The Boys' Visit (Part Two)

As part of Stanley and my birthday celebrations to mark our Fabulous Forty milestone, the boys and I have lined up a series of events that spanned five days.

It goes to show that our birthdays are more important that any public holiday in Singapore.

The first leg happened in Myanmar where the boys came to visit.

Part Two of our girly adventure is back in Singapore.

And as planned by Stanley, it was to be marked with a bang.

Not the type of bang Stanley the sex bunny would have liked it.

But he comprises.

He's always in comprising positions.

Our plan was simple. But it would come with a high price.

High and price being the equally strong operative words.

We would book a two-day-one-night staycation at Marina Bay Sands - at the more expensive, higher levels - where we won't hold back our purse strings.

We started our day with brunch on level 57, right before we checked in to MBS.

Carl was fascinated with the view and whipped out his phone immediately to update his IG.

Stanley wasn't so impressed.

"Why are there no cute guys here, I want to know," he demanded, folding his arms, before whipping out his phone to check out nearby Grindr and Tinder potentials.

Our server for the day was a heavily pregnant and cheery Filipino waitress.

"Congrats," Stanley said spontaneously to the waitress whose name tag read "Regina".

Joining us from the balcony - and late to the party as usual - was Carl the dense one who heard Stanley congratulate Regina.

"Oh, happy birthday to you too," Carl said with a beam.

Lunch - as well as three glasses of Rose - were ordered and slowly savoured.

Two tables away, four Latinas were having a good time too.

It was evident - both visually and audibly - that they were overjoyed beyond all recommended levels.

"If I close my eyes, I would imagine that there are 16 people behind us, including one baby and two animals, likely a hyena and a puppy who's constantly strangled," Stanley said.

As if on cue, the sole responsible Latina squealed and let out a yelp so sharp that if she had tried harder to reach the next note, would be a yelp audible only to dogs.

Stanley spun around dramatically and willed the Latinas to look him in the eye so that he could telepathically burn all four them alive.

But the four tourists were oblivious, protected by a force field that shielded them from the angry stares of other patrons, but wasn't strong enough to prevent their cackling from piercing through to the outside world.

The heavily pregnant Regina - who must be taking all the squealing as practice and a preview to her near future - came by to give all three of us another glass of complimentary Rose, explaining that the Latinas had an early start at brunch, and are on a bachelorette party trip, as if all would be forgiven just for that.

But we won't say no to good service and free alcohol so Stanley graciously accepted the glass, stood up and toasted to Regina's future, and to the future of the would-be Latina bride.

Hours later, Stanley too, was highly pleased, his gait an indication of the number of afternoon drinks he had (five Roses) and betraying his usually manly façade.

"Stan, walk properly, won't you," Carl whispered to a giggly Stanley who found everything so darn funny.

"What's wrong with my walking dear?" Stanley slurred, looking pointedly at Carl, his hips swinging in full motion that would put professional brisk walkers to shame.

Carl turned pale as a few heads turned to watch Stanley.

"Show time is not until 8pm," Stanley shouted across to a group of overly dressed curious China tourists who were looking in our direction.

One of the China aunties, who had no reason whatsoever to wear a large bonnet under shelter, took out her phone and snapped a photo.

Shopping with a drunk person was dangerous.

In his stupor, Stanley had staggered into an expensive watch shop, singled out a well-groomed staff in suit, and went up to him saying :"I want to see your time pieces," stressing the word pieces with lust.

If not for Carl and me, Stanley could have drunkenly parted ways with S$12,000.

We dragged our happy friend back in the room and tossed him in bed.

While Stanley napped, Carl entertained himself with Netflix on his iPad.

I, on the other hand, took a lovely bubble bath.

By evening, Stanley regained some composure and dignity, and we all got ready for dinner.

He put on a black-and-white striped T-shirt and paired it with his tailored navy blue suit which made him look slender.

"I feel fresh," Stanley exclaimed, spraying on some mist on his face, jiggling his shoulders aggressively to prove his point.

