The older we get, the less time we have in this world to do the things that need to be done, I announced to the boys the other day.
Carl the dense one looked at me, clueless.
Stanley frowned in my direction and asked if I had gone slightly stupid.
"That sentence of yours is a waste. A waste of your breath, a waste of our time, a waste of words. They don't say anything at all," said Stanley who's the toughest boss to please in the whole wide world.
Carl, who's usually on the receiving end of such comments, immediately switched sides and nodded accusingly at me. "Exactly, Adam," said Carl, who, if he were born during World War II, would no doubt be an easy traitor with loose allegiance.
"It's like saying stupid things such as I may or may not know," Stanley continued, stoked by Carl who was huffing up his chest like a bouncer and agreeing vehemently in the background.
I'm glad to see Carl, for once, enjoying himself in a conversation without being a victim of his own denseness.
But back to my point.
At 45, we are morbidly nearing our death.
And if we don't do anything about it -- such as prudent planning for health checks and retirement plans -- we might just have to brace ourselves for a slow and uncertain journey towards death.
Carl tried to register my words to the best of his ability but he simply couldn't grasp the impact I wanted to create.
Stanley, to his credit, let his defensive guard down and said "Okay, actually, I know what you're saying."
On cue, Carl's python-size biceps deflated and he nodded understandingly, agreeing with Stanley.
The three of us were, for a change, meeting for supper.
It was something we used to do when we were in our 30s -- when we had more energy than we do now.
But we also once in a while enjoy doing something spontaneous so when Carl texted in the group chat suggesting supper at Swee Choon, we both readily said yes.
"I think we have singlehandedly pulled down the average age of the patrons here," Carl said with a pout, glancing around the eatery, filled with university-going students or patrons who looked like they were either in National Service or have just embarked on their first careers.
Stanley wasn't having any of it. All he wanted to pull down, in the eatery filled with young, strapping patrons, wasn't the average age.
But our supper at Swee Choon was a painful reminder that we are ageing.
Once upon a time, we would blend in with the late-night Swee Choon crowd not only because we were young, but also because we still had energy at 12.30am.
At this moment, Carl looked like he was fighting off the effect of sleeping pills, while Stanley stared into his Chinese tea, asking dreadfully where our food was.
"How did we get so old so fast," Stanley said, defeated.
Which brings me back to my point.
We are old. And we will get older, I said to the group, at the risk of being called out for, again, making sweeping statements that have no actual value.
But it's a fact, and it's a fact I choose to handle with the precision of an adult.
You see, when we first started work and earning money in our first job, one of the things that was drilled in me, was to start being financially prudent (Stanley would say that one of the things that was drilled in him during that youthful period was something else altogether).
And so, with my then-meagre salary, I loaded up on insurance protection, started regular savings and the occasional investment projects whenever I had a bonus.
Along the way, we acquired other things that our increasing pay check allowed us: Cars, apartments, luxury items.
But now... now is the time to look at retirement planning.
In fact, it's a bit too late at 45.
But better late than never.
At our age, the topics of our generation should revolve around planning for retirement, writing wills, assigning Lasting Power of Attorneys and scheduling yearly health checkups.
There's so much on my mind that my to-do list is full.
Stanley agreed, though his to-do list, which is also full, consists not of agenda but names of men.
Carl looked bored with our topic. He's either in a state of cluelessness or denial so he focused on flexing his biceps which look to be the biggest in the whole of Swee Choon.
Indeed, these are tasks we have to do at our age -- especially while we still have earning power.
We don't want to look back at 70, wishing we had put in more money into our CPF or have bought more investment plans so that we could have a better lifestyle.
Nor do we want to suddenly find ourselves suffering from an illness that renders us useless and have to depend on the state to make decisions for us, instead of our chosen loved ones whom we appointed as LPAs during our sensible, younger days.
Carl withdrew further from this conversation and began working on his deep fried mee sua, a Swee Choon signature.
A week later, Stanley texted.
"I'm making you my donee," he said, taking our conversation that night seriously.
It was a good first step for Stanley.
That we are taking on ageing not with denial or inaction, but with concrete steps to be on top of our ageing game.
Stanley agrees.
Even when he's old, he wants to be on top of things. Hopefully, sweet young things.
Adam's stories are based on real life events and inspired by real people
