The X Factor

Having just written about finding love and relationships in my last post, I feel it's timely to look back at my past.

Past relationships.

Ex-es.

And that got me thinking about them.

Azman and Larry.

And because they've been such a distant past in my life, when I do think of them today, I feel numb.

Stanley my sex bunny friend whom I'd known for nearly 20 years now, coincidentally also has two ex-es: Joshua and Ash.

And when he thinks about them today, Stanley too, feels numb - though for very different reasons from mine.

"These two gorgeous ex-es of mine are now behind me," Stanley would say. "I now have other men behind me."

But today, this post is about my ex-es.

Let's begin with Azman.

Azman, Azman.

Whenever I was with Azman, my heart would race.

We were in the same CCA (or ECA in my time): Track and Field.

Azman and I were both sprinters and training together had been very distracting for me.

By age 15, Azman and I looked quite alike physically but that boyish face of his belongs to a cherubic angel.

He had a cute mop of wild, curly hair, sharp features - big eyes, long lashes - and an impish smile that showed off a crooked tooth.

Stanley who had seen Azman's photos approves.

"You got me at big and long - and a little bit of crookedness and wild curly hair are perfectly acceptable," Stanley famously said to me circa 1999 when I described Azman shortly before showing Stanley an actual glossy photo.

Though Azman is every mat and minah's wet dream, he turned out to be my worst nightmare.

I had never imagined that a good looking sports jock would be such a drama queen.

While I gave up eating pork for Azman, he chose not to give up smoking for me.

Which is okay.

Eventually, his true colours emerged after our rosy honeymoon dating period.

Azman easily got jealous of me and would kick up a huge fuss whenever I hung out with my friends.

He's always suspicious of girls or boys around me and he would forbid me to socialise.

The most ridiculous part was he would get jealous of my grades and would focus on beating me at track and field and would be so damn aggressive about it that it really becomes very ugly.

Oh, and Azman has depression.

He attributes that to family problems, but it eventually became my problem too.

Azman was constantly thinking of ways to hurt himself and had been suicidal.

The four years of my youthful life with Azman were burdensome.

Why didn't anyone warn me that first loves with the handsome school jock would have such a twist?

After trying very hard to be an understanding and supportive boyfriend, and for trying not to get a nervous breakdown whenever Azman calls and threatens to kill himself after every quarrel, I decided enough was really enough.

The drama has to end, and when I finally ended it, the irony was that the true fairytale ending came when we broke up.

I was, for the first time in a long time, happy.

In year 2000, I welcomed pork back into my life.

And apparently, pigs too, in Stanley's words.

That was one of the harshest things Stanley said about Larry my next boyfriend.

Well, Larry isn't exactly a swine in that sense - he's very, very, very nice - but let's face it, Larry isn't a looker.

He was short and in Stanley's words, "delightfully plump".

And Larry was old.

A good decade older than I.

Why had I decided to get together with Larry?

In retrospect, it was really a result of Azman.

After I became single, what I learnt from dating Azman was to never fall for someone based on how handsome he is - because after a while, that angelic face, upon descending from heaven, can morph into Satan.

But I wouldn't go as far to say that I had gone the extreme by dating Larry.

I mean, striking good looks isn't something you'd describe Larry with but his personality... oh, that's winning.

No doubt.

Larry is gentle, thoughtful, wise, mature and most importantly, takes care of me.

Everything that Azman isn't, Larry is.

Stanley would always say that dating Larry had been my biggest mistake because he said I was just bouncing back from Azman and is using Larry to correct a dark part of my life.

I vehemently rejected those suggestions back then, but today, I stand firm and bow my head low to say, Stanley was right.

I had indeed chosen to get together with Larry - who looks too young to be my dad but too old to be my brother - because I had allowed my experience with Azman to dictate how my next boyfriend must be: The exact opposite of my ex.

Larry was a very, very nice boyfriend to me.

For a change, I didn't have to pay a single cent whenever we went out. Larry would drive me around,  buy me nice gifts though I didn't ask for them and would actually encourage me to do well in life instead of competing with me or pouring cold water on my achievements.

But deep down, I didn't really love Larry.

But having dated Azman followed by Larry turned out to be the biggest love lessons of my life.

Azman taught me to never be drawn only to good looks - because looks isn't everything.

In a way, in a very twisted and dark way, Azman taught me to be patient and caring even in the face of extreme unreasonableness. Azman has also taught me that jealousy will take you nowhere, and most importantly, you have to bring out the best of your partner and not turn him into a worse version of himself.

Larry on the other hand taught me somewhat similar things.

That beyond good looks, it's what's inside that counts. Larry had shown me so much love during our short relationship that I have in turn, learnt how to love.

And although my next - and current - partner J is the best of both worlds to me, I shall not write about J.