Carl, meanwhile, stepped out of the bathroom with a super tightfitting white button down, his bulging python-size biceps putting the shirt's material to the test.

"Darling, I hope you won't sneeze tonight. Any exertion on your part could cause your buttons to shoot out and hurt someone," Stanley said to Carl.

"Speaking of exertion and shooting out at someone," Stanley said, changing the tone of his voice, "I shall restrain myself tonight."

"Tonight, I reserve myself for you both - the actual loves of my life," Stanley said sultrily, putting his arm around two of us.

The three of us had dinner reservations at Ce La Vie that night and our mission was to eat like Queens.

Being friends with someone from the MBS management, Stanley managed to get all three of us a seat with a great view - and by view, this time, I really mean scenery.

"We will start with three negronis," Stanley said to the delightful waiter the moment we stepped into the sky bar.

"Haven't you learnt your lesson? You were drunk this afternoon," Carl said with concern.

"And you nearly lost S$12,000 during your intoxication," I pointed out.

"Oh relax, hunny. When I was drunk I lost things that are way more precious than S$12,000," Stanley said, sharing way too many details with us.

That evening was perfect.

We were to spend the brighter part of the evening with pre-dinner drinks, decked out in our forties best.

Stanley, who loves his drinks as much as the male human body, was quick to order his second negroni, assuring a nervous-looking Carl that "everything is under control".

A few metres from where we were standing, Stanley spotted a group of people walking into the sky bar.

"Hey, these are the news guys," Stanley said to Carl and I.

Stanley would know.

He's adept in the sphere of news and current affairs, specialising on the affairs part.

Carl the dense one on the other hand, was neither current nor was bothered with any worldly affairs other than his social life and gym.

"These are the news guys who go on TV," Stanley pointed out to us.

"I'm going over to say hi," our random friend said, and before we could pull him by his collar, Stanley was already sashaying towards the group.

I had no idea who they are, but I was certainly concerned because Stanley staggered up to each of those supposedly famous newscasters, looked them in the eye, and started to enunciate the words "good evening" to the five of them.

The prettiest of the group of supposed newscasters smiled brightly at Stanley and was about place an order with Stanley when Carl quickly walked over and pulled our uncontrollable friend away, saving the night and preventing anyone from making a fool of themselves.

We decided to retreat to the dinning area ASAP, given that we're out with a loose cannon - the word loose both describing Stanley's current drunk condition and his usual slutty mood when sober.

A glass of warm water with a dash of lime later, Stanley momentarily sobered up and immediately asked to see the wine menu.

Carl and I eyed each other cautiously.

Stanley caught the exchange and said "relax, girls. Tonight is a night where I choose to let myself go because I'm in safe company and for once, I want to break some rules."

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unsure what rules - or laws - Stanley might break.

Stanley our alcoholic friend ordered a bottle of 2014 Amarone.

When the Filipino waiter named Jay Jay returned with a bottle of said wine, Stanley actually clapped and bounced in situ in his seat.

Carl, who would usually join in any sort of clapping activity, smiled nervously.

Stanley volunteered to taste the wine.

"This way, I have an extra mouthful," our friend said.

Stanley swirled his wine glass, closed his eyes and sniffed it, and studied the dregs appreciatively.

I was getting hungry, and Carl nodded encouragingly at Stanley in a bid to speed up the entire procedure.

Stanley swirled his glass again and took a deliberately slow sip.

Then he closed his eyes.

Jay Jay, Carl and I watched the performance silently.

Stanley then began to sway his body as if he were in a trance. It started slowly, with a languid rhythm.

Then the swaying picked up pace, and Stanley began emitting noises that sounded like a fat black American woman appreciating her roast meat, all the while going "Mmm, mmm, mmm, mmm, mm.."

Jay Jay watched with keen interest while Carl wiped his cold sweat on his forehead.

Finally Stanley awoke from his trance and looked at Jay Jay in the eye before saying "Good lord, this Amarone is heavenly!"

"Go forth and multiply," Stanley commanded, and Jay Jay took the cue and filled first my glass, and then Carl's.

