Chinese New Year Special

Table for five, 6pm sharp, Keng Eng Kee. 

Earlier this evening, Stanley the sex bunny, Carl the dense one and his partner Adrian, my partner J and I gathered at an extremely crowded eatery at Alexandra for our annual CNY dinner. 

Years ago, we made a deal. 

That we won't spend Christmas together but come New Year's Eve, we'd be at Stanley's. And for CNY, it'd be my place.

Since I am currently renting a shoebox unit the size of four public toilet cubicles combined -- and that my new flat won't be ready until mid-2025 -- we thought we'd venture out to have this yearly meal.

"Look at the size of the crowd," Carl said, shaking his head.

"Look at the size of that one," Stanley leaned in and whispered, his eyes directing us to a tall, skinny lad wearing sweat pants that did nothing to hide his family jewels.

It's a good thing we had the sense to book at table, or we'd end up having to join the snaking queue.

"Let's start ordering," J suggested and proceeded to hand Carl and Adrian one menu to share, while passing me and Stanley the other.

Stanley was predictable. Regardless of where we are, he'd always insist on a tofu dish. He and his protein -- the ones actually considered as food by dietitians.

Carl, a small eater despite his deceiving python sized biceps, ordered crab -- Adrian's favourite. 

I am always ordering vegetable dishes, much to the chagrin of J who thinks it's not at all economical to order vegetables at such prices. 

Our ordering tasks were settled within seven minutes.

And as the Keng Eng Kee chefs started busying themselves, preparing our dinner (Marmite chicken, chili crab with deep fried mantou, pig stomach soup, Qing Long Cai, claypot tofu, the shop's signature "Moonlight Hor Fun" -- which is basically Hor Fun with a raw egg yolk in the middle of the dish, as well as Yusheng), we settled down and tried to engage in meaningful conversations amid the very bustling crowd around us.

"This year, all of us are fucked," Carl said with a pout. "Except you, J."

Adrian shook his head and looked at us for help. 

"The year of the snake is bad for us Goats," Carl explained with conviction. 

Stanley, Carl and I are all 1979-ers while Adrian is one cycle younger than us so that makes all of us Goats. 

J, who's a year older than I, is born in the year of a Horse.

"I've been telling him to stop obsessing with this," Adrian said.

"Where are you getting your facts from?" Stanley asked.

"Him," Carl said and held up his phone.

"Adam, this Fengshui master looks like you!" Stanley exclaimed, turning Carl's phone in J and my direction. 

"Oh yes. He's quite cute. You're right Stan," I said, taking the bait.

"Wait, you guys are missing the point," Carl said, worried.

"Let me see," Adrian cut in and added "Oh, you're right. But I think Adam looks better than this Allan guy who's feeding nonsense to Carl."

"Guys! This is serious," Carl begged, his voice getting more urgent. 

If this were a horror movie, Carl would be the character that realises something is wrong and tries to warn the entire group who collectively ignores and mocks him, including his own partner. 

Stanley the sex bunny would be that token sultry character who's always wearing skimpy cut-off denims that shows a bit of butt. And always the one that attracts the wrong crowd -- in this case, the eventual serial killer who would enter our remote vacation hut on Stanley's invitation but would later slash us one by one starting with Stanley. 

"You've got to stop believing this shit," Stanley scolded Carl.

"But J, you're in good fortune this year," Carl whispered to my partner. "You have many benefactors."

"And you, right now, have none," Stanley warned Carl sternly.

Years ago, Carl started reading every popup display of zodiac predictions in Singapore.

Said popups would typically be found in front of Fengshui shops, often painting a grim year-ahead for most zodiac animals but always conveniently offering a solution: Some bracelet to ward off this, or some pendant to balance that. Whatever. 

After years of pestering us to listen to such predictions, we caved in and allowed Carl his moment. That year was 2020. 

It was, according to Carl, the best that we Goats can ever hope to be. 

"2020 would be our best year!" we all allowed ourselves to believe.

