Reunions

I'm not sure about you, but the older you get, the more stressful reunion dinners are.

It was a revelation that dawned on me in the Lee household just yesterday.

Mrs Lee was in her usual hostess with the mostess mode, shuttling between her kitchen and our living room which looked like a brothel.

As usual, my mum had overdone it again with the Lunar New Year décor, going all out to paint the house red.

In one corner of the house sat a knee-length vase that supported dozens of pussy willows which fanned out in multiple directions.

In another corner was a short and stout pot of kumquat plants.

And of course, festive stickers that depict a pair of plump children - one boy and one girl with rosy cheeks - each holding up a scroll of auspicious greetings.

"Where is Barry Lee," my mum demanded. "He's late for dinner," she said, looking pointedly at the family clock which said 3.05pm.

"Better hurry. CNY monster stirring to life," I typed in the sibling group chat.

"Yes, the Queen is about to explode," my sis added.

"Just to be clear, which queen are we talking about, asked Barry, who can't be entirely blamed given that the title can be shared among my mum, sis and myself.

Every CNY, the Lee household gets very tense.

First, there is Mrs Lee who is always afraid that people would leave our home hungry.

So there's always overcooking to be done. Overfeeding to be carried out. And of course, overeating to be suffered.

That puts some stress on Mrs Lee.

And because every CNY is held at the Lees, my mum would take it upon herself to recreate the dishes of my late-grandmother because she needs to please the palates of her siblings - my aunts and uncles.

That too, is not an easy task.

Every year, Mrs Lee starts her reunion dinner preparation one week ahead of the event.

The high-grade mushroom needs to be soaked and then stewed over a pot for one week for its slow death.

And then there's lots of pre-chopping, pre-slicing and pre-marinating to be done.

A day before the grand dinner, my mum gets working on the soup.

And not just any soup, mind you.

Granny's Cantonese soup recipe which calls for boiling not on the gas cooker but over a small charcoal stove.

Yes, we are serious like that.

Every year, my mum would also make everyone's favourite dish for reunion dinner.

Sweet and sour pork (my brother's favourite), 'Dao Kok Lap' - deep fried cubed tofu, peanuts, char siew, radish and chopped long beans (my sis' favourite), deep fried chicken wing (my brother and sis' favourite), stir-fried prawn in tomato paste (my brother's favourite), braised sea cucumber with scallop (nobody's favourite - but my mum assumes everyone likes it), mushroom and chicken feet (my mum and aunt's favourite) abalone with lettuce (again, nobody's), and roast duck (the favourite of Uncle Weng, my mum's unmarried brother).

Why aren't there any of my favourites, you ask?

I love them all - anything Mrs Lee cooks, I love.

But back to the Lee household.

There was a lot of food prep, and I was deemed to be of no help whatsoever, so my duties were to stay out of the kitchen and watch Netflix.

My sis on the other hand, was the de facto health minister who would comment on the nutritional value of my mum's cooking, driving her nuts.

And so she was tasked to sit on the couch and watch Netflix with me.

At that moment, anyone who is gifted with the sight of cosmic energy would start seeing dark smoke consolidating and starting to swirl around the Lee household.

Every CNY, there was one duty I did best: Keeping up the festive spirits.

So I loaded up on whisky (Uncle Weng and my brother's favourite), red wine (for myself), beer (for Uncle Chee) and soft drinks for the ladies (my favourite aunt and my sis).

But the festive spirit was about to falter.

"Where is Barry?" my mum enunciated as she laid out her festive table cloth the colour of fresh blood - a grim reminder of my brother's fate if he still chose not to respond to mum's text.

"He's at work and on the way," I said, making stories up along the way.

My sis shot a look at me and rolled her eyes, but decided that she shouldn't be the one to stir the hornet's nest.

Meanwhile, a few streets down the road, the Ongs too are busy preparing for their yearly dinner.

Except that in Stanley's family, it's the dad who wears the apron.

Stanley's mum, the formidable Mrs Monica Ong, wears the pants in the family, calling the shots in the household.

My sex bunny friend Stanley is the total opposite of his mum - he doesn't wear pants.

Rather, he drops his pants at every opportunity.

But today is not the day to talk about such inauspicious stuff.

In Stanley's three-storey house, their reunion dinners are surprisingly - but intentionally - humble.

According to Stanley, his dad had once been very, very poor and although Mr Ong was a rags-to-riches case, the elderly Ong had never once forgotten his humble beginnings.

And so for the Ongs, reunion dinners are always made up of very simple dishes - stir fried vegetables with garlic, omelettes, lean chicken, as well as a small dish of dark soy sauce which Stanley's dad explains, represents extreme poverty (because when he was a child, on some days, dinner was really just rice and dark soy sauce with a dash of oil).