When he was about to pour wine on Stanley's glass, our friend immediately pointed to the brim of the glass, telling Jay Jay "all the way to the top, darling."

Jay Jay reacted with a roaring laughter and did as he was told.

After the stressful wine-ordering and tasting episode came to an end, Carl took a full sip of the Italian wine partly to drown his sorrows and partly to work up strength to carry on.

We got down to ordering and soon, Jay Jay and his colleagues began filling our table with food that would keep Stanley's mouth busy for now.

Oysters, foe gras and soup of the day were slowly appreciated.

That was followed by medium rare wagyu steak for the birthday boys and pan seared seabass for the weight and health conscious Carl.

As we chewed our food and witnessed evening turn to night, Stanley raised his glass and proposed a toast for the 10th time that night.

There is nowhere in the world I want to be to celebrate my birthday than with you girls, he said.

"Adam and I may have turned 40 - but this is just the beginning."

"And I want to say this to you girls."

"I love you. I fucking love all of you."

And with that, the three of us toasted one another, happy that we are all friends in our mid life, and hopeful that we will be there for one another in the next forty years.

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

Eating Out

It was one of those nights when I didn't feel quite like myself.

My hair was gelled and spiked, my chin and upper lips cleanly shaven of my holiday moustache, and I traded berms for an actual pair of long pants.

My plan had been to be as dishevelled as can be during my Chinese New Year vacation back in Singapore, but the dress code for the night called for some serious grooming.

My secondary school classmates had suggested a rather fancy Japanese restaurant at Marina Bay Sands and the dress code for the highly pretentious place is smart casual.

Turns out, my effort to dress up was well worth it - nobody decided to turn up at the fancy place in their singlet, berms and slippers to eat overpriced sushi.

The interior décor of the ostentatious place was out of this world.

Literally.

I felt like I stepped into a Hollywood movie setting where westerners called the shots and had free play to decide how Asia should look like.

Let's place a big statue there... ah... now we look oriental. Okay, let's build a bridge here because Asians love their bridges. And let there be red lanterns all over. All Asian households have them, don't they?

I swear the owners of this place is seeking revenge on Asians.

After all, we do have hawkers in Singapore that sell "western food", where chicken chop is served with rice mixed with sticky brown gravy.

Jut then, an overly chirpy waitress - who either had to love her job very much or was high on something - led us to our table.

As I stepped further into quasi oriental Nippon, I started drowning in the background dance music.... boomz, boomz, boomz.

All that's missing is the appearance of a mystical fire-breathing dragon wriggling its way across the 3-metre tall interior and westerners suddenly popping up in every corner of the place, dressed in warrior suits that look like they're made out of leftover cheongsam cloths and straw mats, churning out fire balls with their bare palms.

Before I even had the time to nurse the early stage of a throbbing headache, another very happy waiter came by with the menu, which would decide how to overcharge us, depending on what we ordered.

These workers have to be dealing with illegal substance to be this happy.

"Isn't this place simply amazing?" Francis the most shallow of the group says. "Bookings here are always full. Good thing I pulled some strings."

At that moment, the only thing I felt like pulling was my hair. Or the trigger.

But I keep reminding myself that I love this group of friends, no matter how some of them have turned out to be.

I smiled and looked at Nisa my best girl friend and Terry my best straight friend for comfort, and we gave one another quiet peer support.

But enough of the venue.

Let's move on to the food.

Oh, the food.

I can never get enough of it.

Literally.

"You gotta be kidding me," Nisa says, scooping up the wild mushroom fried rice.

If a surgeon had stapled your stomach, or if an evil witch had turned you into an anorexic dwarf the size of a flower pot, then the portions would have been just nice.

Francis looked pleased with himself, and proceeded to pass around some salmon dish that was enough only for half the table.

Terry leaned in and whispered that we will need to eat proper Tze Char after this meal, to which Nisa nodded eagerly and proceeded to wolf down her spoonful of fried rice in one single bite.