Then came COVID and nothing about 2020 was good for us.

Since then, Stanley had borne a sulky grudge against Carl, accusing him of toying with his feelings, forcing him to believe in something that never happened. 

"Carl, seriously. I can do as good a job as whoever's writing those predictions," Stanley challenged.

Our sex bunny friend then cleared his throat, and began. 

"For those born in the year of the -- insert animal of choice," Stanley said, "you'll have to take care of your gastric health. You should also be wary at work and avoid talking behind people's backs. Your romance stars will clash with the Grand Duke this year, so be mindful and avoid getting into quarrels with your loved ones. For those who are single, you may face obstacles to love in the first half of the year."

Carl's jaw dropped, obviously impressed.

"I think I read this somewhere, sometime ago by someone!" he said with excitement. 

Stanley rolled his eyes.

"You do realise that whatever you just said had no value at all?" 

Carl's shoulder slumped, his python sized biceps deflating slowly.

"Whatever I just said is just bloody common sense. It's universal rule that we should all take care of our gastric health as opposed to focusing on destroying it. It's common decency to avoid talking behind people's backs, at work or not. And love wise, everyone's romance will have ups and downs!"

"Well, I just wanted to share these things with you guys for fun," Carl defended himself. "I take these things with a pinch of salt too," he said, and struggled to take off his newly-bought charm bracelet made up of coloured rocks. 

That's the thing about Chinese New Years. 

There are traditions and practices associated with the festival. 

Some of those we like, some, not so.

Like these zodiac predictions. 

It's fun to know, for sure. In fact, people actively search for these predictions and snap photos for their loved ones. When done in good fun, it can be amusing.

But like Stanley, I roll eyes at such gimmicks. Whether the year is good or bad ultimately lies in your choices. 

Then, there are other more likeable traditions. 

Such as buying new clothes which the boys and I embraced in our younger days. 

In our late-20s till mid-30s, we would go on shopping trips every year, making it a point to at least have new and fashionable apparel for Days 1 to 3 of CNY. 

We also looked forward to visiting relatives and friends wearing those very new and fashionable apparel (the boys and I would, in our mid-20s, also go clubbing after our respective reunion dinners at home).

And of course, the one tradition we all looked forward to, was receiving red packets. 

But like the rotating zodiac signs that take turns to dominate each Lunar Year, traditions too, have its own cycle. 

In our youthful days, buying new clothes, visiting relatives and getting red packets were things we looked forward to.

Then when we started working and devoting ourselves to our careers in our mid-30s, we get so burned out and jaded that we no longer cared about these things.

Somewhere along the line, we -- or at least, I -- stopped bothering to buy new clothes. Not even new underwear for CNY. And the visiting of relatives? That came to an end too 'cos as young adults, we no longer placed that much priority on distant relatives. Even the red packets. I've come to the point where I would be the one giving red packets to the elders though I'm unmarried. 

But the thing is, traditions come and go.

In my mid-40s, traditions have come back to me to claim its place.

I guess when you're at your midway lifetime (provided we die at around 80), we start to re-prioritise our lives, including traditions.

This year, I decided I should embrace them again.

For one, my loved ones aren't getting any younger. So I have decided to spend as much time -- and eventually host as many family dinner parties at my new flat when it's ready -- so that I can treasure my elders more.

That thought spilled over to my intentions during festivals like CNY.

Why not just, for once -- and maybe next year too -- join my mum and aunt in visiting their siblings and see my ageing distant aunts and uncles?

And if so, then why not buy one or two new shirts for that occasion? 

Life is strange sometimes. 

As we grow older, our priorities change. 

What was important to us when we were younger become less so as we grow up. But those that truly matter will eventually find its way back in our lives.

As I look at the table of Goats and one Horse, I know there and then that this is one tradition I hope to hold dearly to, for a very long time.

Gong Hei Fatt Choy, dear readers, and may you embrace and enjoy your own traditions with your loved ones too.

