It's official.
I am finally eligible to buy a resale HDB flat, after a 15-month wait from selling my apartment.
While I am in no hurry to immediately make a purchase (I am still renting till the end of the year), there's no harm in looking around first.
Stanley my sex bunny friend agrees. He's always on the lookout -- hot property, hot men.
And so, two weeks ago, I got in touch with Chew our NS friend who's now a successful housing agent.
Chew, Stanley and I go a long way back: We were once hot, lean and fit soldiers who served in one of the army's most prestigious units.
More than 20 years later, only Stanley and I are still hot, lean and fit (a given because gay men always age better than straight men -- it's God's gift to the community) while Chew is only hot.
At this moment, Chew is sweating through his shirt, pools of sweat forming near his arm pits, with tiny beads of perspiration lining his upper lip.
Stanley is right.
Straight men with happy families all end up fat and sweaty when they grow up.
"Sorry I am late!" yelled Stanley from afar.
Chew lit up the moment he saw Stanley who, when he was in NS, was regarded as one of the most helpful soldiers in our unit. Stanley, upon seeing Chew, went berserk.
"Look at Chew!" Stanley shrieked, to which, Chew burst out laughing.
"Ya lah, fat already lah," Chew said, giving his rotund tummy a little pat.
"But confirm rich, bro," said Stanley with a roar, obviously having code-switched from Hoe to Bro.
I instinctively huffed up my chest to match the overwhelming hetero energy.
And then, Stanley struck a pose inspired by Marilyn Monroe, and in his high-octane voice reserved only for the Cabaret, said "welcome to gay central!" like we were about to enter Wonderland.
Stanley wasn't wrong.
We were at Everton Park where gay people were fast replacing old people in the estate.
When I began my house-hunt project, I was extremely specific: The flat has to be located either in Chinatown, Little India or Lavender, all of which considered to be either city or city-fringe spots.
Our first day of viewing brought us to Everton Park where at least a dozen of Stanley and my friends combined, had bought units at.
Various friends who live there had hosted us to dinner parties. Their units were all artfully done up (naturally). Stanley had also been to more of those units in Everton Park for other types of parties (naturally).
And so, this is a location Stanley deeply approves, deeply being operative word.
To be fair, it is a great location not only because it's a stone's throw away from all the gay clubs in Tanjong Pagar (then again, at our age, we are more likely to visit hospitals than pubs so that's no selling point), but it's also super-centrally located near the heart of Chinatown.
Chew had lined up two units here, and two more at Lavender.
All of them were two-bedroom flats and units which I could afford without taking a loan.
That day, I bumped into many groups of buyers, all of whom my potential competitors.
From couples who looked like they were in their mid-thirties to an odd pairing of an elderly man and a young Vietnamese woman with eye lashes so long they could do actual housework, and, of course, other gay couples.
There was even one viewer (a woman in her forties who wore a consistently pained expression) who came with -- and I kid you not -- a man wearing full Taoist robes.
The man was carrying some compass and going around the house to assess energy fields only he and the mentally ill could see.
I have no judgement of other people's beliefs. But this Taoist man is not normal.
A normal person behaves like he belongs on this mortal earth.
A normal person walks properly.
This Taoist man -- and again, I kid you not -- is on edge. He doesn't just turn his head to look at things like a normal person does. Instead, he jerks his head around as if responding to voices hissing out at him.
This Taoist man does not walk. Instead, he takes dramatic strides that requires a lot of dramatic flair as if he were avoiding some cosmic mine field that only he and, again, the mentally ill can see.
Stanley leaned in and asked urgently "is he house hunting or ghost hunting?"
Chew and I burst out laughing and immediately, and Taoist man and pain-expression lady shot us a disapproving look.
Stanley nodded at both of them affirmatively and whipped out his iPhone, as if he were searching for some cosmic signal too.
"There!" Stanley said. "Five people within our radar in Grindr," he reported proudly.
As the day of viewings came to an end, I felt amused, exhausted but mainly defeated.
All the units fared well on paper -- centrally located, high floor, corner units, with loads of amenities nearby.
But none appealed to me.
By the last unit in Lavender, I felt worried.
You know what everyone says about knowing the house is yours when you see it?
Well. I just didn't get that feeling that day.
I'm certain it's 'cos this isn't my first property.
I remember when I first set eyes on my first apartment (it was the 11th unit I viewed back in 2012). The moment I stepped in, my heart raced. I looked at the space and immediately could imagine a life there. This corner would be perfect for parties. This can easily be my walk-in wardrobe space. This balcony is perfect for post-dinner drinks!
I am worried I'll never find that excitement again.
Chew told me to calm down. "Adam, take your time. Don't have to see the house and immediately rush in one," he said.
Sex bunny Stanley -- who is the one who would benefit from this advice more than any man in the world -- chimed in with perfect timing.
"Yah, Adam. You'll know the house is yours when it's meant to be yours. It's like your soul is drawn to it. The house will call out to you when it wants you there," he said.
"You know you don't make a very good house salesman with a pitch like this right?" I said.
Chew looked around the house and whispered to us "don't worry. I think this house is clean. Otherwise the Taoist man will be here."
Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people
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