Oh, and there's also this preserved tofu cube dish soaked in vinegar which in Stanley's words, tastes like dick cheese.

But Stanley's family - who enjoys the occasional extravagant dinners outside - would take every CNY as an opportunity to be thankful. That they have food on the table, and to remind themselves that no matter how wealthy one is, all it matters is that the entire family sits down and eats a meal together, simple dishes or not.

Some 15km from Stanley and my house is the Changs.

The family of our dense friend Carl Chang.

For them, their reunion dinner tradition has always been steamboat.

Carl's mum, a career woman who has several fruit stalls to manage in various parts of Singapore, has absolutely no time to cook on a daily basis so her cooking skills are, you know, a bit rusty.

According to Carl', "my mum says no way are we going to have Filipino food for reunion dinner although our helper Aunty Rina is a great cook - so our best bet is steamboat."

So for Carl, his yearly dinner involves putting random things into the hotpot and into his mouth - an activity Stanley would be well acquainted with.

And every year after reunion dinner, it's become a habit that the three of us would meet.

It all started in the late 90s, when Carl, Stanley and I were sweet young things, all of 20 years old with smooth lean bods and so, so much virility.

The 20-year-old Stanley had famously said that we needed to maximise our youth and show off our brand new clothes so we had to party after reunion dinner.

Oh, those were the happy days.

I remember rushing through dinner and while my family and relatives were all gambling after a hearty meal, I would quickly change into my CNY best and scoot out of the house to meet Stanley and Carl, along with some other friends.

We would spend our night at Niche - a defunct gay club in a Chinatown shophouse which gays who grew up in the 90s would be familiar with.

There was a lot of dancing, screaming and drinking.

Of course, being young and energetic, we could all bounce back bright and early the next day to face our respective pesky relatives.

This year - as all of us hit the big four-O - Carl, Stanley and I stuck to our tradition of meeting up.

But instead of clubbing like we used to, the three of us opted for a more sensible outing: At Carl's home.

Stanley dug out his 2015 Rioja while I lugged a bottle of 2014 Amarone to Carl's.

Carl supplied CNY snacks and his cosy balcony and we chatted from 11.30pm all the way till 3.30am last night.

There and then, at Carl's place, we realised that we stuck to this tradition not because we were friends.

But because we are family.

Happy Lunar New Year, everyone.

---------------------------

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

Of Fortune Telling and Magic Snakes

Long, long time ago, in ancient China, there lived a pair of mystical snakes who were such close friends they regarded each other as sisters.

The older, more regal one was a white snake.

Poised and elegant.

The younger - and might I add, sluttier one - is in a loud, attention-seeking shade of lime green and who slithers around the magical forest, flirting with all living things that her belly comes in contact with.

Some say the green snake is a direct descendant of a certain serpent who once tempted a man to eat the forbidden fruit.

This green snake though, does not go around tempting.

She goes straight for the man's forbidden fruit.

"That's defamation," Stanley my sex bunny friend dramatically hissed at me back in the modern world.

"There is no truth to this legend!"

Carl however was amused.

Our dense friend leaned in closer, rested his chin on both his fists and grinned like a goon.

"Then, then, then? What happened next?"

Stanley who couldn't bear to be defamed, demeaned but is totally fine with being deflowered in this story, raised both his hands in the air and said "no, that's how the story goes. Let me tell it as it is."

Long, long time ago, there lived a pair of mystical snakes in a forest.

The older one - and girl, we're talking old... the crinkly, wrinkly sort... the soft-like-jelly type of old - is white.

And because that bitch is so old, she's sort of off-white.

Dirty white.

You know, the kind of white where you've cummed on a black hanky and left it there for a few days that it becomes yellow.

That sort of off-white.

Carl shifted uncomfortably at that unexpected piece of information in the story.

"Don't ask me how I know - it's just part of the story," Stanley said dismissively, noticing that Carl had turned pale.

Anyway, that old white snake was so old that nobody in the forest wanted to be her friend, much less sleep with her.

So the younger, chirpier and more outgoing snake - which is a beautiful shade of green, and which also happens to be my favourite colour, Stanley adds, took pity on that old bitch and had to sacrifice herself and sleep around and help that old white snake make friends.

One day, this clever green snake had a brilliant idea.

Since my old spinster sister is such a fat loser, why don't we use our ancient magical powers to transform ourselves into human beings?

Carl lit up at the word magic. He loved magic.

And so, just like that, the older snake took the form of a very fat, very old woman, just because her robust magical powers allowed her to go all out.

So that stupid snake opted for quantity over quality.

