundry and I do the folding, he decided to leave it to me after all.
Oh and once when he went overseas for two weeks, I couldn’t for the life of me locate some cleaning supplies in the storeroom. Yay me.
Expectation: Wife = life upgrade
Didn’t people say that once you tie the knot, everything in life would just level up? You know, something along the lines of you get your own personal handyman, and it’s double the money now.
Reality: Wifehood feels more like taking on five different jobs at once. HR (remembering family commitments and planning social stuff), finance (budgeting, bill-paying, keeping track of several insurance policies that only I understand even though I repeatedly gave him Personal Finance 101 sessions), chef (when I do manage to cook), cleaner (okay fine, co-domestic helper, our chores are actually evenly split), and emotional support animal (yes, I am available for hugs and pep talks). It’s less of an “upgrade” and more an “expansion pack” for life, with extra responsibilities.
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The small but sweet bits nobody tells you about
Okay, I’ve been roasting wife life a little too much. But truthfully? There are some small joys that make it all worth it. Like the way my husband always makes sure there’s an extra stash of my favourite snacks in the cupboard and ice cream in the fridge. Or how we instantly look for the other to show that person the silliest videos on IG Reels.
Marriage is about building a life together in all its chaotic glory. The reality: the shared routines, the daily teamwork, and even the small arguments – feels a lot more real, and in a way, an imperfect perfect that works for us.
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