Great Expat-ations

The date was some weekend in late-August.

The year was 2017.

The venue - at Stanley's insistence - was a pretentious Italian rooftop restaurant along Ann Siang Hill.

"It's about time we tried somewhere new," my sex bunny friend Stanley said, obviously imposing his promiscuous principles on our weekly dinning routine.

"Eating out with your girl friends is like handling marriage. We have to keep trying new places and injecting new things into our friendship," Stanley said with the enthusiasm of a newly-minted orientation group leader.

Yet, the occasion for our gathering was grim.

And the boys were about to find out why.

"I will have some of those buns. Immediately," Stanley said with fierce determination, eyeing the buttocks of our waiter who left us to decide on our orders.

"Boys, let's get down to ordering. There's much to discuss," I urged.

With trained military precision, the three of us got down to our orders - each of us habitually selecting one item in each category.

Stanley raised his hand and rapidly said: "I'll choose the pasta and the dessert!"

For starters, Carl our dense friend chose sweet potato fries (he needs to bulk up because he's on one of those never-ending diets that required him to eat a lot of carbs, and then pump a lot of iron at the gym), Spanish cheese plater and deep fried meatballs.

Stanley decided on the cold angel hair pasta with truffles as well as pizza.

I had the most work to do.

Choosing a bottle of wine - Italian at that - with no help at all from the menu.

All it said on the wine list were the name of the Italian wine which only a nimble tongue like Stanley's could pronounce, the price of the wine, and that's it. No description whatsoever.  

Some googling on vivino dot com later, I decided on a bottle of red that is easy to drink - and also easy to pay for.

Ninety dollars a bottle isn't too expensive for two working adults, minus Stanley the newly retrenched. 

With our orders out of the way, it was time to break the news.

"Boys," I said.

"Yes," Stanley and Carl both replied by way of habit.

"I have news."

The next 15 minutes whizzed by.

In between the wine glass placements, tasting and pouring of wine, passing of dishes and clinking of glasses, Stanley and Carl were still digesting the grim news that I'll be taking up an overseas posting.

"What did J say?'
"How long will you be away for?"

"How often will you come back?"

"What will happen to your apartment?"

By the time we polished off our Spanish cheese and sweet potato fries, Stanley and Carl were digesting both the appetisers and the news.

My new job offer would be quite jet-setting.

Starting with a quick stint in China - where I would be trained for six months - before settling down in another Southeast Asian country.

I had expected them to feel excited for me.

But I was also worried about how they'd take it.

This is not me going on a long holiday.

It's me uprooting, moving miles away, and most importantly, disrupting our weekly routine.

Since we knew one another when we were 19, we had only been apart when I had left Singapore to study.

Surely, it's not easy to say goodbye to these two, whom I've known longer than my partner J.

"I'm gonna miss you," Carl said unexpectedly.

Our dense friend, who on good days can recite the alphabet without singing it, was in good form.

He was aware of what's going on, and could express himself, much to Stanley and my delight.

Because with Carl, one really needs to be patient - much of his blood flow which could have gone to his brain is often diverted to his muscles. 

Stanley, on the other hand, has too much blood flow to his nether regions, but that's a story for another day.

"I'm happy for you, Adam," Stanley said unwillingly, placing his hand over mine, as if he were a doctor who had to tell a patient he had terminal illness.

"I'm sad," Carl the Dense said, and placed his hand over Stanley's.

We ate the rest of our dinner pensively and despite the bottle of wine, Carl insisted we did round two at E-bar, his favourite gay bar in town.

And later at the bar, just as a sweet young thing brought us our bottle of Macallan, Stanley inquired out loud "so, how big is your package"?

The young waiter and I exchanged glances, each of us unsure of who should answer Stanley.

Finally, the nervous youth scurried away to fetch us ice.

I eyed Stanley and laughed.

"I am so going to miss your stupid antics."

"What, I was being serious. I want to know how big your package is."

When I revealed my potential earnings, Stanley stood up, placed both his hands in the air and posed as if he were a Russian gymnast that made a fine landing, then said to me dramatically by whispering into my ear, "I lurve your big package, mister."