After the activity which some describe as dinner, Francis the banker had to excuse himself for drinks with his business associates.

Hui Min our class monitor had to go home because her two kids (4 and 7) are giving their nanny a hard time.

Jeff, who would love to stay on but can't because he has to go back and help his (henpecker) wife, also had to leave.

Which was just perfect - Nisa, Terry and I (the three musketeers of the class) didn't have to find an excuse to drive to Upper Bukit Timah for immediate supper.

Along the way, the topic of eating out came up.

We used to love eating out as teens and we never complained about food.

After school, the group of us would take a bus to Chinatown Point just to order ayam penyet from the food court there (the portions were huge by the way), followed by a plate of fruits where we would share and chat our youthful lives away.

Eating out then was a joy.

In the late-90s, we used to enjoy the occasional treats when we were out.

At Jack's Place (I still remember Nisa had looked very pleased with her order of sambal steak), at Ponderosa (where there was free flow salad with every order of main course), and at the pre-developed Marina South area, which was filled with barbequed meat buffet eateries (Terry had once overeaten and then puked his dinner for all to see at the nearby MRT station).

Those were the days.

So, what changed?

Have we grown up to be fussy pots? Are we so pampered now we're so difficult to please? Have the food standards dropped?

My trip back to Singapore made it all the more obvious that I'm difficult to please when eating out.

And it's not just at the high-end places.

One of my biggest cravings was hawker fare.

Particularly chwee kueh, char tow kway and rojak.

Nisa, Terry and I had gone to Ghim Moh market earlier in the month in my honour.

If you're ever forced to eat Styrofoam with tiny bits of crushed receipts, they would probably taste like the chwee kueh sold by the old couple at Ghim Moh market.

To be fair, there had been warning signs: No one at the market queued up for the chwee kueh there.

The only saving grace is that most of the hawkers there are still locals.

The other night, J and I were at Geylang Serai for dinner and I was about to order ayam penyet when I made a swift U-turn midway: The hawker turned out to be a China woman.

"What?!" Nisa said with a high-pitched yelp, stirring her Teh Haliah with exasperation.

"China woman selling Malay food, westerners selling Japanese food, Asians selling western food... the world is indeed a melting pot," Terry said with a sagely nod.

"I think all future outings should be at one of our homes with homecooked food," I decided.

Just then, our Maggie goreng with egg and murtabak arrived, delivered by our friendly China staff at Al Azhar.

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

Double Happiness

Love is in the air.

And flowers, chocolates, and candlelight dinners are everywhere.

As this season of love descends upon us, I thought it's a good time to share a little more about my partner J.

I met the charming nerd when I was 23, and he, 24 in early 2002.

It wasn't until late-December that we officially got together.

This is the story of the night that changed our lives.

After being friends with J for some six months, I realised that I had taken an interest in him.

So I bravely asked J out on a date - but didn't know exactly what do, and I seriously needed help.

Help in the form of Stanley my sex bunny friend.

Stanley had been a friend I met back in my national service days.

We had grown up together - I watched Stanley transform from a pudgy youth to an energetic lean mean fighting machine in NS and later, blossom into a full-fledged Venus Trap.

And so, I enlisted the advice of Stanley who helped me device a multi-dimensional date where every possible permutation of my would-be meeting with J was carefully considered and plotted.

The end goal was a happy ending, just the way how Stanley wants his massages and some dates to conclude.

The plan was water tight according to Stanley - and it was perhaps the only time the word tight was accurately used when linked to Stanley.

If we were in a movie, the setting of Stanley's instructions to me would have been in his attic bedroom, with J and my photos stuck on a large white board, multiple arrows and scribbled notes fanning across the board.

The grand plan was this.

Rule number one: I was to refer to the "date" as an outing, Stanley insists.

"Two men, unless both proven gay, go on an outing - not on a date," Stanley said.

Little did we know that the date would turn out to be an outing after all, in all sense of the word, but let's not jump ahead of the storyline.

The theme of our outing was "New Year Resolutions".

