Merry Xmas!

Fresh cut roses, check.

Table setting, check.

Carols lined up on Spotify -- the proper Catholic ones, and not your I Saw Mummy Kissing Santa Claus type of rubbish versions -- check.

For the first time in 20 years since I got together with my partner J, I am hosting his family for the all-important Christmas dinner gathering.

Don't be silly lah. There's nothing to be stressed about, J says casually to me about my grand task of hosting his family.

He's sitting on my couch and already is busy killing zombies on his mobile phone.

But J is right.

After two decades of being J's partner, there's no need for me to be nervous about making a good first impression. 

Nor is it the first time J's family had visited my place.

And I shouldn't over worry about the gathering later, lest I forget to enjoy the process of hosting.

I love hosting.

I love J and his family.

This combination should be fun and enjoyable.

Plus, J is here with me to host his family.

It will be fun.

In order not to keel over from stress, I had decided to cook the main dish of Calderata two days ahead of Christmas.

The Filipino beef stew is said to taste better over a few days.

I figure this is one dish J's mum, being traditionally Peranakan and all, wouldn't have tasted (much less cook it) so it's a safe choice.

I made it as authentically as possible, following my friend's mum's recipe to a tee, except for the Reno-brand liver spread, which is supposed to thicken the stew.

The liver spread had apparently been banned in the Philippines so getting my hands on one of those here meant not only potentially getting on the wrong side of Singapore law but also that of the mother in law. 

Instead, I found pate at the supermarket and am casually using it as a substitute.

That should do the trick.

I will also be whipping up a salad -- and this one is risky.

Risky because it has a Nonya twist to it.

Years ago, J's mum and I had discussed a recipe published on the Sunday Times by our favourite food writer.

The main salad pieces were poached prawns, rose apples, pineapples, and winged beans. 

For the sauce -- and here's where it gets tricky -- I need chinchalok (fermented prawn paste), lingam's chili sauce, honey and lime juice. 

I remember J's mum saying such a combination would be nice.

For our salad, I'll be adding my own touch -- J's mum loves Japanese cucumber so I'll toss that in. And I'll sprinkle some finely-chopped kaffir lime to give it extra zest. 

J will be taking with him leftover meats from our party at his place last night: Sausages, turkey, ham.

His brother and sister in law are taking the easy way: KFC and pizza.

They should be at my place by 4pm, and I'm knocking out this piece in record time.

I look around my kitchen (the stew is slowly warming up and filling my kitchen with a wave of tangy sweetness), and my table setting is ready.

I'll take one more sip of wine.... and I'll go get busy.

Merry Christmas, and a meaningful New Year, dear readers!

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

Preparing for Xmas

Every now and then, we get a chance to write our own narratives.

The chance fell upon me some years ago, after my Godma died.

You see, every year, I'd spend my Christmas Eve and Christmas evening with my Godma and her large extended family where glasses are clinked and a great Eurasian spread is to be had, as everyone gathers and recounts every damn thing -- from childhood memories and embarrassing anecdotes to discussing various current affairs developments. 

The passing of my Godma ended this tradition. 

My eldest Godbrother flew back to the US with his wife and retired there, shortly after that. 

For the subsequent few years, my Godsister, who herself has a happy, close-knit family, tried to recreate Christmas at her place but I was left out of the equation because of my overseas posting.

Eventually, our new Christmas tradition had become video calls and glasses were clinked in the respective homes of the family in smaller groups.

Now that I'm back in Singapore, Christmas gatherings would have a new spin.

While I still keep in touch with my Godsister and Godbrother, this year, I would be spending it solely with my partner J and his family.

This year's eve would be at J's place where his mum would no doubt whip up pipping hot Peranakan dishes, along with the festive staples of turkey, sausages and roast meats.

And at J's suggestion, the family would come over to my place for Christmas Day.

It's lovely to host loved ones at my place.

After all, I bought my place with hosting loved ones in mind -- my table is sturdy and big enough to host the Last Supper.

My sex bunny friend Stanley, who had bought his place not too long ago, was inspired by my dining table.

"Oh, Darling, I've always wanted something big and sturdy to host 12 people," Stanley would say, adding that the theme of his party would be the lust supper.

But my theme this year, is wholesomeness.

And it's a theme I hope to have for many more Christmas gatherings to come.

Since my resettling back in Singapore, J and I have been making a lot more plans with family in mind.

Which is why this pilot Christmas gathering is so important.

J would brush me aside like I'm a silly goose whenever I say I'm stressed over cooking for his mum, who is one of the island's best chefs, a title every Bibik would hold in all Peranakan households. 

"The trick is to cook things my mum never cooks," J said.

And so in recent weeks, amid my intermittent spring cleaning and the occasional checking of my work email and meetings, I'm also busy googling recipes.

This year, I've decided a hybrid menu: I'll order meats and pizzas and prepare finger food like onion rings and wedges, and whip up a simple salad.

The main dish would be Caldereta -- a Filipino beef stew that J's mum wouldn't have tried.

I had once cooked the stew and it was very, very, very delicious. The only problem was, I had cooked it for myself so that feedback would have been biased.

Nevertheless, J tells me that whatever I cook would involve love and, cheesy as it sounds, that's the essential ingredient in any dish.