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

Designing Our Future

In the last decade or so, I made several life-changing decisions. 

At 30, I emptied my savings to buy my first-ever apartment which I fashioned into a bachelor pad.

Yes. I may have been partnered since 2002, but my first-ever home was designed for one.

It was a large one-bedder that could host rowdy parties for dozens but accommodate no stayovers. 

Except for my partner J (who stayed over only when absolutely necessary -- such as when we celebrated anniversary dinners or had to host common friends). 

Truth be told, J disliked my apartment -- and we were both fine with that. He thought it “cold” and “impractical”.

By 30, my very capable partner J already owned two properties. 

"Buy what you like and do what you deem fit to it," J would say. "Enjoy your first apartment."

And boy, did I go all out.

I chose a decor which I loved but J disliked: The cliche industrial look, filled with cement screed flooring, cement screed feature wall, exposed bricks in some corners of the home, and, of course, track lights and wooden furnishing you can find in all pretentious cafes. 

You get that idea.

Then, nearly a decade after I first bought that 'bachelor pad' -- I was nearly bankrupt when home interest rates spiked to nearly 4 per cent -- and I decided to cut my losses short and sell my most prized asset. 

I rented for nearly two years before deciding to finally settle for a resale HDB flat.

This time though, my second purchase is decidedly not to be a bachelor pad. 

It would be, of course, bought with my money. But while legally it's my flat, it would be my partner J and my home. 

Since I was allowed to be 'selfish and indulgent' with my first home purchase, I thought I'd be a little forward-looking and inclusive this time round.

And so even before the house-hunting process, I decided to be an adult and discuss it with J.

When we were both in our mid-20s, we had talked about eventually moving in together. Back then, neither of us expected J to eventually own two properties and for me to have and then sell one. 

But we both knew we wanted to live together in our golden years.

Since one of J's properties is too big for us (and is yielding good rental income for him), we decided to leave that unit as that. A rent-churning pot of gold.

J's current place, which has more than enough rooms for two of us and two kids if I were to get pregnant one day, is nice, but, truth be told, isn't my style. 

I once told J that if I were to move in to his current space, I'd feel like I'd be intruding into his space and his style -- exactly the same way he would feel were he to move in to my first 'bachelor pad'.

The right thing to do, therefore, was to buy this flat with both J and me in mind.

So right off the start, my house-hunting was specific: There needs to be two toilets (J is extremely forward-looking and he reminded me that when we're old and our bladders are weak, we will need a toilet each). 

The location of the flat was also key -- they'd have to be near MRT stations (we won't have cars when we're old and retired) as well as a range of amenities (which isn't hard to achieve given Singapore is relatively convenient). 

Eventually, we did find something we both loved. 

We fell head over heels for our current unit which is located in town.

That day, when I collected the keys to our place, I felt what I didn't feel when I bought my first apartment: Anticipation.

Because this time, when the home is eventually ready, it's decidedly a home meant for two.

J and me. 

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

Recipe For Love

Growing up, my household was always filled with food.

Meal times were grand and extremely rowdy because the matrons of my extended family would come together and make a big deal of dinner.

Our families dominated three out of seven houses in a row: My granny, my aunts and uncles, and my family.

And so by late afternoon, the women would gather at my granny's kitchen, chopping, slicing, pounding. 

Dinners were always filled with heaps of food. And always an event that brought all of us together. 

Naturally, I grew up knowing the importance of food and how it bonds people.

Yet, I didn't learn to cook until absolutely necessary.

In university, I was sent overseas but my first year was all sheltered and pampered: I lived in a hostel known for, among other things, its good food.

I subsequently moved out of the hostel after my first year. 

Mealtimes were tough. 

On days when I didn't eat out, I would compile food -- potato chips pasta. Eating beans out of a can. Whatever I have in the fridge, I made do.

Fast forward to today, I'm like that too. Whatever I have in the fridge, I make do too, but in an extremely culinary fashion.