'Cos this post is about ex-es.

My ex-es.

And I think that some things happen for a reason.

Those two men had given me nuggets of wisdom knowingly or unknowingly.

And with renewed wisdom, I am forever grateful.

I shared this with Stanley who only said that he always appreciates men who would give him their nuggets.

"Moral of story," Stanley said, "is that there is no happily ever after.... so, always focus on the happy endings. Because orgasms can solve all problems in life."

In loving memory of my ex-es Azman (1996 - 2000); Larry (2000 - 2001).
Thank you for your love.



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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people

Finding Love

These days, I'm enthralled by what Netflix has to offer.

It's become part of the conversation with the boys on WhatsApp.

I personally love rom coms.

Stanley the sex bunny is more adventurous - like his choice in men and sleeping partners, he's wide open and embraces an all-inclusive range from rom coms and thrillers and reality cook shows to, of course, all the gay-themed movies and our all-time favourite Drag Race.

Carl the dense one who's nearly a full-time gym rabbit is also adventurous. He watches Ultimate Beastmaster to see muscles.

"You guys have to watch The Undatetables," Stanley insisted.

For weeks, he's been trying to influence us to watch the reality series that helps singles find love.

The twist: Each of these singles has a disability or condition - Down Syndrome, early stroke, autism, Aspergers, tourette syndrome. And it details their journey in finding love through specialised matchmaking agencies.

Carl the most shallow among us replied with a gif of Snow White retreating dramatically in fear.

Finally, last week, I made a date with The Undateables and I was hooked.

Some characters are so endearing I find myself rooting for them.

It also reminds me of how shallow society is.

The Undatetables helps me see beyond one's looks, disfigurement, physical condition, and focus on what's most important: Inner beauty.

"I will date that cute guy with tourette syndrome," Stanley said to me later, as if we were having a literature class on The Undatetables.

"He is so boyish... plus, he will blend right in when we're having sex after our date, with his random swearing. Say my name, bitch. Fuck you...fuck, fuck, fuck, oh fuck..."

After binge-watching all that The Undatetables had to offer, I got down to thinking about love.

Finding love.

Why is finding love so damn difficult for some of us?

Carl our dense friend wants to find love.

Ever since he broke off with his long-time boyfriend Ah Boy, he hadn't quite been himself.

He's constantly trying to bulk up, look better, look younger so that he can be ready for the brutally harsh and shallow dating market.

Stanley the brutally harsh told me that perhaps it's his brains that need some work, but if that doesn't work out, he can always sign up as a profile with The Undateables and list his condition as retardation.

Carl our dense friend had once met a cute Taiwan boy and told him how he admired that his country is so open with the recent gay marriage ruling and how credit must go to Taiwan's president Xi Jin Ping for allowing that to happen.

Stanley and I were impressed he even knew the name Xi Jin Ping and gave him credit for his name-dropping effort, but the cute Taiwan boy soon politely disappeared back into the crowd at E-Bar in Tanjong Pagar and was never to be found again.

For Carl, his version of love is actually quite simple. It's all about looks and himself.

Carl is dense, and Carl is self-centred.

Good luck finding love, Stanley would say.

Also needing some luck, perhaps, is Nisa my best girl friend.

She has been single since she broke up with her first boyfriend.

Nisa is definitely pretty, intelligent, kindhearted, athletic, capable, and heartily funny.

Maybe that's the problem, Stanley would say.

Men love women who're less of everything: Less intelligent, less athletic, less capable. And definitely less muscles too. Nisa is too intimidating, he once told her in the face.

Thing is, Nisa doesn't care.

She doesn't want to settle.

If love comes, love comes, is her mantra.

Stanley's mantra is similar. The coming part.

He believes more in the coming than the love because Stanley the sex bunny believes orgasm is the key to solving all problems in life.

"In lust, there are assholes. In love, there are assholes. I prefer the literal ones," he once famously said during dinner with some of our straight army friends.

While Stanley can easily find love, given that he is indeed eligible - witty, youthful, good looking and wealthy - he doesn't want to... because he's afraid.

Afraid of getting hurt. Afraid of commitments. Afraid of giving too much of his emotions without guaranteed outcomes.

One Night Stands on the other hand is something Stanley can give and can produce guaranteed outcomes.

As we ended our group chat that night, Stanley concludes that he is finding love.

"Ever Lusting Love to be exact," my sex bunny friend said.



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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people

Rich Drama

Last Sunday, my phone buzzed almost non stop.

My sister had been texting me on WhatsApp, her messages increasingly agitated.

Turns out, there's family drama brewing in the Lee family.

My sister has officially blocked our mum from WhatsApp.

"I told her to STOP sending me fake news, good morning messages and all the useless videos," she typed.