The younger green snake, being less of a show off, decided to turn herself into an attractive, 20-year-old maiden who was smooth, pretty and slender.

168 / 55/ single / bottom, Stanley added.

Carl grinned, enthralled by how detailed Stanley was.

"Then, then, then?" he asked Stanley, impatiently rapping his hand to hurry him with the story.

So the pair of human sisters lived quite happily for a while.

The younger green snake would go out for parties because she was pretty and popular while her fat and old sister would keep complaining that she was always tired that she wanted to just sleep her life away.

Carl covered his mouth to stifle a giggle, truly entertained by Stanley.

One day, a very handsome scholar came by the house while the green snake was out partying at Sparks during an afternoon Tea Dance event.

All the handsome scholar wanted to do was to use the latrine because the rainy weather made him want to pee quite badly.

But the scholar ended up falling in love with the old, fat white snake.

Oh, and the handsome scholar was born blind.

Couldn't see a single thing, that poor boy, Stanley said shaking his head with pity.

"That scholar is J!" Carl beamed excitedly, happy to have been able to identify my partner in Stanley's made up story.

Then Carl paused and raised his fingers to count.

Sensing that Carl wanted to be included in the story, Stanley immediately improvised.

Anyway, the two got married and when the green snake came back, she very kindly congratulated her fat, old sister for scoring.

Then the green snake went to the latrine where the scholar had met his eventual old, fat white snake of a wife, and, as a gift, decided to conjure a page boy for the newly weds.

The green snake spotted a mound of suspicious-smelling soil and used it to fashion a human servant for the couple.

Carl stopped grinning there and then and sat up.

Sensing potential trouble, Stanley immediately improvised again.

But, but, but, the house boy was very, very muscular. he has very big arms and could lift many heavy things!

Carl grinned and clapped at the development.

And then the four of them lived happily ever after okay goodbye, Stanley said, ending his story abruptly, finally bored of spinning tales from thin air.

Carl smiled and sipped his tea as he digested the delightful story.

For context, the three of us had been debating a yearly topic: Horoscope.

More specifically, it was a debate about believing such nonsense.

Carl was a firm believer.

But Stanley, who cannot stand fortune telling, chose to spin magical stories that afternoon instead.

To be fair, Stanley's right.

It's ridiculous to believe in Chinese New Year horoscopes that are written by someone who's out to please everyone, and afraid to get things wrong.

"Things will look good for you in the coming year. But beware of things you say about others, which could hurt your career".

Or...

"The coming year could spell a mini disaster for those born in the year of the tiger. Be careful with eating overly spicy food and make sure you watch your health this year".

Erm, duh.

Thank you, Mr Fengshui.

This could have been written by my HR colleague who writes such cryptic but meaningless emails.

And then there are the classic shenanigans who get on Stanley's nerves.

Once, during Chinese New Year, Carl insisted we went to have our fortunes told at a makeshift stall in Chinatown.

Stanley allowed the fortune teller - a woman in her 60s - to read his palm.

The aunty obviously couldn't read between the lines because what she told Stanley made him stand up and walkaway from his seat.

Stanley had asked her if he should change his job that year.

The fortune telling aunty nodded sagely, closed her eyes and looked like she was in such deep pain that the only antidote for her was a toilet bowl.

Then she opened her eyes and gave Stanley an answer which would in later years, be repeated to anyone who dared to talk about having his fortune told.

The aunty said this to Stanely.

"This year would be a good year to change your job. It will bring you steady fortune. But if you don't change your job, you too will see steady fortune."

So this year, although Carl had brought up the subject of discussing our predictions for the coming year (which by the way bodes very well for those born in the year of the Goat), Stanley chose to spin magical tales instead to keep Carl enthralled.

Come to think of it, Stanley said, I think I should set up a stall in Chinatown and have all these superstitious peoples' fortunes read.

But only for selected clients.

I'm so creative that people will be very entertained.

Plus, I'm gonna do this with a different angle - with science.

Instead of reading palms, I'll take certain samples from them and assess them carefully, Stanley says with a wry smile.

---------------------------

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

Sex And The City

"I don't know why people think it's hell, but trust me, darlings, it's heaven. Absolutely heaven," Stanley wrote in our group chat titled Just the Boys.

As expected, Carl our dense friend replied with a series of question marks, a true reflection of his state of mind on most days.

Stanley our sex bunny friend had recently taken a short, solo break and our adventurous member opted for Hong Kong.

A city which some think is going down.

Stanley agrees partially.

Only some in the city should be going down.

And on me, he wrote in our group chat, his text emitting lust.

I think the world has its focus on all the wrong places, Stanley argued.