"Please don't ever do that again," I raised my shoulder defensively and pushed Stanley away.

"I have always loved fat, expat packages," Stanley said, reminding us of the time he bumped into an Aussie working for a big firm in Singapore. 

"And now, Adam Lee, I'm loving your fat, expat package."

That night, the three of us let go.

We had initially promised ourselves to be respectable old men and ordered only one bottle of Macallen but we ended up sending Carl and his biceps over to the bar counter who returned with another cute but straight bartender who later brought us one more bottle of Martel. 

And boy, did we drink.

Three emotional boys nearing their 40s and two full bottles of hard liquor are no joke. 

“I’m happy for you but I’m gonna miss you,” Stanley said between hiccups that night. 

Hick, Carl responded solemnly. 

“What’s the first thing on your agenda when you get there?” Stanley asked with a drunken slur. 

“Oh, I know. Go get yourself a nice Peking Duck,” Stanley said with a smile. 

“And then go find me a nice Peking Fuck,” added the Great Whore of China.



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

I'm back, betches

Dear Reader,

Wow, how time flies.

My last entry - announcing that I had to take up an overseas posting - was in October 2017.

Although for my sex bunny of a friend Stanley, his last entry was over the weekend.

But that's story for another day.

And yes, that day will come.

The day when I return to this blog with regular posts will come.

The day when I write about my besties Stanley and my dense friend Carl will come.

Right after I decided to come out of my shell to start blogging again, I texted Stanley.

"OMG," was his reply.

"I can't wait, bitch," he texted.

 "I will continue sleeping around just so I can supply you with fresh materials for your blog, and trust me, Adam, I too, will come."

I was too engrossed with my Netflix to further engage Stanley and press him for his definition of "fresh materials".

Let's not go there yet.

So here we are, renewing my blogging commitment because life is too short for me to stop blogging - which is something I truly like.

And as Stanley later agrees, life is too short to stop f***ing, which is something he truly likes.

It's a perfect match, Stanley reasons, obviously happy that he's back in the limelight and getting to read his escapades through me.

And for a start, just so we're all on the same page, here's where we last left off...

As at October 2017
- Stanley was retrenched and was, for once, looking for jobs rather than something else, online.

- Carl my dense friend had been feeling all sorts of weird - he was on one of his never-ending quests of bulking up and trying to look good, while battling what he felt was erectile dysfunction.

- J my partner of 15 years (as at October 2017), is newly in debt - but mainly because he bought himself another property. And we're still going strong despite our long-distance relationship.

As for me.

I've settled down in my country of posting. Learnt to adapt. Learnt to love the city I'm in.

As for my work, I no longer worry about learning to ride the bicycle.

Instead, I've come to the stage where I can now balance on the bike, and am enjoying the ride.

An act which I'm pretty certain is what Stanley does nearly every weekend.

I'll find out.

And you'll find out too.

Stay tuned.

Love,
Adam Lee



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

Migrate Expecations

Dear reader,

I am uprooting very soon to take up an overseas posting.

This is why I have been as quiet as a church mouse of late.

Trust me... the uprooting process is very painful, especially when it means having to leave my partner J and my two best friends Stanley and Carl - three of the most important people in my life.

But the move needs to be done, so the writing has been very lulled.

These days, I am busy learning new things for my would-be posting. I am busy looking for tenants to take over my apartment. I am busy making arrangements with all my loved ones to say my goodbyes.

Stanley and Carl have been most affected.

Well, Stanley, mainly.

He's been visibly distressed of late and he told me that for the sake of my blog, he shall speed up his right-swiping activity on Tinder and sleep with more people so that he can supply me with stories for my blog.

How lovely.

Carl hasn't said much about my move.

I suspect that my dense friend will take a while to process so much information.

J, thankfully, has been most supportive, giving me very prudent advice with regard to moving.

Since I do see quite a fair volume of site-visit traffic, I thought the responsible thing to do would really be to make this post public, so that readers like yourself are informed.

I will write again - or Stanley will probably contract STD for nothing. 