Stanley had very cleverly come up with the perfect excuse - that I needed J to help me fine-tune my swimming strokes given that J had trained with the national swim team.

And then, as a return of favour, I would buy him dinner.

Oh, and the best part is, J would be invited to sleep over.

On the afternoon of Dec 27, 2002, J met me at my family's condo unit - which had been left empty because we couldn't find tenants.

The afternoon went well - J had corrected my front crawl strokes although for me, it was very, very hard to focus.

J was in excellent shape - not a single ounce of fat on his mildly V-shape body.

He had the flatness and the bulges all in the right places, while I was the exact opposite.

After some hour-and-a-half of being in the pool, we made our way back to the condo unit where we took turns to freshen up.

I remember ordering pizza later and watching an afternoon movie.

I cannot remember exactly what pizza we ate, but I remember precisely what movie we watched that afternoon.

It was Conan the Barbarian, starring Grace Jones as Zula.

Because I was so nervous spending time with J in such close proximity, every time Grace Jones appeared, I instinctively spat out the word "bitch!", which amused J greatly.

And then, it was time to sit at the dining table to write out grand New Year Resolutions.

And one of J's aims for 2003 was, I kid you not, "to drink more water regularly" (in retrospect, J did achieve that, up till this very day).

Meanwhile, for me, I had been a dreamer and I let it go that night - I charted some serious resolutions that touched on where I want to be in my life, and how I want my career to take off (in retrospect, I too, achieved those aims).

But at that moment, I was not only dreaming big - I was also fantasising big.

My mind was not fully focused.

My heart kept fluttering and I kept stealing glances at J.

As night fell, it was time to go to bed.

And this was the most tricky part.

There were three bedrooms in the apartment, and one room was set aside for me during that lull, non-rental year.

And my super single bed actually had a pull-out mattress underneath which either of us could have slept in.

Stanley had firmly instructed me to tell J that both other rooms were reserved for tenants and J could only sleep with me in my room, on my bed.

"And ask this casually bro-to-bro, bloke-to-bloke," Stanley said, before he butched it up and demonstrated.

"Eh brudder, sorry ah, you must sleep with me in the same bed. You don't mind right, bro," Stanley said in a thick, barbaric voice which made want to slap him and call him bitch!

In retrospect, I would hug Stanley in full gratitude.

J had casually shrugged it off and said ok to sleeping on the same bed.

After all, he wouldn't take up much space.

That very night, I couldn't sleep at all.

I remember my heart beating very fast.

Finally, I turned to face J, who I realise was all along looking at me squarely, his eyes not diverting.

Then, I plucked up my courage and did something that would change my life forever.

I placed my right palm gently over J's left cheek, and my exact words to him were "I like you a lot, J."

J responded with a coy smile and I knew there and then that he felt the same.

We hugged in bed for the very first time in our lives, and that was when I realised that J's heart was beating very, very fast too.

The rest of the night - which Stanley refused to believe to this date - was spent just cuddling and sleeping in each other's arms.

Happy Valentine's Day, dear reader.

May you find your J too.

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

We Will Survive

We're gonna die!!!

Not quite what I hope to learn first thing in the morning, but that's exactly what my sleepy eyes are reading, this very moment.


It's around noon in Singapore (around 11am where I am in Myanmar), but already, panic has descended.

The ominous prediction - in caps and bold no less - was supplied by my sex bunny friend Stanley.

This morning though, my friend was in no mood for sex.

In fact, sex was strictly off the table - and on any counter top, mattress, back of car seat, what have you.

There will be strictly no exchange of body fluids for the time being.

Stanley's ding-dong is closed, please come back another day.

"We're gonna die. WE ARE GONNA DIE! Do you see how this is all gonna end? The world is coming to an end!!!!" Stanley my dramatic friend typed in our group chat titled "Just the Boys" whose other participant was our dense friend Carl.

"Erm, good morning to you too..." I typed.

Stanley couldn't be bothered with the formalities.

"Dun you geddit?! We are gonna die," wrote Stanley, who no doubt would be the first person to sound the village gong if he had access to any sensitive secret.