I on the other hand, have my eyes trained on all the right places, he said, posting a few photos in our group for our perusal, to prove his point.

My heart - and not to mention, a vital part of my body - are in the right places too.

Carl replied with a series of exclamation marks, followed by a series applauding-hand icons.

It's true, they're not too bad looking, Hong Kong guys.

Stanley thinks that's an understatement.

The moment he touched down in Hong Kong - and despite the uneasy tension and ongoing chaos - Stanley was immediately excited..

Choosing to see the brighter side of things, our fey friend took on the liberty to fill our group chat with Hong Kong fun facts, fun being the operative word.

He also gave us details - at times, way too many details - about the city's fine young men.

First of all, Stanley began, 80 per cent of Hong Kong men are good looking.

They're all well groomed whether dressed or undressed - trust me, I personally fact-checked, he said.

Everyone - from the well-dressed executive in Central, to sweaty, delivery men in Wan Chai - is super attractive.

"And, there is no apocalypse happening in Hong Kong," Stanley stressed.

"All those videos you see on the news - it's all fake!" Stanley proclaimed.

"I have been walking around Hong Kong for the last two days and so far, nobody has come up to rape me," Stanley said, sounding a tad too disappointed.

Hong Kong is nothing of that sort, said Stanley, newly-minted Hong Kong Tourism Board Ambassador.

"If what you see on TV and social media are anything to go by, you would expect to see hordes of fit policemen running towards me or large groups of handsome youths hurling petrol bombs at me, right?, Stanley said.

"But no. There are no hot policemen with pepper spray nor handsome youths waiting for me with petrol bombs when I touched down! I'm not on fire, am I?" Stanley said, sounding like he was on heat.

"Seriously... Hong Kong is normal, guys," Stanley said, begging us to believe every word of his.

For the next few days of Stanley's trip, we were given a visual treat.

Various photos were posted in our group chat, from Michelin-Star roast goose dishes and red wine glass with a book, to the city skyline as well as random photos of Hong Kong men.

"And even though I was caught up in a protest, I didn't feel unsafe at all," Stanley pointed out.

Of course, Stan dear. Hong Kong men are the ones who ought to feel unsafe with you around was my inner thought, which I wisely kept to myself.

"I mean, guys, I was smack in the middle of the action," Stanley wrote the other day.

"You'll have to be more specific, Stan. With you, that can mean many things," I replied.

"Protests!" Stanley responded on cue, his inanimate WhatsApp text unwilling to reveal if he was fearful or excited.

And then he posted a barrage of photos and a video showing groups of riot policemen on one side of the road, and a group of black-clad protesters on the other side.

Carl was alarmed.

"Run for your life!!!" Carl wrote.

"To whom is the message meant for, Carl?" Stanley replied, before adding a gif of an Italian-looking man smiling suggestively.

"Relax dear...." Stanley wrote.

"I came here because I specifically asked the hotel staff where certain planned protests were so that I could see them for myself - don't worry, I have an N95 mask!" Stanley said.

"Why would you do that?!" Carl wrote, and posted a gif of Barack Obama raising both his hands quizzically.

"Wow, you know him. Good job," Stanley said, impressed that Carl our dense friend, who has trouble naming all seven continents in the world, would choose such a gif.

"Yah, he's a popular actor," Carl wrote with a smiley-face icon, pleased with himself.

Carl had unknowingly raised Stanley up and thrown him down hard all too quickly - a feat only some of Stanley's one-night-stand partners had achieved.

Not wanting to be distracted, Stanley continued.

I feel very safe - like a fly on the wall, quietly watching the action between fit, hot policemen and hot-blooded youths, Stanley said, not minding at all that he's sounding like a pervert.

One of Stanley's main aims for his short, solo trip was to spend some time away from Singapore, to get away from all the stress.

Another was to make full use of the cheap hotel fares in Hong Kong.

And as a bonus, Stanley wants to be in the thick of the action to watch history unfold.

Turns out, our Sex bunny friend got what he wanted, given that not only did he watch the unfolding, he was also actively involved in some unfolding activities.

Soon, it was time for Stanley to leave the beloved city of Hong Kong.

As Stanley boarded the plane to return to Singapore, he wrote in the group chat.

"Dear God, I have always wanted to use protection amid a crowd of hot-blooded young men and I should have been more specific.

"And dear God, I had always wished for action involving hordes of hot, fit men in uniform taking out their little weapons and spraying substance all over the place, and God, again I should have been more specific."

---------------------------

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

A Whole New Whirl

On Dec 31, 2019, Stanley my sex bunny friend wrote this on his Facebook page.

