In the Heterosexual Textbook for Couples, boy marries girl, boy and girl move in to Punggol (or Sengkang), boy and girl give birth, get highly strung, eventually grow old and fat and die.
In the Homosexual Textbook for Couples, boy meets boy, boy and boy move in to one of the old HDB estate flats (which would be renovated and decorated with style), boy and boy don't give birth, get high, eventually grow old and beefy and die.
Carl the dense one is naturally confused with the analogy.
"What are you studying now Adam? Why is your textbook so strange?" our slow friend asks, displaying textbook dimwittedness.
If Carl were a textbook, his font size would as large as his python sized biceps, the pages filled with colourful illustrations meant for kids.
Stanley my sex bunny friend is, however, quick to get the memo.
"Whichever textbook you're talking about, I suggest we go to the contents page, scroll down to look for the sex part, and dive straight into that chapter," my slut friend says, displaying textbook quick wittedness.
If Stanley were a textbook, his font size will be as per prescribed by the publisher but one has to keep reading between the lines for constant innuendoes. And yes, Stanley's pages will be filled with way too colourful illustrations not meant for kids.
I was having one of my brain fart moments, pondering about life in general when I messaged the boys in our WhatsApp group.
In particular, I was thinking about J and my future.
If the two of us were to follow the Homosexual Textbook for couples, we would by now have moved in together and done the things most gay couples do.
When J and I first got together in 2002, moving in was part of our eventual plan.
But we made those plans in our early 20s and we each had big dreams to fulfill first, and we agreed to work on them.
J's dream is to play real life monopoly, collecting properties to rent them out and then retire at 50.
At 43, he's almost there -- he now has two and is planning for his third purchase. Already, he's started talking about quitting his job -- and learning a new skill just for fun -- once he is receiving two sets of rental income.
My dream was simple. To continue to be a slave to my work, and devote 100 per cent of my time to it while I'm at it. And unlike J, I don't want retire any time soon for I truly love what I do by day.
And while I also do love what I do by night (with J), I eventually got used to living apart from J.
Which got me thinking.
What if, in our 20-year relationship, we have grown too comfortable with our current arrangements?
What if we were too old to adapt to a life under one roof and started rocking the boat?
Stanley my sex bunny friend says I'm thinking too much, and that any rocking at our age -- whether under one roof or sheets -- can only be a good thing.
Carl the dense one says I'm studying into this situation too much and shouldn't read confusing textbooks.
But I can't help it.
I don't think I make a good candidate to live with.
From a relatively young age, I had gotten a taste of independence and loved it greatly.
During national service, I moved from the West to the far-flung borders of Singapore because my camp was so damn remote, and for almost 2 years, I had the best time living like a happy bachelor.
When I studied overseas, I had stayed in a good Catholic hostel just for boys, something which I enjoyed too.
I recall Stanley's numerous attempts to fly over and explore the Down Under in my good Catholic boy hostel.
Back then, I had my own tiny, tiny, tiny room (the size of two toilet cubicles), and I truly enjoyed that living arrangement. When I was done feeling cramped up in that tiny lot, I can easily hang out with friends in the living or studying or dining areas.
I grew to like that sort of independence where I know I have friends when I need them, and feel assured enough that I can retreat back to my private space whenever I pleased.
In my second year, I did the unthinkable -- I moved into a huge house just slightly off campus, with a few other Singaporeans.
It was mostly enjoyable for the first few months but soon, I starting plotting various ways to poison my housemates over the tiniest things: So and so didn't do the dishes. That person didn't lift the toilet seat. There's no more bread and milk!
Perhaps the best thing out of that year was that I became closer to my roommate Eric Lum whom I later had a child with (read about my godson here).
In my final year, I moved out partly because I missed staying alone and mainly 'cos I didn't want to commit genocide on my housemates who're thankfully still alive for me to keep in touch with today.
When I got back to Singapore, I worked towards buying my own place and soon, life living alone was good again.
I know I love J very much and want to make a life with him together.
But now that I'm so old and used to my own habits, I really wonder if moving in together could shake up a two-decade relationship.
On paper, I know that there's no happily ever after in our daily lives as a couple.
The thing about sleeping with your loved one after a night of intimacy and waking up the next day smiling at each other and sharing a kiss? That's rubbish.
Early into my relationship with J, I have learnt that sleeping with him can be deadly: His head threatening to cut off blood supply to my arm in the middle of the night.
J would often complain that "you no longer want to cuddle with me when we sleep" because spooning him means having to curl my spine up like a prawn and it's not exactly comfortable.
And when we wake up in the morning, we don't magically open our eyes at the same time.
J wakes up a lot earlier and would tickle me till I could wriggle and giggle no more. Okay, that part is sweet -- though I may not say the same 20 years down the road when I have arthritis or something.
In fact, there are many things that are sweet about me and J living together.
Though I said we lived apart, I do stay over regularly at his place for long stretches.
During those times, we eventually established a routine.
On weekends, J would make coffee for me in the morning, and make breakfast while I brushed my teeth.
Or if J tickled me early enough, we'd walk to the nearby Chomp Chomp food centre for chwee kueh.
On weekdays, I would be the one who would come home later than J.
And when I'm back, J would heat up food for me while I showered, and would sit with me at the dining table while he continued killing zombies on his phone.
We have grown to feel comforted with each other's presence even when no words are exchanged.
Oh, and we have come to a point where I can fart and shit in front of him while he showered without taking out the romance in our relationship.
Stanley was naturally horrified. When you're with your lover and insert things into your orifice, it can be romantic, but the moment you expel things out of your orifice when your partner is around, there is nothing romantic about it, he once said to me.
"If he didn't break up with you when you break wind, he's a keeper," Stanley said that day, ending my brain fart moment.
Perhaps, I think too much.
Even though J and I aren't following the typical Homosexual Textbook For Couples, it doesn't mean we won't ace the subject.
If we can make our own rules in our early twenties and stick to them, then surely, 20 years later, we can continue to shape our rules and stick to them?
After all, textbooks are just a guide for beginners and when it comes to real-life situations, it's how we apply knowledge and react accordingly that truly matters.
Plus, in J's words, "We both know you don't make a good housemate. But who's to say you won't do well as my lover in our future home?"
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