Fixing a Broken Heart

Stanley has finally met his match.

Not the swipe-right type of match.

This one, oh no. This one isn't immediately associated with the qualities of Mister Right.

He's neither very right (in fact, he's very un-politically correct), nor is he fully a mister, judging from his wardrobe choices.

But he has a good heart, a hearty laugh and God, he's so damn entertaining.

The year is late-2018, and Stanley, Carl and I are meeting our loudmouthed friend who is visiting from Australia.

Meet Sam Baker.

1.76m, 82kg, visiting from Down Under. Newly single and ready to mingle.

And because we're meeting the Sam Baker, we had to choose a very strategic place.

Somewhere gay friendly, somewhere loud so that we're not the centre of attention, and somewhere with booze.

We're gonna need it, baby.

Because tonight, we are on a mission -- Sam Baker is heartbroken.

At around 7:30pm, the stars aligned and in strolls the loud and proud Sam Baker.

"G'dai bitches," was the first thing Sam Baker uttered in his signature high-pitch voice. "How ya doin' mate!"

What followed was a blur of activity which I remember included tight hugging and exchanging of loud and precisely pronounced air kisses.

I also recall Carl the dense one -- who has zero interaction with out and loud queens -- curtseying awkwardly at Sam Baker.

Some five minutes after the elaborate ceremonious greeting, we settled down at a corner table of Bill's 8 Café, a restaurant that's known for both its delicious food and yummy owner.

Stanley and I both exchanged looks and glanced down at our watches.

Give it 5 minutes. 
No, I think, maybe less. 3 minutes?
Okay, let's see how long he'll last.

Turns out, Stanley was right.

It took Sam Baker less than three minutes to falter, and fumble, and revert from his Aussie Twang to his roots.

"Eh, very tired to be Aussie the whole time la Sundal," Sam Baker finally crumbles, using the Malay word for slut.

Sam Baker -- short for Samsul Abu Bakar -- is a self-made lifestyle coach.

Whatever the heck is a lifestyle coach, I have no idea.

But apparently, this Sundal is making it big Down Under, collecting decent bucks by offering clueless angmohs lifestyle tips, relationship advice, meditation classes, and philosophy counselling.

I wanted to tell Sam Baker that he might as well throw in Balinese massage since he looks head to toe very Melayu.

But no -- I'm not Melayoooo, Samsul Abu Bakar used to say. "I'm Malay mix."

I remember Stanley asking Samsul Abu Bakar at Niche, a popular gay bar in the early 2000s, what exactly is "Malay mix".

"My father is Javanese and my mother is Bugis," Samsul Abu Bakar said matter of factly.

That night, Stanley went around telling people at the bar that he was "Chinese mix". "My dad is Teochew and my mum is Hakka".

Sam Baker is a friend we all knew in our younger days. 

Oh, those lovely days when walking into a club was such a joy because we're always stopped by the bouncer who demanded we showed we were of legal age. 

But back then, Sam Baker wasn't really known as Sam Baker.

But he was never known as -- and thus, never called by -- his real name: Samsul Abu Bakar.

One of his nicknames was Cik Pon, which Stanley the Peranakan explained to me meant "Ms Pon".

Sam Baker used to turn up at the gay bar to do drag performances and boy, was he good. 

Once, he did a Halloween standup routine where he introduced himself as Cik Pon. 

"Because by day, I am cik Pondan, and by night, I am cik Pontianak," he said, stroking his long black wig that stood out prominently against his white bedsheets of a dress. 

We loved Sam Baker -- he made us laugh all the time.

But now, Sam Baker was about to make us cry. 

Back at 8 Café, the heavyset Sam Baker is perspiring, his upper lip dotted with dozens of mini sweat beads. 

He had just broken up with his partner of 4 years and immediately spiralled into depression for six months.

Though we were Facebook friends, Sam's posts didn't always show up on our feeds because we haven't really been interacting socially with him.

So when he disappeared from the grid... nobody knew.

Funny how a self-made lifestyle guru isn't able to help himself. 

But that's not the point.

Long story short, Sam Baker soon found his two feet and got right back up.

His counsellor said moving away from his "source of hurt" would do him some good.

Later, when Sam Baker went to the toilet, Stanley took the opportunity to add that the counsellor was probably wrong.

"Sometimes, after an intense sex meeting, my source of hurt is still there no matter where I go."

"That's funny -- but let's not say this to Sam Baker when he's back," I noted, unsure whether it's wise to do that to a hurting friend.

"Yes, you're right," Carl said to our surprise.

Our dense friend, who normally has no situational awareness (Carl had told us he once approached a blind man to ask him for directions), is on form tonight.

"Let's all be supportive to Sam Baker. Hold hands and form a protective circle around him," Carl said, to our utter surprise.

"Errr… and are we doing one of those trust fall activities? Because hunny, if that elephant were to close his eyes and fall backwards, trust me, I'm not going to catch him," Stanley said.

"Catch what?" Sam Baker asks from afar.

"Catch STD," Carl the dense one followed up immediately, once again outdoing himself.

"We're saying that Stanley the Sundal has been recently sleeping around so much he's gonna catch STD," said Carl, man of the match.

Stanley flashed Carl a constipated smile that spoke of betrayal and respect at the same time.

That night, we did all we could to comfort Sam Baker.

Be his listening ears.

Be his shoulder to cry on.

Be his supportive bitch who would chime in at appropriate times to say "Amen" or "what a dick!".

I was particularly comforted by the fact that although we had not met up for such a long time, the bond we formed in our youth was still strong.

And I take heart that we can still help Sam Baker fix his broken heart.

Three bottles of red wine were ordered, and loads of fries were refilled.

Apparently, stress eating does help.

"We need to stop him. Any more fries and we really have to help Sam Baker fix his broken heart -- from hypertension," came Stanley's WhatsApp message to the group, which he expertly typed under the table.

Stanley our sex bunny friend is evidently capable of doing a lot of things well under the table.

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