"Just because the clock strikes 12, just because you turn the page of a calendar, just because it's Jan 1 doesn't mean your life will reset for the better. So if 2019 sucked, your 2020 will suck too. There's no such thing as an automatic renewal in your life if you don't do anything about it. So suck it up."

How true. 

Stanley's life in 2020 will continue to suck, given that he's been consistently sucking in 2019. 

So, all you men out there, watch out. Stanley's gonna suck 'em all up. 

Last I checked, Stanley's Facebook post received 216 likes and a string of comments that ranged from "well said" to "what's wrong, bro"?

But what Stanley says makes perfect sense.

Making New Year Resolutions - while a forward-looking concept - is passe.

Year after year, we aspire to be better versions of ourselves.

Year after year, that tends to fail. 

Because those who wait until Jan 1 to make changes aren't really motivated to change. 

If you want to introduce something good in your life, why wait?

There's no need to pick an auspicious date to be Marie Kondo, Stanley argues, setting his cup of mocha latte - his favourite afternoon drink - on the wooden table of Coffee Bean at Rail Mall.

"Yah, if you want to drag, or change sex, or buy a condo just do it," said Carl who obviously has no idea who Marie Kondo is.

For Carl our dense friend, who still has trouble listing - and spelling - all the months in a year, New Year Resolutions mean nothing to him.

In fact, a lot of things mean nothing to Carl, who we suspect is really a five-year-old boy trapped inside the muscular body of an adult male.

Stanley my libido-driven friend on the other hand, traps muscular bodies of adult males.

But back to resolutions.

Let's own up.

How many of us here have had resolutions made but not fulfilled?

I'll start.

In one of my resolutions, I had aspired to eat healthy meals... salads, boiled meat, no carbs.

On Day Four, I succumbed to a large packet of fries (true story).

Stanley too, had, believe it or not, attempted to stay off One Night Stands.

He eventually gave in to a large package (true story too).

Carl had, a few years ago, resolved to increase the intensity of his gym workouts.

And to his credit, he did end up quite large, so good for him.

That afternoon, for the sake of reflection, I ask the boys what they'd changed in their lives that made them quite proud.

Stanley raised his hand immediately to answer.

"Sex partners."

Carl, who had scrunched his eyebrows like he'd been giving my question some serious thought, eventually changed his mind and picked up his fork and began gently poking at our table's carrot cake.

Truth be told, at the ripe old age of 40 - actually 41, if you go by calendar year - I don't have much on my achievement scroll.

True, I'm not exactly a loser.

I have a job which I love. I have J whom I love. I have the boys whom I love.

And I generally love my life.

But these are elements in my life that just happen in my life.

It's not as if I sat down on Dec 31 and said, okay, one day, I aim to meet the man of my life and live happily ever after.

Carl turned pale at that thought.

Our macho friend, who had been single for a while since he broke up, looked despondent and continued turning to the carrot cake to ease his pain.

Stanley jumped in at this point.

How about we take this New Year Resolution shit a little more seriously, he suggested.

I mean, there's no harm trying right? Okay, Adam, you start the ball rolling.

And so, there and then at Rail Mall over drinks and cakes, the boys and I got down to business.

At the top of my list is good health, I say, helping myself to a large forkful of creamy carrot cake, my favourite pick-me-up.

"I don't know what sort of list your is," Stanley interrupts. "My list contains actual names and phone numbers and all are tops," he says, revealing his type of pick-me-ups.

"So to do that," I said, looking only at Carl so that I can block out Stanley and his nonsense, "I'm going to eat healthily and do a full body check up this year."

"I love full body check ups," Stanley says inserting his face in my line of vision. 

"Some full body checkups lead to very happy endings. I can quote you some examples from some of my favourite films," he says with a threat. 

I continued looking at Carl, who nods sagely in an attempt to show that he understands what's going on, and that he cares about the conversation. 

My next aim this year, I say to the group,  is to make more friends. 

Since being posted overseas, living alone in a foreign land proved to be lonely. 

Although I'm back in Singapore for a year-end trip, I'm going to have to soon return to Myanmar where I'm based, leaving behind my partner J and my loved ones Stanley and Carl.

Stanley made the sign of the cross at my sombre, obituary tone.

So, socially, I aim to build new networks and establish closer ties with people.

"Amen," Stanley says, approving any sort of networking attempts.

And is your New Year Resolution to be more holy, I ask Stanley.

Not wanting to disappoint, Sister Stanley made the sign of the cross dutifully.

Meanwhile, Carl is busy attending to our carrot cake, making the delicious morsel slowly disappear.

"What's your New Year Resolution, Carl?"

Our dense friend looked up and flashed me a cream-filled smile in response, his eyes filled with childlike bliss.