"I told her!" she wrote in bold.

I knew better than to interrupt so I stared at the screen while she continued typing.

"I show you," she typed.

And before I could say "no need", I was visually attacked with a wave of images - 23 in total all popping up on my phone one after another.

Majority of the images were likely fake health news, fake lifestyle news, fake news from China as well as a video of a grand nephew whose dad is our distant cousin whom we didn't really care about.

Faced with that volley of information, I wanted to say I could see where the family resemblance came from, but decided to bite my tongue and instead, took one more mouthful of cornflakes.

"Wow," was what I typed back, partly thrilled by the coco pops crackling with every bite.

"Don't say I didn't warn her.... I told her four times already. This month!" my sis said.

And then, "Oh, by the way, there's family drama... wanna hear?"

I set my bowl down and braced myself.

If what she shared wasn't considered drama....

My sis verifies this isn't fake news because mum told her two nights ago when my sis dropped by for soup.

"She told me in person," my sis said in an attempt to boost credibility.

It was as if, had mum told her about this gossip over WhatsApp, it would automatically be treated as fake news.

No, no, no.

This one is real because mum shared this with sis in person. 

Turns out, one of our aunties - who's so wealthy beyond words we have to use dollar signs and exclamation marks to describe her net worth - has recently changed her will.

Auntie Choy San had made her fortune by pure luck.

She married the man she loved though he was still a poor, struggling businessman.

But over time, Uncle Felix built up a successful logistics firm and went from rags to riches.

My sis and I used to dislike that family because every extended family gathering was an opportunity for them to remind us they were wealthy.

As if we couldn't tell from the way they wore their money around: Uncle Felix's thick gold chain which even 1960s Chinatown gangsters would avoid wearing purely from an aesthetics point of view, diamond studs that dot every part of Aunty Choy San's body - her ears, her fingers, her neck, and even her bloody reading glasses, I kid you not.

Flaunting is one thing.

Taunting is another.

There came a point when they would judge a person by the type of housing they lived in.

But let's not talk bad about the dead.

Uncle Felix died some three years ago of nose cancer.

Of course, he left behind a family fortune for Aunty Choy San and our two cousins, one of whom is a useless bum and the other, while nice, is literally an enormous bum.

Long story short, Uncle Felix's three-storey house in Sixth Avenue was sold because Aunty Choy San felt the house was too hollow, given that cousin Enormous Bum was married and had moved out. Cousin Useless Bum, a happy-go-lucky playboy, still lives with her.

With the money, Aunty Choy San bought two condo units, fully paid for, of course.

One unit goes to cousin Enormous Bum. The other, to cousin Useless Bum.

According to my sister the Queen of Gossips, Aunty Choy San recently changed her will after she overheard her Useless Bum son over the phone, telling his girlfriend, that "don't worry - the condo is in my name. If I so want it, I can kick my mum out anytime".

I gasped.

We had all known cousin Useless Bum to be a financial sponge off Aunty Choy San.

But for him to actually say those words - provided that he did indeed say those words (but then again it has to be true because mum told sis this in person, not over WhatsApp ) - then it has to be the most tragic thing Aunty Choy San had to hear since learning of Uncle Felix's death.

"Right? Right? Right?" my sis typed, pleased with herself as a sharer of news, very much so like mum.

And so Aunty Choy San had very quietly gone to her family lawyer - accompanied by mum, who turned out to be a key stirrer who single-handedly thickened the plot.

Mum had apparently taught Aunty Choy San to pen it in her will that if she ever got kicked out of the condo unit that cousin Useless Bum owned, then the rest of the family inheritance will not go to that unfilial son but instead, kept frozen until cousin Useless Bum's firstborn turns 21. Then the money goes to Aunty Choy San's grandchild.

And the conditions: Cousin Useless Bum has to remain married to his wife until her grandchild inherits the family fortune... and even then, that grandchild will receive the inheritance in installments once every five years...

I was giddy with all those details.

I had to slow clap at mum's brilliance.

This is what watching years of TVB dramas can do to you.

Never step on mum's toes, I said in awe to my sis.

Sis later wisely unblocked mum on WhatsApp.

Although I tried to treat that piece of news like mum's forwarded messages which wouldn't add value to anyone's life, I couldn't help but feel pity for Aunty Choy San.

I mean, family drama that involves money - especially inheritance - is a prickly issue.

My late-granny was wealthy, having inherited from my late-grandfather's watch business and two properties upon his death.

And when granny died, all her offspring benefited too (though some more than others).

We found out over a very awkward extended reunion dinner some few years ago when the red wine in my mum started her blurting out embarrassing secrets including how granny had given mum a jade bangle that many of her other children had fancied.

