The Big Move (Part 1)

After nearly two years of renting a small unit (after selling my first apartment), I finally moved in to my new home.

A resale HDB unit located on the city fringe of Singapore. 

The last few weeks had been hectic.

Moving is no joke. 

But it brought a smile to my face because I had been living out of boxes and suitcases during that time. 

The entire renovation process of the flat was smooth sailing. But that's story for another day.

Days leading into my move from my tiny rental, Stanley the sex bunny and Carl the dense one came by for a final farewell.

"Actually, this tiny space is very functional," Stanley pointed out.

Sometimes, Stanley can see things from the brighter side.  

"Imagine your date sent you home and your goodnight kiss at the door sparked into a series of bigger, messier French kisses," he continued walking and talking as if he were filming some property marketing video content.

"And you're both kissing and feeling your way around the place, peeling off tee-shirts and kicking off shoes all the while not losing mouth-to-mouth contact. All it takes is four big steps to reach this tiny bedroom of yours, Adam," said Stanley who also sees things from the darker side.

Carl the dense one nodded and reached for a plastic cup.

"Are you sad to leave this place?" 

I looked to Stanley who's back to normal human mode and said "well, I'm not sad-sad. I do have happy memories staying here, but the prospects of finally moving into a place where there's some form of permanence makes me happy."

"Nothing is permanent in this world," Carl the dense one said in a low, sagely voice, his one palm placed in front of his chest as if he were the Buddha himself, the other hand balancing his glass of afternoon Chardonnay. 

That afternoon, the boys had come by to watch the packing done. 

I have learnt that I don't need to get my hands dirty and can simply engage people to do that for me.

But right this moment, all that Stanley wants to watch isn't so much packing but unpacking.

"This mover is unusually lean. Look at his veiny arms...." he said in a whisper. "If those limbs are a preview... dear lord, I want him to handle my package."

"Lust leads to suffering," Carl said with his eyes closed, and took a sip of his Chardonnay from the plastic cup.

"If that suffering from lust is pain in my boy hole, I will gladly accept it," Stanley said, bowing in front of Carl the dense one.

Ten minutes into my moving party, Stanley is bored.

"If I hear that sharp pulling sound of the masking tape one more time, I might go deaf," Stanley said.

"But I would rather deaf than blind," he continued, still watching my lean mover with keen interest. "This mover boy is like Medusa. Stare long enough and you will turn into stone," Stanley said, stressing the word stone in a tone that would cause a nun to do the sign of the cross hurriedly. 

While Stanley was in preying mode, Carl was in praying mode.

He bowed respectfully in front of my ceramic Buddha statue, his hands clasped, eyes closed.

Not too long ago, Carl had a life changing experience (again, a story I will share soon) and since then, he'd started reading up on Buddhism and frequented temples the way he would gyms. 

Stanley and I watched but made no comment. We were determined to be supportive of our friend's newfound direction and journey.  

But the current journey is for the movers to make.

Two-and-a-half hours of packing, pulling of the masking tape and boxing up my items -- all 23 boxes of them -- the movers are done.

"Ok, sign here... and we'll move them in the next couple of hours to your new location," a burly Indian man said.

"Goodbyes are so hard to say," Stanley said looking longingly at his lean mover. 

 

 

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

Not Write Now

It's been a few weeks since I had last posted, I know, and I'm sorry, dear reader.

To say a lot is going on right now in my life is absolutely accurate.

I am finally done with home renovation and, for the last few weeks, have been shuttling between my rental unit and my new flat.

More of those details to come, I promise. 

Give me a while more to settle all that needs to be settled -- house moving is no joke, even if I had done that at least four times in my life.

I'm still juggling work commitments during this period. 

It's a miracle that I am still breathing normally and not hyperventilating.  

In the meantime, thank you for still visiting my blog.

I promise to fill you in soon.

Love, Adam. 

Gay Men Marriages

There's a fine line between gay marriages and gay men marriages, Stanley said, setting the tone for the evening's discussion.

No, we weren't at some LGBT symposium.