Over the years, I'd learned to cook -- and cook well.

I moved out at 30 and having my own place meant I needed to learn how to take care of myself.

So it started with simple tips like how to cook vegetables.

My hopeless mum -- who spent all her life climbing the corporate ladder -- had no future in the kitchen. So she imparted zero cooking skills.

I first learned how to stir-fry vegetables from my partner J's mum.

"All you need is oil and nothing else," she said. "You don't even need salt or sauce," she said, stirring the wokful of Chye Sim.

That was my first recipe, I kid you not.

I then began learning to stir-fry meat. From tips and tricks of marination and portioning to the art of using corn flour to thicken meat sauces.

The simple meals I cooked for myself made me feel so accomplished that I felt I could do more.

That's when I actively started collecting family recipes.

My aunt's food is the best.

Her signature dishes include braised mushroom and chicken feet (a recipe that requires you three days' work), sweet and sour pork, and a Cantonese staple known as Tau Gork Lap (which is simply a mix of diced ingredients like long beans, lap cheong, char siew, peanuts, deep fried beancurd and radish). 

From my god-ma, I learnt how to make ayam masak merah (red paste chicken) and bergadil (potato cutlet).

Of course, J's mum also imparted many of her recipes to me -- Indonesian sayur lodeh, rendang and Nonya chap Chye among those.

Today, I have an impressive collection of family recipes which I would dish out on special occasions. 

I was telling J that one day, when all our loved ones are no longer around, I hope to whip up these familiar meals so that we can keep those memories going strong.

This is my recipe for love.

What's yours, dear reader?

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

New Year New Love?

“Can we get some more bread please,” Stanley asked for the fourth time. 

 

“Hungry much?” I said passing him my brioche before Stanley the hangry started eating the lazy waiter.

“Gosh, this place. They have the nerve to charge us sky high prices for French food and they can’t even give me decent service,” mumbled Stanley, who appeared to have woken up in 2025 and chosen violence. 

Carl the dense one, who avoids conflicts and confrontation at all costs, sipped his Chardonnay nervously. 

 

It was the first Friday night of 2025 and Stanley insists the boys started the year right, by spending as much time as time as we can before we die. 

 

Stanley had heard from one of his Out-in-Sg friends about Josephine, a cosy French restaurant along Amoy Street. 

 

The set up was nice. The ambience was as lively as can be. 

At one corner were around 12 rowdy guests all squeezed around a high, long table toasting one another with a variety of alcohol: Whiskey, wine, beer. There were a handful of young couples scattered around.

They all looked like they’re in their early 30s, youthful, dressed trendily and ordered like they were on a tight budget.

Our table was the opposite. We had ordered a feast — from escargot and grilled cheese and salads, to meats and seafood. Just that 20 minutes in, none of them arrived yet.

Not even our bread, which Stanley, by now, had resorted to the divine for help: “Oh give us this day our deli bread,” he clasped his hand and said to the ceiling.

Carl was getting bored by the minute and began flexing his python arms for a healthy dose of self-entertainment.

Eager to start the first night out of 2025 with the boys right, I asked: “What’s everyone’s new year resolution?”

New year resolutions are a sensitive yet vital topic.

Vital because, everyone loves a new beginning and setting goals to make themselves feel accomplished.

Sensitive because, in our group, those resolutions are more often than not, unmet.
 

Every year, Stanley sets out his new year with zest: Learn how to bake (he didn’t), learn to be more financially savvy (he didn’t), learn to dive (he didn’t).

Carl on the other hand, was a lot more successful: Get beefier (yes he did — any more iron he pumps and even scarves and shawls won’t fit him), aim to be more youthful (yes he did — the amount of money he’s spent on Botox jabs in Bangkok could easily buy him enough youth to last him for a year… the ones from Silom Soi 2), eat healthier (yes he did — he’s the most disciplined of us all, knowing what to put and what not to put in his mouth, unlike Stanley the sex bunny).

