My half full glass...

Sometimes when I look at my glass I think that it is half empty. It is only human, I guess. I read about jetsetting people and their lifestyle, their entourage of helpers and aides and thought hard (with self pity fast setting in) and then I look into my mug of Aik Chong teh tarik, yes, my mug is indeed half empty.

But as the teh tarik settled, and with its sweetness still lingering at the back of my throat, I thought – no, I DO have my fair share of life’s blessings.

I’ve read about celebrities and their personal trainers, those hunks with rippling muscles who make sure that the celebs are in good shape and I realise, hey, I too have a personal trainer.

“Mama, I’ve prepared the treadmill (read: cleared the coats and jackets hanging on it) and you should start at 3 and slowly move up to five for about half an hour. I have also downloaded some songs on the I-Pod (read: Alleycats with some of their fast numbers) so that you can enjoy while you are exercising.”

There you go – a personal trainer sans rippling muscles. The same one who makes sure that I don’t slide into a Cleopatra reclining position after a meal, especially dinner.

People have personal financial advisors. I have a few around me who have an interest in my financial affairs. They take a keen personal interest in the state of my bank account almost on a daily basis and especially so at the end of the month.

Mama, says one poking her head into the room, do you have any money?

Mama, says another looking deep into my bag, do you have any change?

And I shouldn’t really be complaining because I have always had a resident dietitian/nutritionist and a physician all rolled into one.

Eat the vegetables, he says. He’s the same one who reminds me ten times a day to take my vitamins and garlic pills for all kinds of ailments, and carefully wraps them in foils for me to take on long journeys away from home. No Maggie mee, nor tuna chunks or farmed salmon. And no anything with colourings and suspicious looking E numbers. He scrutinises all food labels at supermarkets before putting them in the trolley.

My in-house fashion gurus need only to raise one perfectly plucked eyebrow or a tsk-tsk and a click of the tongue to send me scurrying off to change from my usually drab black/brown attire to something less black/brown.

And that is not all – I have my very own GPS trackers: Mama, where are you? Where exactly are you? If you are anywhere near Boots, can I have shampoo, contact lens cleanser, etc, etc…

So, you see, I am truly blessed!

But what about you? Is your glass half full or half empty?