Carl our dense friend, who usually has trouble with his nine times table and has difficulty reading the 24-hour time format, was eerily aware of the entire situation.

Carl posted a gif of Kermit the frog flinging himself around like he's gone berserk.

"There is no food in NTUC," Stanley wrote.

"Everyone is stocking up first on masks, then hand sanitisers and now, food!"

I sat up in bed and digested the information.

I may be 3,184.1km away from our tiny sunny island, but my heart is in Singapore.

"You're not joking right?" I typed.

After I made my first cup of coffee (I would need more than caffeine to kick start my day after Stanley's morbid jolt to my morning), I messaged my partner J.

"No dettol," he replied me.

Of course.

Saturdays are J's cleaning days and he mops his place with dettol.

Other than that, J is doing fine although he doesn't have masks or food stocked up.

Practical as J is, he wouldn't spiral off into panic buying so he's calmly riding the storm out.

Minutes later, from the swanky - but obviously fortified - River Valley apartment came my sister's WhatsApp reply.

"I have enough sanitisers to last me for two months, 600 masks for myself and 20 types of canned food and two air purifiers. But I think I don't have a can opener."

My sis, who had lived through SARS in 2003 as a frontline medical staff, was in full warrior mode.

I've sent mum and B masks and hand sanitisers and I'm ordering more online. You want?" she adds.

Speaking of, I sent a WhatsApp text to Mrs Lee.

She replied with a badly-taken Wefie that featured four of her friends in our neighbourhood, one of the auntie's faces cut off by bad framing.

"Gathering in Aunty Eng's place," the words on my WhatsApp screen finally appeared, after Mummy Lee spent nearly two minutes typing.

Meanwhile, my brother Barry responded with his trademark humour: A gif of Batman bitch-slapping Robin with the caption "bats are not food you fool!"

I have no doubt my brother's wit will pull him through this.

Barry was in NS during the SARS period and he was roped in to help pack masks then.

Whatsmore, Barry's the smartest among all three of us.

He'd be fine.

I then moved on to Nisa and Terry my straight best friends.

Nisa, whose mum is a retired doctor, says there's nothing to worry about.

Her family aren't even wearing masks when they go out because, in Dr Tan's words, "masks should only be worn if you're sick to prevent germs from getting out".

Nisa's mantras are simple.

To pull through this coronavirus, you need to watch your personal hygiene - wash your hands, don't rub your eyes - and drink lots and lots of water, and eat healthily.

If you're healthy, chances are, your body will fight the coronavirus if you have it.

Trust Nisa.

Her mum, who was among the fierce group of doctors and healthcare workers back in 2003 battling SARS, had been the one who imparted such advice to her.

Terry on the other hand has taken to working from home as a precaution.

He may not be an easy panic, but minimising contact from the outside world seems like the right thing to do.

As I sipped my morning coffee, I scrolled my phone for updates on the sickening virus.

Some of them were fake news.

But most of them were real - and concerning.

Singapore's turned code orange.

I turned pale at that news.

As I carefully digested what code orange meant, I slowly began to let the facts sink in.

A tiny group of Singaporeans are being affected by the virus despite not having travelled out of the country.

But our government is seeing this as worrying... and thus, putting a cap on certain activities on our island.

And I'm worried.

Back in 2003, when the SARS outbreak was at its peak in the Asian region, I was studying overseas, untouched and far away from this deadly virus.

But I was constantly worried back then because my loved ones - particularly my sis who was involved in battling SARS in her then-career - were at stake.

Today, as the coronavirus hits, I'm again away from the tension, tucked away in one part of the region that has thus far, no reports of the virus.

Call it deja vu, call it quasi-survivor's guilt, but I can't help but feel concerned for my loved ones back in Singapore.

When will this virus end?

And how will it end?

I have no answers.

I can only rely on the ultimate ending.

Singapore has fought SARS, H1N1 and seen through many other difficulties.

And through those crises, though we had seen death, we also saw the birth of resilience. The emergence of a united Singapore spirit.