The reunion dinner was most memorable 'cos sis and I kept exchanging glances as we communicated with each other over subtle facial expressions that only we can interpret. 

I shared that news with Stanley my sex bunny friend who immediately was enthralled.

Though Stanley, himself the son of a wealthy businessman (and a very, very loud mother - the effervescent Mrs Monica Ong who wears her hair in a stylish bob and has the voice of an NDP commander), he has never had such theatrical plot twists within his family or extended family. 

"Your family is like a Korean drama," Stanley typed enviously on WhatsApp.

"My own family is like a Korean drama too - the North Korean type where everything is censored and sterile," said he who has never fancied an episode of K-drama in his life.

"And I'm very keen to know more about this Bum cousin of yours. I'm always interested in all things Bums," he said.

"Besides, inheritance drama always excites me - I'm always keen to see the family jewel."



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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people

Who's Your Daddy

These days, I feel like dyeing.

Mainly because I'm getting old.

Just the other day, I stared worryingly into the mirror, with my head turned as far as my eyes can see to examine the damage of what Age has done to me thus far.

It's as if Age came sneaking into my life while I was out partying one day and mercilessly punctured holes in my once-glorious jet black crown and let the lusture slowly seep out.

What's left on the sides of my hair is now sporadic lifeless dull grey patches, the kind of colour that is produced by a printer cartridge with fading robust black ink.

At this very moment, my life doesn't look very promising.

I'm officially in a grey area: Leave my hair as it is and I step into Silver Daddy territory; dye it black, and I could still extend my Young Daddy membership.

Seven minutes of self reflection and self-pity later, I had to peel myself away from the mirror.

I decided I needed group support.

I snapped three photos - the sides and the back of my head - and posted in my "Just the Boys" group chat that I share with Stanley my sex bunny friend and Carl the dense one.

"Your dad?" Stanley replied, immediately knowing it's me.

"Oh? Your dad!", Carl the dense one replied, not knowing what's going on in not just the virtual world but also the real world.

Sad but true.

Carl, all of nearly 40 years old,  is practically clueless, helpless and useless outside of his comfort zone of his home, office and gym.

"@Adam," Stanley's wrote, "why are you giving me head first thing in the morning?"

"And not in a good way either," Stanley said, adding a puking green faced icon.

The boys are divided in their opinion on my situation.

Carl, who looks the most youthful among us and has no grey hair, is quietly sympathetic.

He replied with a sad face icon followed by the icon of a bicep-flexing arm.

Then, deciding he could do better to support his ageing friend, posted a video of himself flexing his actual python-sized biceps.

Stanley, who is the first among us to have grey hair some five years ago, dismisses my concerns.

He sent a short video of himself rolling his eyes.

Up until that morning, I hadn't been too bothered by my hair.

Although I started noticing random strands of white hair appearing some three years ago, I hadn't been bothered by them because I had always been sporting longish hair which covered the whites up.

Recently, I decided to stop wearing curry puffs on my head so I opted for a short, spiky cut with really short sides.

That's when I got a root shock.

As I went about to run errands that day I can't help but feel very conscious of myself.

Every corner I turn - if there's a mirror - I will tilt my head to check if my hair were still white.

It still was.

For the rest of the day, I was nearly insane.

I swear I heard the cornflakes boxes laughing at my white hair as I strolled along the cereal aisle as two giggling girls ran past me in their youthful, girly game of catching.

I need to do something.

I need to be in control.

I glared angrily at the cornflakes, took one of them firmly by its side, placed it in my shopping trolley and moved on, separating the gossipy boxes by taking one of their friends away from them.

Who's laughing now. 

Back home, I made myself a cup of green tea - something I do when I'm stressed, facing a deadline, or when I want to relax.

And I began tackling this with clinical precision by making a list - to dye or not to dye.

On the not-to-dye column, one of the things that stood out for me most was this line: If I have white hair on my sides, I'll look distinguished and VIPs and CEOs I talk to will be convinced I have substance.

On my to-dye column: If I let myself go... the disease will spread to all healthy strands of black hair.

I snapped a photo of the list and asked the boys.


"Should I create an online poll on twitter to ask the virtual world for their opinion?"

Carl, who has a grand total of 7 followers on Twitter, including one fat cat named FunkyDJ or something, and a handful of solid torsos, immediately wrote: "YES".

Stanley resposted the video of himself rolling his eyes in response.

He later messaged me privately and said I need to face my fears and face the truth.

Some girls are totally fine in their own skin, posting photos of themselves without make up.

Yet, when they colour their faces, they look resplendent.

But still.... they're the same girl, he reasoned.

"What's more," Stanley said, "you should make full use of your current status now."

"You have a belly. And that makes you a dad.

"Coupled with your legit white hair, you can now attract those who have daddy issues and teddy issues."



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Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people