Love,
Adam Lee

Lull

Dear readers,

You would have noticed that I've been very, very, very quiet over the past three weeks.

In fact, I had been consumed with work because of something urgent I'd been put on.

Been working every day for the past two weeks and by the time I get home at 1am, I feel hungry and I can't even recall if I had had dinner.

But I'll be back.

The boys Stanley and Carl just met me the other day to help me unwind.

More stories will be uploaded.

For now, it's back to work.

Love,
Adam Lee

Ghost Writing

One of Stanley, Carl and my favourite activities in this world is to pay money, sit quietly in a dark air-conditioned room for a few hours and stare at a big screen.

Though this can mean going to Green Apple at North Bridge Road for our occasional foot massage, I'm really talking about watching movies.

Our favourite genre? Horror films.

My partner J is useless - we once went on a date nearly 14 years ago to watch Shutter, a Thai horror flick and he told me afterwards that, true to the title, he kept his eyes shut during all critical parts of the movie.

Since then, I go to the boys when it comes to watching horror films.

The latest inspiration for this blog post is really by a doll named Annabelle.

"What's so interesting about this doll?" Carl the dense one asked over coffee last week.

For Carl, who cannot even recite the names of our current and past presidents, it comes as no surprise.

"It's a creepy movie," I supplied Carl with some context.

"I once watched a Youtube clip about a doll, and it's creepy," Stanley added. "It's about how Japanese men are falling in love with Silicone dolls and having sex with them."

"But back to Annabelle the doll," Stanley said. "It's something similar - it's also about something entering the doll," he said, raising one eyebrow suggestively.

With Stanley the high-octane sex bunny, everything is about sex.

Carl the dense one frowned, unable to catch up with such high-level conversation.

"Never mind. You just come along and watch the movie with us can already," Stanley said, tapping Carl gently on his shoulder.

Twenty minutes into the conversation - while Stanley and I were talking about when's a good time to gather to watch Annabelle - Carl brightened up.

"Oh, it's a horror movie!"Carl said looking up from his phone.

Stanley and I clapped at Carl's progress.

Carl clapped along with glee.

And for the next hour, the three of us did what was quite typical of Singaporeans who are bored: Sharing ghost stories.

And because I never had any encounters, here are the boys' stories...

In Stanley Ong's words:

My mum told me this story when I was a kid.

Grandma used to live in an old shop house in Tanjong Katong. 

And being Peranakan, she loves hosting and partying (and I must have inherited her genes. I love wearing tight clothes like the kebaya and girl, I love to host and party, but that's a story for another day).

One night, Grandma threw one of her parties - there was food, guests, music (though if I were in her era, I would suggest she introduce some party drugs too, but that would mean having sex with her friends who are all wrinkly now, so again, that's a story for another day).

Mum was about nine years old, and she remembered that Grandma was busy dishing out food while complaining that some of her friends were late.

Just then, we heard a knock on the door.

Mum was about to help Grandma open the door when Grandma shouted cheerily: "Whoever you are, just enter!"

Mum then ran off to help Grandma with the dishes, thinking that her door-opening duty was relieved.

Seconds later, the door didn't budge.

Grandma again shouted: "Come in lah, whoever you are!"

Again, the door didn't budge.

Mum said that she remembered a cold wind blow into the house, and all the adults went quiet.

Grandma then walked to the door and opened it slightly.

Nobody was at the door.

About half an hour later, all of Grandma's friends turned up and she thought nothing of it.

Later on in the night, when all of Grandma's friends went home, Mum said she recalled that the whole family was awakened by a loud noise in our kitchen.

Grandma was first to respond.

Mum and her older siblings stood outside their rooms.

Mum said she heard the adults talking in hushed, panicked tones.

This what what Mum saw:

The kitchen larder was opened. Plates were broken. Shards, big and small, were strewn all over the floor. Our fridge was closed, but all the contents of the fridge - milk, leftover food, fruits, sambal - were spilled all over the floor... forming a trail towards the back door.

Mum thought it was a burglar - her uncles woke up and held sticks to search all over the house.