Yes, we may be in trouble today.

But I have no doubt we will stand together and beat this mudder-effing virus.

We can do it.

Contrary to what Stanley says, we're not gonna die.

We will survive.

That is the ultimate ending.

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

The Invention of Intervention

I'm penning this entry in the favourite part of my condo overseas: The balcony.

It's Saturday morning, and writing entries for this blog has now become my weekend routine before I head for the gym and meet friends for lunch to keep myself sane.

And as part of my weekend routine, I checked in with the boys on WhatsApp.

"What are my favourite boys doing now?" I tapped into our group chat titled "Just the Boys".

Stanley Ong:    
I'm working my ass off - and not in a good way either.

Carl Chang:
I'm also working my ass off - but in a good way. At Fitness First.

Stanley Ong:
@Carl Chang: I also want to work my ass off in a good way later... with whoever comes First. 
@Adam: Are you alive?

Carl Chang:
Oh no @Adam: what happened. are you ill?!?!

Stanley Ong:
@Carl Chang: neh mind, stop talking. Go and pump your iron.
@Adam: ttyl - I need to overachieve. 
Love you boys!

Since Stanley found a job in the middle of last year, the only time our sex bunny friend had been hard was at work.

His newfound motto is to overachieve.

Which makes sense, given that whatever Stanley sets out to do, he does.

And I'm comforted that Stanley has now found his footing, unlike the first few months after he was retrenched in 2017 (read it here).

Back then, we saw Stanley in various states of vulnerability.

He took it well initially, given that financially, Stanley isn't exactly from an orphanage.

He was very calm about his joblessness despite the fact that right before his retrenchment, he was looking to buy his own place.

Stanley explained to us - as much as he had to hear himself - that "it's okay, guys. I will now finally have time to finish those books lying in my attic".

But Stanley couldn't upkeep his optimism, and soon became restless, angry, doubtful and finally, morbidly pessimistic.

Carl and I decided to intervene.

We called for a boys' gathering one Friday night at the Ikea Alexandra cafe, to satisfy Carl's sudden meatball cravings.

"When you have meatball cravings, Carl Dear, you go to the bed section of Ikea, or even the toilet," Stanley recommended. "You'll truly satisfy your cravings there."

Carl the dense didn't react, partly due to hunger, partly due to his inability to process information that required some form of analysis.

I on the other hand was inwardly glad that Stanley, in spite of his situation, still had a sense of humour. 

Later, as we set down with not just a plate of meatballs but also fried chicken wings, baked salmon and cake, we began to discuss Stanley.

"You've not quite been yourself, Stan," I said, pausing just so he could absorb what I said.

Centimetres away, Carl started absorbing too, and focused on making his meatballs disappear.

"I'm scared," Stanley said.

Carl looked up from his plate and looked from me to Stanley and started chewing timidly.

"Look. I'm nearly 40. And my last drawn isn't exactly low. At my age and level, who would hire me?"

Carl paused, seemingly understanding the gravity of Stanley's situation. He nodded empathetically and slowly forked another meatball into his mouth.

"What if I have to drive Grab at age 40?!

"I'll be one of those disgruntled, highly educated uncles who will complain to passengers about the government in one sentence, and then tell the very same passenger that I used to be top management in my old company, you know?"

Carl remained silent.

And so did I, because what Stanley said was highly plausible.

There and then, I made a mini life changing decision.

"Carl, apply urgent leave on Monday. I'll do the same."

Carl nodded hastily without questioning why.

"Boys, I have an idea."

The last time someone said that in our group, we ended up randomly driving up to JB at 12am for massage and supper.

This idea was somewhat similar.

Some quick work on my mobile phone later, Carl, Stanley and I were set for an adventure the next day, after I secured a villa at Batam View Resort for two nights.

It was random.

It was exciting.

And it was necessary.

The next morning, we each showed up at HarbourFront in our resort best.

Stanley opted for a light green, oversized floral short sleeves shirt he bought in Thailand during Songkran, paired with a straw hat and Ray Bans.