I looked to Stanley who immediately made the sign of the cross on cue, this time, reaching a hand in front of Carl to say "May our friend this year be aware, be aware, be aware of all things happening around him!"

When Stanley was done with his dramatic expression, he took a sip of his mocha latte, a visual cue that he's switching to serious mode.

"My New Year Resolution is to buy a flat this year," he said seriously.

Stanley had been house hunting in the last year but his plans were forced to be on hold after he was retrenched.

Now that he's back in the workforce, Stanley's new strategy is to go easy - a principle which some of us hope can be applied to his sex life too, but let's not go there.

So instead of pouring his pot of gold into a condo unit, he's decided to first get an HDB flat, pay off the whole thing, then buy a condo unit if he has spare cash.

"That's really good, Carl says, licking his fork.

"That's my financial plan," Stanley said in a firm voice as if he were presenting a White Paper to a council of economists.

At the corner of my eye, I saw Carl scratch his scalp before proceeding to suspiciously sniff his fingers.

"As for my other resolutions," Stanley said, determined not to be distracted by Carl, "I shall aspire to be less vain."

Carl froze in mid finger-sniffing and turned to Stanley curiously.

"Yes, you heard me right," Stanley said, adding sternly "and stop doing that, Carl."

"I am so vain that I realise these days, I can't help staring in the mirror - and it's gotten to a point where I think is unhealthy."

"So I'll make it a point to stop looking into the mirror and stop being so obsessed with myself."

Carl literally stopped whatever he was doing and looked like he's having a very tough time deciding between further engaging Stanley or his fingers.

He eventually chose his fingers and proceeded to sniff them with abandon.

I didn't know what to make of Stanley's resolution.

But apparently, he'd done quite a bit of reflection to reach this stage.

"I mean, seriously," Stanley said.

"I had been working very hard in the gym to maintain my lean physique," he said, patting his flat abs with love.

Carl responded with a toothy grin and began patting his own python-sized biceps.

Awww, look at the two of them bonding in this special way after all these years.

"And so I'm seriously going to not check myself out at every opportunity," Stanley said, breaking the momentary trance he had Carl shared.

"I get upset every time I stare at my abs, thinking that I'd put on weight and that my abs are not as defined as a few days ago. It's that bad," Stanley says.

Carl hadn't stopped patting his swollen biceps.

Turning his attention to Carl, Stanley said: "And your resolution should be to stop working so much on your upper body - and start building muscles on your bloody skinny legs."

Carl pouted at that comment.

"And if you need any sort of motivation, I'm here to help okay," Stanley said encouragingly putting his arms around both of us.

"I'm an expert in reaching my goals," and then turning to Carl in particular, "my specialty and interests are shaping body parts below the waist."

---------------------------

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

Happy New Year!!!

Dear reader,

Wishing you a very happy, meaningful and healthy year ahead - and thank you for regularly visiting this blog.

Here's to many more happy entries to come - a wish that Stanley my sex bunny friend would say with true meaning.

Love,
Adam

My Magical Christmas

Christmas is always a wonderful time for me.

I'll tell you a bit more in just a while.

Initially, it started because Christmas means family time.

Though my Buddhist household doesn't celebrate Christmas, I would spend it with my godparents, who are family friends to my mum and aunt.

At the ripe old age of nine, I had my first sip of red wine (and actually liked it).

It was after midnight mass and my hearty Eurasian godparents thought it would be harmless to allow me a full glass for supper, which I remember clearly, was eaten with piping hot chicken curry and crispy French loaf.

Since then, I have always associated red wine and curry as comfort food.

And every Christmas Day, I would be at my godparents' place.

Their cosy flat would be filled with a steady steam of visitors: My godma's brandy-loving siblings - some of whom loud and hearty, others quietly reflective after a glass or two - as well as her extended family and lifelong friends.

And you can imagine that when a group of Eurasians gather, there would be a lot of laughing, dancing, and reminiscing.

Every year, I would be reminded that as a child, I had insisted that every one of those nicely wrapped presents at the bottom of the Christmas tree were mine, barking "no" aggressively to every other child who approached it.

And my godma would always repeat the story of me insisting on being air lifted so that I can be the one who fitted the star on their plastic Christmas tree.

At age 40, I realise just how short the Christmas tree was, my height a visual reminder of how much time has passed.

This year, my godma - who's getting really old and weak - decided she couldn't cook.

So it would be pot luck.

But she would supply brandy, the family favourite, as well as a range of alcohol including red wine, my favourite.

My other god-sibling's husband made Feng, a classic Eurasian curry featuring chopped liver, following my godma's recipe to a tee.

Meanwhile, I made potato cutlet, one of a few recipes my godma imparted to me.