Me? I don’t believe in new year resolutions because I’m competitive in nature.

I don’t start what I know I can’t finish.

I mean, why set myself up for failure and force myself to master sign language in 4 months, or lose 3kg in two months, or read more books when I am already starved for time?

“This year, I aim to continue — if not, intensify — my youthful treatments,” Carl said with a beam and not a single frown line appeared.

I was in awe. Whatever you’re doing to your face, it’s working.

Carl beamed again and flexed both his python-size biceps in appreciation. 

I think I need to lose 3kg in two months, I said with a pout. “Been eating way too much. I need to go on one of those juice diets,” I said. 

“Unlike you, mister Botox,” Stanley said to Carl, “and you, mister detox… I aim to intox,” he said, then turning to a nearby waiter who was gazing at a plant while his colleagues were busy whisking plates of food around, “I need another cocktail — and more bread please.”

I know Stanley long enough to know something’s not quite right.

More than two decades of friendship allowed me to use my non-verbal communication skills to probe further. 

Stanley, himself an expert on using non-verbal skills to probe — and sometimes very oral skills to probe — caught my questioning look, sighed and said “ok, Adam, you caught me. I’ll tell you exactly what the issue is.” 

Carl the dense one, who was using his finger to trace his intricately hand-blown cocktail glass, looked up and immediately frowned, his puzzlement throwing up all sorts of unsaid questions (and yet, not throwing up any frown lines). 

Apparently, Stanley’s love life has again come to an end. 

Though one might argue that Stanley didn’t have a love life to begin with. 

You see, Stanley had recently been seeing a man. An attached man. 

It was all good while it lasted. I liked him. At least, from my previous engagements with him. 

But all good things come to an end. 

After our New Year’s Eve lunch party — which Stanley had hosted — Stanley and his beau had a long talk…. One that literally started in 2024 and ended in 2025. 

Long story short, P and Stanley ended their relationship at 4:13am, Jan 1, 2025. 

“You know what infuriates me the most?” Stanley said fighting back tears. 

Carl the dense one, who always has no answers, shakes his head. 

Just then, not only our bread but also our starters appeared. 

“Sorry for the wait guys,” the restaurant supervisor said rapidly, setting the items on our table then rushing off to appease other hungry diners. 

“P and I were just having an intimate, post-coital talk about our lives,” Stanley continued, staring angrily at his newly filled wine glass of Chardonnay. 

“Things were going fine — he made promises to me, we renewed our commitment of facing what’s to come together and all was rosy.” 

Carl nodded and patted his python sized biceps. 

“And all I asked was whether he would stop seeing other men. And then he went bersek, accusing me of being unreasonable and forcing him to be a mould of the kind of men I want him to be.”

Carl’s eyes widened with fury and his python sized biceps swelled with equal measure of betrayal. 

“Thing is,” Stanley said as the first drop of tears dripped, “I’m not angry that he wants to have me and still see other men. 

“It’s the fact that one minute, he’s making sweet promises to me and assuring me he loves me and the next minute, when things aren’t going his way, his first instinct is to break up with me. So readily!”

Carl, who avoids drama at all costs, nervously pushed to Stanley his brioche, hoping that the very gesture would comfort our hurting friend. 

“No!” Stanley said, determination returning to his eyes. 

Carl the dense one stopped pushing his brioche and slowly drew back the bread towards himself. 

“I’m not going to waste tears on him.”

Carl, relieved, began pushing the brioche back towards Stanley. 

“And no,” Stanley said, looking firmly at Carl, who froze, not knowing which direction his brioche ought to go. 

“I’m not going to start my 2025 like this.”

Carl nodded with gusto. 

“So, you’ll take the bread?”

 

 

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

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!

It's the start of yet another year.

And I just wanted to quickly post this entry to wish my blog readers a very healthy, happy, and prosperous new year.

In the coming year, I do hope to continue writing and posting every week, to keep you entertained.

Lots of love,

Adam