Hunting Lessons

House hunting can be a very disappointing exercise, Stanley declared loudly in a dreadful voice.

"It's disappointing because every time I step into an apartment, I never fail to leave without having an orgasm," Stanley whispered to me. "And this is the fourth apartment that I'm leaving without any deposits."

"Don't worry, you happy then you deposit!" Yvonne Yim cut in with precise timing.

"And, don't scared, we have some more to go after lunch, ok? Sure you can find something you like. You happy, I happy. You deposit, Aunty Yim also happy," said Yvonne Yim, top saleswoman, ERA.

Our part-time housing agent for the day was Yvonne Yim, female / 57 / 1.56m / 69kg, and most importantly, got place. Many, many places to show us, in fact.

Stanley, who's always wanted to move out, has recently made the first move of house hunting, after amassing enough cash.

"Hello, hello boys! I'm Yvonne, but see you all so young, you both must call me Aunty Yim ah!" she said with a cheeky laugh at our very first meeting at exactly 9.08 that morning.

"I like her already," Stanley said out loud, two seconds into our introduction. 

"Aunty Yim is top saleswoman for the second time in a row. You ask Adam! Many of his friends use me before. Tried and tested one," she rattled off.

"I like her even more now," Stanley whispered to me. "I love tops! And like me, she's used by many people. And most importantly, she's tested. That's very safe of her."

"Yes, yes, very safe one," Aunty Yim chimed blithely, and took Stanley by his arm to enter our first apartment at Hill View. 

Although Aunty Yim at first glance looked like she would be more competent in filling up the empty beer mugs of retired uncles at coffee shops, she was quite the seller.

Five of my friends had engaged Aunty Yim and the motherly agent managed to satisfy each and every one of them, closing three deals in total, with two sales pending.

But the first half of our house hunting stint that morning was not quite productive (or reproductive, going by Stanley's thwarted view of apartment viewing).

One seller agent told blatant lies about the apartment she was hoping to promote.

"The new MRT station is very near to this place. It's just a stone's throw away," the young woman said with an annoying accent which was neither fully American nor remotely human.

To which, an annoyed Stanley replied: "Yes, a stone's throw. By Hercules."

Despite the interesting morning drama, the first half of our day was indeed fruitless.

Hours later, Stanley and I settled for a quick lunch at the nearby Rail Mall, while Aunty Yim drove off somewhere to settle other viewings over lunch.

"If she's always skipping lunch to meet clients for viewings, I don't see why she's still so portly," Stanley mouthed those words with a smile as he waved Aunty Yim goodbye.

"You are such a bitch. No wonder you aren't getting any good apartments."

"But they are all so lacking," Stanley complained later, adding sugar to his hot mocha at Coffee Bean.

"People say that the moment you enter an apartment, you would know it's yours. It must feel right," Stanley explained.

"And trust me girl. I would know. I am well acquainted with the good feeling upon entry."

Half an hour later, Carl arrived at Coffee Bean to join us for lunch, where he ordered a sandwich without finishing the carb morsels.

These days, Carl's Saturdays are occupied by his part-time classes where he is studying some sports and fitness course.

"Wah, more boys!" Aunty Yim exclaimed with delight when we rendezvoused for the second half of our viewing slightly past 2pm.

"This one very good, the muscles very big, Aunty Yim like," she squeezed Carl's biceps and patted him on the shoulder.

Carl beamed at Aunty Yim's approval and looked at us, mouthing the words "I like her".

The next half of our viewing was in the central area - where Aunty Yim arranged based on size and Stanley's budget.

"Okay, all these units are one-bedders and studios... about same as your budget but because of the area, the size all smaller lah" Aunty Yim explained.

Stanley Ong the size queen took a deep breath and braced himself for the worst.

When he stepped into apartment number five - a 45-square-metre one bedder, Stanley closed his eyes.

"Why are you acting weird," I whispered urgently.

"I'm channelling my sixth sense," Stanley said scrunching his nose and sniffing around.

"I'm trying to get that special feeling. I need the apartment to talk to me," Stanley said, swaying his body side to side like a cult leader's voice was speaking to him in his head.

"Ignore the panties on the floor ah, boys," Aunty Yim said with a hearty laugh.

"This home owner single woman lah, and so busy with her career. Never mind, don't step on it can already," Aunty Yim said calmly, shooing Carl and me away from the offending apparel as if she were a detective guarding a piece of evidence.

Good thing the home owner had trusted Aunty Yim to view the apartment while she was away on a work trip.

At apartment number seven, Stanley, Carl and I squeezed into a shoebox.

Lovely view of the city, but Stanley looked horrified.

It was one-tenth the size of his attic room: The door opened to a tiny couch and table. Behind it was a super single bed, positioned right beside the floor-to-ceiling window. The only partition in the home led to a kitchenette, a tiny toilet and a tiny balcony that could fit only one tiny outdoor table and one tiny chair.

In apartment 12, the final apartment for the day, the three of us met a really chatty agent who was hard-selling another one-bedder.

"Young man, you cannot just look at the apartment and the view," the seller agent instructed. "This old couple are very staunch Catholics. Very good people. See? This aunty is cooking for church. They're doing charity work! You must also consider the current homeowners when buying the apartment."

"Why ah? This apartment comes with the nice aunty and uncle issit?" Stanley said to me cattily, looked at the seller agent and smiled.

Later that evening, after a very exhausted Stanley dropped off Carl and me home, I thought about our day.

Sure, Stanley hadn't fallen in love with any of the apartments he viewed - the two bedders in the west, the three bedders at more far flung locations of Singapore, nor the tiny units right smack in the centre of Singapore.

But for me, I had gained some insights, by gaining entry into some of these homes.

And it helped me reflect on my own life. 

Chief of which - how do people get so rich to own condo units in the first place?

As my partner J would say, the good old rule is to keep saving money.

"It's not how much you earn but how much you save," he would say.

But sometimes, on meagre salaries, there's no way some of us can save enough money to buy properties.

But having been with J for so long, I can already answer on his behalf: "Then don't stress over buying a property and live and be happy within your means".

Which brings me to the next point.

Happiness.

Needless to say, not everyone who can afford luxury condos means he or she is living happily.

In one of the penthouse units at Hougang (going for 1.29 million), the couple were in the midst of a divorce, Aunty Yim revealed to us.

"Don't get married better lah, hor?" Aunty Yim said to us, playfully raising two eyebrows like she shared an inner bond with us.

Sure, the single-storey penthouse looked lovely.

But as I looked at the empty walls with hooks (which must have once been adorned by photos of happy heterosexual family members), I felt a tinge of sadness for a soon-to-split family.

And that makes me feel grateful for the 15-year relationship with my partner J, which is still going strong.

At another unit, we stepped into a lovely home. Two bedrooms. Tiny but lovely.

But the family was selling the place because the home owner, a jolly old lady who enjoyed her own space, had recently died, and her son felt that he needed to let go of that apartment to move on.

Again, a reminder to me that all traces of happiness, like all things, cannot have any permanence and thus, is important to treasure every bit of it while we have it.

Even the apartment with strewn panties was a lesson to me.

That we sometimes spend so much time at work that we forget to clean up our internal mess - and I'm not even talking about dirty panties.

Sometimes, we're so caught up with work or our personal lives that we forget to see that mess is building up in our lives - that we have been ignoring our parents, neglecting peaceful personal time, forgetting to sort out little issues in our lives: From personal hygiene to decluttering our thoughts.

So, thank you, Aunty Yim for the tour that Saturday.

And thank you dirty panties, for that lesson too.