I shared this with my sex bunny friend Stanley who couldn't agree more.

"And remember. In your case, the way to a man's heart is not through his stomach," he typed to me, adding a gif of a whirling black hole to make his very dirty point. 

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

Home Sweet Home

I am typing today's post in my new place and sneezing away due to dust. 

If I had bionic eyes, I'm pretty certain I'd see dark, dusty particles forming a hurricane, its hips swaying stylishly around my house like some important diva.

Earlier this year, I was asked by my company to return from my Myanmar posting.

Since then, my company had put me up in one of its multiple properties because I have an existing rental contract with my tenant, which I couldn't break until the end of the year.

Two weeks ago, my tenant had very kindly agreed to move out ahead of time, allowing me to move back in to my own place.

I'm very happy to come back to my large one-bedder and have bought so many things for my old-but-somewhat-new place.

After all, I had only bought -- and stayed in -- my place for two years before I had to fly out of the country and be posted around the region like a courtesan.

But I'm happy to move back. 

Which is why for today, my post will be short.

I have lots of unpacking, lots of fixing, lots of cleaning to do.

But there'll also be lots of laughter, lots of happy moments to look forward to from now on.

For now, it's back to sneezing and me trying to drive Hurricane Diva out of my place.

We'll talk soon.

Love, 

Adam 

 

 

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

Guncle And Gaunty

Not too long ago, I learnt the new word Guncle and so I figured there also must be such a thing as Gaunty too.

A gay acquaintance of mine recently posted on IG to say he had been promoted to a Guncle after his sister gave birth to a beautiful boy.

A quick google search confirmed that Guncle is new age slang for a gay uncle. 

There's even a Guncle's Day which apparently is observed in US on the second Sunday of August.

Stanley my sex bunny friend rolled his eyes and shook his head rapidly.

I couldn't tell if he was convulsing because of the ridiculous idea of a Guncle's Day -- or the fact that there's even such a thing as Guncle -- or because he was working up to a climax. 

So I waited patiently.

Carl the dense one who is always in a state of cluelessness also waited patiently for the final revelation. 

A grand total of 30 seconds later, Stanley finally said: "What the heck is this Guncle and Gaunty shit?"

What exactly is the point of defining a gay uncle, Stanley wanted to know.

Carl the dense one who is always in a state of cluelessness also wanted to know. 

Every waking moment is a learning opportunity for Carl. 

Later, I got to thinking about why people would first of all buy the idea of being a Guncle.

I mean, what is the role of a Guncle? 

Is it different to a straight uncle who has a swollen belly and receding hairline and who happens to love to squeeze tits at every opportunity?

Are gay uncles more fun?

And God forbid, can gay uncles be too fun for the comfort of our morals and laws?

What's with all this labelling, I thought. 

So I went straight to the source and messaged Derrick, newly promoted Guncle. 

In his words: 

"It's not about using a gay stamp and approving certain roles. There's no difference to a gay or straight uncle. We are still going to be doting nevertheless. 

But what's important to me is that labelling myself as a Guncle is a significant step to show that my family recognises me for who I am.  

It's also to celebrate that my sister and brother-in-law fully embrace me. They're going to teach my nephew the word Guncle and cultivate in him from young, a sense of acceptance so that he grows up not seeing sexuality with the very same biases that our older generation has."

I pasted Derrick's answer in our group chat titled "Just the Boys".

Stanley responded first. 

"Ooooo," Stanley wrote. 

Carl didn't react. He's probably still digesting the whole chunk of high-level words.

"Is this Derrick friend of yours cute? He sounds like one of those smart activist who would burn his bra to make a point. Such men are sexy!" Stanley wrote, digesting the hunk and his chunk of words. 

"Wait. Which one is your friend? Derrick or Guncle?" Carl finally wrote. 

For the next two days, I thought about Guncle Derrick's thoughts. 

He does have a point. After all, if his family decides to raise a boy and teach him to love his Guncle regardless of his sexual preference, that's a good thing.

But I do wonder if this gay-stamping would catch on. 

I mean, what if it does?

Suddenly, there'll be Ghairdressers, Glawyers, Geachers and Goctors. 

Would these labelling be healthy? 

Yes, for sure, these labels would force people to pause and rethink the significance of a person's role in life in relation to his sexuality.  

The ideal outcome is for everyone to realise that at the end of the day, a straight hairdresser wouldn't be less creative than a gay one, and a straight lawyer wouldn't be less bitch than a gay one.

But in the meantime, would forced labelling of roles -- such as Guncles -- do any good at the end of the day?

I ask the boys again for their thoughts. 

Do you think we'll go down a slippery slope of casting unnecessary attention on someone's role based on his sexuality such that at the end of the day, it forces people to focus on the gay in that role rather than to separate the gay in the role?

This time, Carl replied immediately: A sticker of a heavily mustached man giving a thumbs up.

Stanley replied next: A skinny woman giving the finger.

"It's 2am in Singapore, Adam. Please don't be a creepy overthinker," Stanley wrote. 

"Don't go down a slippery slope -- unless that slippery slope is the oily contours of a sexy Guncle".

 

 

 

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