And as expected, there was a lot of laughing, dancing, and reminiscing.

This year's Christmas is particularly precious to me because being away from home made me all the more appreciative of those around me.

And as with my Christmas plans for nearly the last two decades, my second half of December 25 is spent at my partner J's.

Going from one Eurasian Christmas party to another Peranakan Christmas party is no joke.

Especially for one's belly.

Weeks before the festive day, J's mum would busy herself with cooking, making every darn thing from scratch.

To show our appreciation, the family would tuck in heartily to all her dishes, which isn't a hard thing to do given that the matriarch is indeed a great cook.

But today's post, while revolving around the topic of magical Christmas, is about much more.

It's about how this time of the year has been made extra magical by one event.

December 27, 2002.

The exact date and year J and I got together.

As we enter our 18th year, I thought this might be a good time to look back on the fateful day.

We had known each other at a work setting sometime in early 2002 and really, really hit it off.

We were complete opposites of each other but we connected on an intellectual and emotional level - as friends.

And we didn't really go out one-on-one until December.

One reason was, I didn't dare ask J out 'cos he didn't come across as gay to me and I don't know how straight nerds would react to one-on-one dates.

Second reason was, even if J were indeed gay... why would he like me?

Back then, I was a plump, pimply youth with oily skin and oily hair and didn't have many achievements to my name.

He on the other hand, was about to complete his prestigious scholarship and embark on what could be potentially a bright diplomatic career ahead of him.

And while J won't exactly make heads turn at a party, he's the type you'd be drawn to the moment he starts talking to you.

Wise, attentive, kind, humble, and seriously funny.

And his boyish looks grow on you: He has nice, thick lips, eyes shaped like those of an almond, and a head of curly hair (Stanley my sex bunny friend would later point out that I am attracted to guys with curly hair given that my first boyfriend also has hair that belongs to Bozo the Clown).

J was also quite the sportsman - he was in the school hockey and football teams and later on, part of the national swim team (though he didn't compete in the end).

By October 2002, I had been regularly texting with J, talking about all things under the sun, and the inevitable happened.

The more I got to know J, the more I find myself falling for him... the J who is wise, attentive, kind, humble and seriously funny.

By November 2002, I geared our topics towards romance, trying to suss out if J were gay.

But the careful civil servant-to-be was very cautious about saying too much and that only made him sexier with the layers of mystery about that part of him.

Finally, with Stanley's encouragement, I decided to take the risk anyway.

Stanley's exact words to me were "peel off that mystery layer by layer darling... and you might be surprised with what you find in there."

In early December, I plucked up the courage to ask J out.

He said no.

But only because J grew up in a large Peranakan family, and Christmases are always busy periods for him.

But J offered the next best date to me: Two days after Christmas.

And the next best date turned my entire life around.

… To Be Continued... 

---------------------------

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

To Shopping, To Shopping

It's Stanley's favourite time of the year.

Christmas.

"And year-end bonus," Carl our dense friend chimed in like a happy child, as if someone had just handed him a large lollipop.

"And rear-end bonus," Stanley the sex bunny added, unable to help himself, confirming that someone had recently handed him a large lollipop.

"Wanna hear all about it, please?" Stanley begged, hoping to provide some cosmic balance at Takashimaya.

And at this very moment, it's kiddish energy 1: faerie force field 0.

Our collective diva presence is overshadowed by five overly cheery kids squealing and running around the mall in various directions and speeds, the oldest of them pretending to be a noisy airplane.

"I want to personally take these noisy kids down," Stanley said threateningly, gritting his teeth.

"And their cute daddy over there... I want to personally take him down too," Stanley added threateningly, biting his lips.

It's the time of the year when there's lots of eating and merry-making to be had.

The time of the year when I get really busy with catching up with family and loved ones.

Every Christmas Day, I would visit my Godma without fail where her famous Devil's Curry - as well as 'feng', a greenish-looking Eurasian curry made up of chopped liver - would please her large crowd of rowdy, whiskey-chugging guests.

By early-evening, I have to shuttle off to J my partner's place where without fail, his mum would come by to whip up nonya classics including my favourite babi ponteh, chap chye and achar.

As for the boys, it's been our tradition since we started working that we went shopping together.

I had flown back to Singapore for the year-end holidays, and today, the boys and I are ready to shop.

At exactly 11-O-five, we arrived at Takashimaya where we reminded one another that today, we will go all out.

There'd be no holding back.

We have big, fat bonuses to spend.

It seems like the older we get, the lesser control we have, and the more we let go.

"That describes our bladder too, you know that right," Stanley pointed out helpfully.