Carl, as expected, turned up in a tank top that looked three sizes too small for his frame.

I wore a sensible and comfortable dry fit tee and berms.

After stocking up our large duffel bags with copious amounts of chips and alcohol, we were ready to board.

"Here come the faeries!" Stanley said out loud as he stepped foot into the vessel.

Fifteen minutes into our bumpy sea ride, a very pale Carl turned to us and said "this motion reminds me of 20 years ago, during NS".

Without missing a beat, a very fresh faced Stanley chimed in: "This motion reminds me of 20 hours ago, during ONS".

When we finally set foot on Indonesian soil, Stanley squealed.

"Oh my god, I'm excited. Thank you Adam. This looks great! Top or Batam, here I come!"

Our villa was a short buggy ride from the reception and past the kelong.

Inside, the resort looked like a posh one-bedded chalet that came with decent furnishing and a well stocked kitchen.

I wasted no time and made the three of us coffee from the machine.

The highlight was our balcony which overlooked the Singapore Strait and Marina Bay Sands.

I can already imagine us sitting there at night, listening to the waves under the stars and feeling the breeze. 

Years ago, my partner J and I had come to this resort for a quick weekend getaway because the two of us had been too busy to catch up.

And let's just say that since then, when I think of quality time, Batam View Resorts would automatically spring to mind.

The plan was for us three to spend a luxurious day together and forget about our worries.

The programme was easy enough to arrange - there was only that much one could do in the resort.

Stanley disagreed, saying there's a lot to do in a resort, but he would not want to include us - thankfully - in those activities.

Soon, we were off to the resort pool with cocktails and magazines.

This was followed by lunch, and then a two-hour karaoke session, before we did a two-hour massage.

And then, we strolled purposefully to the kelong and demanded to eat good seafood and drink lots of cold beer.

By dinner, we were nicely rejuvenated though we had to urgently wash off all the salt on our skin.

By 10pm local time, the three of us were showered and ready for more alcohol by the balcony.

This time though, we were to talk some serious shit.

"I'm so fuuuulllll," Carl said in a low, guttural drawl.

"The seafood is so good that I would seriously choose cockles over cocks in my mouth any day," Stanley said in a creepy squeal like he were a school girl.

As we sipped our chilled Shiraz in cheap wine glasses, Stanley revealed that he had been spending a lot of time cooped up in his bedroom, worried over the prospects of being jobless.

At first, it started with a mere thought - a joke even - in which he could end up unemployed and having no choice but to drive Grab.

And when there were no replies from companies, he started to think if he might seriously be passed up for cheaper hires.

I wanted to ask Stanley if he had included his Grindr profile photos in those resumes, but thought I should shut up.

"And the fact that you and Carl continue to meet me almost every weekend isn't helping," Stanley said seriously.

"You guys are a reminder that at age 40 - '39!' interrupted Carl angrily  - it is normal to have high earning and spending power, and that I am suddenly out of the rat race."

"I am thrifty, yet at the same time, I have grown so complacent with my lifestyle. I'm no longer the Stanley in my 20s and 30s. I'm an improved version - I have felt so much self worth from my career and suddenly, one day, it's all gone."

Carl made a sad face and placed his head on Stanley's shoulder for moral support.

I struggled to find words to say, channelling my wise partner J, but gave up.

Over the last few months, we have done all we could to give Stanley the support he needed.

Assurance, encouragement, alternative stories as to why no company replied him, hopes that things will turn out better.

And now, this resort to commiserate.

As his best friends, I feel we are nearly exhausting our means to be supportive.

"I know you boys are worried," Stanley said earnestly, the alcohol in his system making him look more doe-eyed than usual.

"But I guess we just have to put one foot in front of the other and keep going.

"It's just that my bio clock is ticking. The older you are, the less desirable at work.

"Lucky for me, my bio cock is also ticking.

"And the older I get, the more desirable it is. Trust me. I've been doing the leg work given that I have so much time," Stanley said and all three of us burst out laughing.



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