But Mum said Grandma just sat on her chair and started saying the rosary aloud.

Mum was then ushered by her aunt to bed and the adults stayed awake the whole night.

Turns out, when Grandma shouted for whoever was at the door to enter, that somebody - whatever it was - really took the invitation. 

In old folk's tales, unnatural beings cannot enter someone's house unless they're being invited. 

And in this case, Grandma invited whatever was at her door, to enter. Twice. 

Mum couldn't remember other details, except that an old Malay man came by the house two days later to perform rituals and since then, some corners of  Grandma's house had lumpy pieces of lime placed. 

"Moral of the story, don't let strangers enter without knowing who they are - always be safe," Stanley the sex bunny said, and laughed at the irony.

"And second moral of the story," Stanley continued, "is that Singaporeans should stop wishing for a revival of the kampong spirit - they have no idea what they're wishing for!"

In Carl Chang's words:

This happened when I was in National Service at the old Police Academy.  

In our first week, we were already told by our seniors that our bunks were haunted.

One night, one of the boys asked his buddy to accompany him to the toilet.

At this point, Stanley shifted nearer to Carl, obviously very keen to know further developments to Carl's story.

So A and B went to the toilet.

"Ah huh," Stanley brightened up, giving Carl his undivided attention, his eyes filled with hope.

Apparently, A said to B that he was afraid of going to the toilet alone.

Stanley turned to me and said "I love this story already - I'm going to try this during my reservist."

A then went into the cubicle while B waited outside.

After 10 minutes, B thought it was very strange that A took such a long time so he asked if A was ok.

A said yes.

Another ten minutes later, A was still not done.

So B peered under the stall.

"Been there, done that," Stanley cut in, completely destroying any sort of buildup.

B saw nothing. No movement, no shadow.

And so B told A: "Hey, you're taking such a long time, I'm gonna go back to the bunk first."

To which, A replied: "You're going back because you're tired... Or because you found out who I am..."

Stanley paused and stared at Carl. Accusingly.

"Carl Chang! This is a story I read before on the Internet!" he scolded.

Carl shifted in his seat uncomfortably. 

"I didn't know I had to share something I had been through," he said and bit his lips guiltily.

"But since the plot of your story involved two young men going to the toilet together, all is forgiven."

"I only wish they had toilet sex."

Micro Soft

Over supper at Swee Choon last Friday night, Carl our dense friend shared with us what he described as "a very private recent development".

"I hope it's not about your sex life," Stanley warned as he poured us one round of Chinese tea.

"Anything that's private has to do with sex," Stanley said with determination.  "And the last thing I want is visuals of you in my mind, having Muscle-Mary sex."

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"So," Carl began with his favourite clutch word.

"I started working out seriously two months ago," Carl began.

"Hunny, I've known you for almost 20 years - it's about bloody time you did so," Stanley said, referring to Carl's never-ending quest of eating to bulk up so that he can have enough mass to work on.

"Anyway," Carl continued with his other favourite clutch word.

"I am so serious that I'm eating steroids," he said.

Stanley froze for a split second.

"That's it? You worked up so much of my emotions just to tell me this?" Stanley the drama queen said.

"If I had known that your private recent development is you putting steroids - instead of other more exciting items - in your mouth, I would have cancelled today's supper," Stanley went on, nearing hysteria as he spoke.

"Come, your favourite deep-fried mee suah kueh," Stanley said lovingly to Carl as he set one morsel of Swee Choon's signature dish on his plate.

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"I'm not done yet, actually," Carl said and bit his lips.

Stanley the drama queen paused and turned slowly with deliberation towards Carl.

"Okay, go on," Stanley said slowly, enunciating his words like he was giving Carl a final warning.

"There are side effects," Carl said, mimicking Stanley's slow-paced tone.

This got Stanley very stirred.

Sensing potential drama, Stanley leaned forward and whispered urgently.

"Spill," he said with theatrical flare.

Carl was about to open his mouth when Stanley cut in.

"Wait! Boys," Stanley said with annoyance.