Carl, who is unwilling to grasp the concept of ageing and is unable to process jokes so early on a Friday morning, responded by staring blankly at the large Takashimaya Christmas tree instead.

It's been quite a while since the three of us had spent time together, even though we had recently caught up in Myanmar.

And so this shopping trip was an important bonding session for all of us.

Stanley, who has the magical ability to turn anything under the sun into a sex joke, looked like he was about to respond to the words "bonding session", but chose to put his arms around me and Carl instead as we set off our happy shopping day.

Our first stop was naturally the men's section, where Carl skipped to the underwear section like he was a kid in a candy store.

"What's with your obsession with buying new underwear Carl?" I ask.

"Let me help you," Stanley said, unable to resist.

"Buying new underwear is hardly an obsession," Stanley began. "Buying used underwear on the other hand, is the obsession the world should worry about."

Stanley looked to Carl for a response but found our dense friend already enthralled in front of the underwear shelves.

Carl loved stocking up on underwear.

Stanley on the other hand, was the opposite.

In fact, he disliked it so much he always tries to get rid of other men's underwear at every opportunity.

As Carl busied himself checking out various expensive brands, Stanley proceeds to examine the models' contents with keen interest, singling out which brands Carl should buy based purely on his assessment of the overall package.

Finally, after spending some 20 minutes picking and choosing, Carl chose six pairs of branded underwear, all in white.

Our next stop was the home appliances section of CK Tang where again, Carl has something to buy.

"I need to get this," Carl said, pointing to an iRobot. "What do you guys think?"

I love it. You should buy it, was Stanley's immediate response.

"I have a lot of affinity with this iRobot," Stanley said affectionately, patting the automated vacuum cleaner.

"I believe we're both created to do the same thing in life."

Carl turned pale on hearing this and decided he didn't need the iRobot after all.

After roaming around for the next two hours - including an ice-cream break at MacDonald's - we stepped into a luxury shop where Carl was about to part with some of his hard-earned money.

He had been eyeing a Bottega wallet for quite some time now, and today, our brand-conscious friend is making that purchase.

As the shop assistant placed a dark blue wallet on the glass counter for a visibly excited Carl to examine, Stanley frowned.

"Hunny, I don't know about this design," Stanley said in hushed tones. "This wallet looks like a ketupat that has way passed its consumption date."

The Bottega sales person, a pleasantly plump Malay girl, giggled uncontrollably at Stanley's remarks.

Carl looked worried and slowly backed away from the wallet.

"You very funny lah sir," the girl, whose name tag read Rosiah, says waving a hand at Stanley.

Up close, her swollen fingers looked like fat, boiled chicken feet.

"This one confirm not ketupat lah, sir," she said merrily.

"If ketupat sure I will eat one. Look at me. Where I will waste food?"

Stanley was stunned and impressed all at the same time that he started to slow clap for Rosiah who responded with another round of hearty giggles.

Sensing a happy ending, Carl joined in and clapped rapidly before committing 700 dollars on the wallet and left the store a happy child.

Meanwhile, Stanley himself too, was having a happy field day shopping.

"This one, this one," Stanley said, nudging me rapidly by the elbow.

"Now that is all I want for Christmas," Stanley said forlornly, looking at the object of his affection, a boyish crew-cut daddy carrying a small girl.

"Ooo, and this one is not bad too," Stanley said, nodding approvingly at another fair, youngish executive with thick eyebrows that looked like charred caterpillars.

While the mantra for Carl today is Shop Till You Drop, for Stanley the sex bunny, it's apparently Shop Till You Drop Your Pants.

For me though, it's Shop Till you Drop Dead.

I had not shopped for a while and this activity is draining.

Plus, I hate crowds.

If not for the boys, I wouldn't have come out during such a crowded season.

"At this moment, all I want is the power to part this crowd like the Red Sea, so that I can pass through it with ease," I said wearily.

Not wanting to let go of this opportunity, Stanley replied immediately: "Darling, if I can choose one power, it would be the power to part not the Red Sea, but something more specific - so that I too can pass through it with ease."

Stanley and I stopped laughing shortly the moment we realised Carl had, as usual, no reaction.

Given that Carl had no biblical context - whether linked to the Old or New Testaments - nor any context in the modern world we currently live in, our dense friend blithely carried on breathing and continued living his blissfully clueless life.

But our dear friend is no loser today.

He's the one lugging the most shopping bags, putting his python-sized biceps to good use.

That afternoon, we were again reminded what a shopaholic Carl can be.

Stanley and I on the other hand, are alcoholics.

"Okay, I need a stiff drink," I said at the end of the trip.

"Mmmm," Stanley replied without missing a beat.

"I can certain do with one of those," he said, obviously not referring to the drink.

---------------------------

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