Instead, Stanley the sex bunny, Carl the dense one and I were at a very noisy table at Dorothy gay bar in the heart of Chinatown.

Also studying the fine line was Carl.

"I have a new wrinkle here on my neck," he said, his voice burdened with worry. 

I immediately reached for my Gin and Tonic the moment Stanley set the glasses on our table.

Alcohol -- despite my recent decision to cut down on consumption -- is my go-to whenever I'm confused with Stanley's topics.

Carl, who is constantly figuring out the world, is also confused. He widened his iPhone photo and studied very carefully his neck. "When did this wrinkle appear," he wondered out loud.

That evening, we decided to let our hair down and go for some light clubbing.

Light clubbing meaning, we want to hang out in a gay bar but since we are too old to dance (which takes most of the gay bars out of the equation), too uninterested to sing (which means no e-bar which happens to be Carl's favourite gay bar in the whole wide world), and settled for this cosy gay bar that has just enough space for outdoor seating and not enough space for dancing. 

Stanley recently befriended the staff at Dorothy's after a drunken night out with some of his other gay friends and has promptly appointed himself as Bar Hostess, helping take orders for us and the next table of angmoh gays. 

"So, this fine line," Stanley said, to which, Carl responded by perking up from his phone like a dog who's heard key words like "food", "toy" and "leash" (which, come to think of it, is also a great title of a sex biography on fetishes). 

"Gay marriages are great. Gay men marriages -- and I mean marriages to women -- is a big no no."

Carl went back to his phone and tilted both his head and phone, hoping that certain angles won't make his newfound wrinkle that obvious.

Stanley took a sip of his vodka ribena and said "God, this is delicious. It reminds me of our younger clubbing days when all we could afford was cheap drinks like these."

"Yes. The good ol' days when I had no wrinkles," Carl said sadly into his phone. 

The topic of gay men marrying women came up because Stanley recently learned that one of his gay friends -- a junior from his university -- got hitched. To a woman.

"What makes you so sure he's gay," I asked.

Stanley looked at me and raised one eye brow.

It took me a split second to get it.

"Wow," I said. 

Stanley nodded, extremely pleased that I could understand him telepathically.

"What?" Carl asked, forever waiting for an answer.

Stanley shook his head, looking at Carl pathetically. 

"Why do gay men marry straight women," Stanley said wondering out loud.

Carl, who's always wondering, didn't respond. 

But Stanley's question at large did get me thinking.

Gone are the days when gay men are no longer accepted by society.

If you're a gay man born in the 60s and come from a strictly old fashioned Chinese family or some household with strict religious traditions and you want to get married to a woman, sure, I can understand.

But it's 2025. And if it's Stanley's uni junior, then surely that dude was born in the 80s and into a generation where gay people are not only accepted, but also where Section 377A has been abolished and same sex marriages are happening in our region.

I personally know of two gay people who married women.

One of them was a senior at work. A former army major seconded to my ministry. Try as he might, even the blind can tell he's gay just by the way he smells.

He smells like a princess with his sickly sweet perfume. But that's not all. This former army major is tall so he naturally has long limbs and he moves like a graceful cat. Slow, deliberate, and with ladylike elegance. 

He often over compensates by bringing his wife and three children into his conversation as if reminding us he is capable of producing kids is evidence of his heterosexuality. 

Little did former army major know that people around him have been gossiping about his double life. Poor fella thought he was safely in his closet -- he just didn't realise his closet was made of glass.

The other gay person whom I know married a woman -- and who had kids too -- eventually divorced. He was very undetectable. But he eventually came out of his fortified closet that's made of iron wrought.  

"Maybe he's marrying for money," Stanley said, returning my stream of thought to his uni junior.

"I hear he's from a really wealthy family so perhaps getting hitched and producing an heir is the only way he can secure his inheritance."

Whatever the reason, I shouldn't judge, Stanley went on.

He must have his reasons to get married. 

I can only wish him the best, and envy his wife 'cos, boy, he really knows how to use his tool, Stanley said.

Carl looked up from his neck photo and went, "oh!"

 

 

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