Good Lord

Relocating is a bitch.

I sometimes wish I had a magic lamp, rub it, and have a genie appear in front of me, scoop me and all my belongings up, and place me safely in that foreign land - all things intact, all things in place.

Stanley my sex bunny friend scoffed at my remark.

"Firstly, if I want something magical to happen, there are many other things I can recommend you to rub, other than a lamp," he said to me as if I were stupid.

"And let's say we go by your flawed theory and a genie does appear - and he had better look like Will Smith - the only foreign thing I want to land, would be his -

"Please stop," I begged Stanley sincerely.

"We are in a bloody temple, for Christ's sake," I whispered.

Since 2002, Stanley and I had been going to the Myanmar Temple on Ah Hood Road.

We found it by chance - a China friend of ours had wanted to visit the adjacent Sun Yat Sen museum and we made a by-the-way trip to the temple.

We instantly loved the temple because we felt a sense of calm when we stepped inside.

The rest, they say, is history.

But right now, I'm not so certain there's calm, given that we had been whispering rubbish while Stanley waited beside me for me to get blessings by a monk.

It has become routine for Stanley to accompany me to the temple despite him being Catholic and all.

Buddhists, Hindus, Muslims, Taoists, hunny, I take them all, Stanley would say.

And on major occasions such as birthdays, New Years and Chinese New Years, Stanley the sweet would offer to drive me to the temple knowing that it's important for me.

Today was one such occasion of importance.

I was set to leave Singapore for a very long time, and Stanley offered to get me "cleansed, exorcised and revirginised" before exporting me.

Later on as we were leaving the temple and putting on our shoes, Stanley complained.

"My new shoes are so tight they're killing me. This is why," he paused as he struggled and wriggled his foot into his new Pedro shoes, "that I say tight isn't always good."

I sighed, and gave up.

Our next destination was Fitness First at Bugis Junction, where we were to pick up Carl who had been huffing and puffing the first half of Saturday morning.

If Stanley had his way, he too would be huffing and puffing but at a very specific part of the gym.

"Jesus, hunny," Stanley said by way of greeting Carl as he stepped into Stanley's car.

"You look like a large walking paddle pop ice cream popsicle from far."

Stanley then turned to the back seat to reach Carl's thighs and gave them a squeeze.

"Do you ever work out those legs of yours? They look bamboo sticks."

Carl shifted uncomfortably in the back seat. 

"My goodness. You're starting to look like all the gym rabbits in Singapore and my bloody workplace - very top heavy with a weak foundation.

"Do something about those skinny legs of yours please. You're starting to look like a needle in a gay stack," concluded Stanley, Queen of Puns.

Carl the dense one grinned like a good natured goon and said "Oh, thank you, Stanley dear."

The drive to 8 Cafe at Bukit Pasoh was smooth.

The three of us had two agendas that day: Chief of which, lunch at the gay-owned fusion restaurant.

"This fusion place is giving me a lot of confusion," Stanley said softly to me as we stepped into the eclectically designed interior.

"I don't know which one I like better - the food or the boss," Stanley said, eyeing Bill the owner and sometimes chef of the place.

The boyish and well built owner is perhaps one of the reasons so many people flock to the restaurant.

"I love your creations," Stanley said appreciatively to the handsome boss as he set down his crispy brown rice risotto on the table.

"And I love Your creation," Stanley said in the next breath, looking up at the ceiling, no doubt thanking God and saying grace at the same time.

With our first agenda being met, I quickly set out to achieve my second agenda: Getting help from Bill.

I had recently put up my apartment for rent, using the services of a very efficient and eccentric sales woman, aunty Yim.

She's highly recommended by friends and had most recently been helping Stanley find a condo unit before he was retrenched (read about it here).

But three months after aunty Yim brought potential tenants to my place for viewing, nothing was offered to me.

One of them was an Australian-Indian couple who had newly relocated to Singapore.

They looked like they could be my tenant, I told Stanley after I met them.

But while the Indian wife was visibly excited about my unit, her husband looked unimpressed as he viewed my large one bedder.

Stanley would later say that anyone who views his large "one bedder" would never be unimpressed.

And then there were three lesbians who came to view, and was excited to rent my place. But they wanted the rental to go even lower.

"Hunny, seriously," Stanley said afterwards. "I would run away immediately if a lesbian tells me she wants to go lower".

And then there were various other insignificant potential tenants, mostly couples but no offer was made to me.

And time was ticking.

And so at Stanley's suggestion, we should go to Bill for help.

"Firstly, he's very handsome," Stanley pointed out in his opening remarks.

"And people who're handsome have handsome friends who need a place," he went on.

"And most importantly, he's Malaysian - and that means most of his friends are Malaysians. Don't you want Malaysian tenants?" Stanley asked. "I would definitely want Bill as my tenant. Roommate. Whatever," Stanley said.

My sex bunny friend can sometimes sell snow to the Eskimos - one of the reasons he's excellent in his marketing day job (top management) and his marketing night job (bottom management).

Just before dessert was ordered, I showed Bill photos of my unit, asking him to help me spread the word.

"Yes, spread it, Bill," Stanley responded instinctively, incapable of controlling himself.

Bill later promised he would do his best to spread it - which elicited a very wide, satisfied grin from Stanley - and said he would in fact, do so immediately, sending my Stanley into a series of nodding spasms.

Later that day, while praying for a good, responsible tenant, I ask myself what sort of landlord I should be.

I have heard horror stories of friends who're landlords - tenants breaking things and denying it, tenants who sublet it to subtenants, tenants who turn their rental unit into a brothel or something.

And it occurred to me that just as I'm choosing a tenant (should there be a ready and willing pool, of course), tenants are also assessing me.

After all, they wouldn't want a demanding, stingy, calculative landlord.

Stanley says I think too much.

"You need to let go - you're gonna have to let other people come into your most intimate, most personal place," he said, sounding like a pervert yoga guru.

"Let them in.... and don't forget, you're getting paid for that," he pointed out.

"And hunny, with the way you look now, and given your age, if you can achieve that, you should thank your lucky stars," added Stanley, Queen of Multiple Sarcasm.

"Because for me, I still can. If I were a landlord, I'll rent out my place to very hot tenants - and make sure they come and leave me their deposits," concluded Stanley, Queen of Multiple Orgasm.



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