"This is serious stuff. Come on, lean forward with me. React along," Stanley waved at us enthusiastically.

I rolled my eyes and gave in.

"I...I think I have erectile dysfunction," Carl whispered.

Stanley's eyes widened like they were relaxed testicles in a tub of hot water.

Carl looked from me to Stanley for reaction.

Stanley's jaw parted like he was ready to receive not one, but two German sausages.

"Well," I ventured, not really sure what my next sentence would be.

"Can we cancel our tofu orders please," Stanley suggested timidly, not sure if it was appropriate to crack a joke about something so serious.

Carl burst out laughing.

Actually, we couldn't distinguish if it were laughter or tears - he sounded like a muffled hyena.

"How long has it been?" I ask with genuine concern.

Stanley cut in.

"Seriously? You are concerned about the length now, Adam?" Stanley chimed in with perfect timing.

Carl burst out laughing - for real.

Turns out, Carl had been feeling out of sorts for at least a week before he felt that he couldn't keep it to himself any more.

"You shouldn't take that long to spill the beans just because you take that long to spill your seeds," Stanley said, Queen of Puns.

"It must be hard on you," said Stanley, pushing his luck.

Carl frowned at him.

I slapped Stanley's wrist on Carl's behalf.

Okay, back to Carl.

Carl first started noticing something amiss almost two weeks after he starting using steroids.

At first, he sort of lost interest in having sex (although in comparison, Carl doesn't really venture out to look for men the way our sex-bunny friend Stanley does).

Carl initially mistook his dwindling libido to be the cause of having overworked himself in the gym.

But as days passed, Carl eventually felt that something was wrong because, in his words, "the other day, I was doing the deed when my member failed me".

This got Stanley very worried.

"Define member," he said cheekily.

Before Carl started to shift uncomfortably in his seat, Stanley continued, "okay, I was kidding. Define failed".

According to Carl, "failed" means that he had managed to get his member up - but while Carl was distracted with a phone call, his member quietly deflated.

"I want to know why you had to pick up that phone call while you were, you know, indulging in self-happy time," Stanley demanded.

Erm, that's not quite the point, Stanley dear, I said, trying to stay focussed.

Ok, point is, Carl's erection couldn't be maintained. And that got him very worried.

For the next few nights, Carl tested his goods.

Again and again.

And he was finally determined that he had a problem.

Back at our Swee Choon supper table, Carl stirred his pork congee listlessly.

"How?" he asked into his bowl of hot porridge.

"Well, for a start, you need to nail the problem on the head," Stanley said.

Nobody took the bait, so Stanley carried on.

"You know a few things. One, you have an issue. Two, this could very likely be caused by steroids," Stanley said seriously.

"So you know the root cause of this problem - and it's still in its early stage, so you decide, Carl. You want hard muscles and soft pee-pee, or you want soft muscles and hard pee-pee?"

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

"Or," I suggest helpfully, "you go see a doctor and see what your options are".

Ah, doctor.

The scenario Carl was trying to avoid.

To know you have ED is one thing. To officially seek a doctor's advice is another - because that act seals the deal.

For many men, especially men nearing their forties, and especially gay men nearing their forties, having ED is like a death sentence.

Even if one does not always make full use of his tool, knowing that one's tool is faulty is very worrying.

A functioning penis is what probably defines a man.

Well, that, and many other things too. But you get the idea.

It's like how women might feel when they go through menopause because a natural part of their womanly system no longer functions.

Stanley thinks that ED is a natural retribution to gay men who overuse their members - although Stanley insists that his member is still a hard worker.

But Stanley the versatile is resilient.

"Go with the flow, my dear Carl," Stanley said in serious consolation mode

"If you can't get hard, then just be a bottom for the rest of your life lah," he said.

It's a very natural progression, Stanley insists.

You go with the flow, he said.

If you can't get hard, be bottom. If you can't be bottom, be top.

According to Stanley the homo expert, some gay men - who have been bottom all their lives - suddenly find that nobody wants to top an uncle.

So what do the bottom uncles do?

They switch roles and be tops, so that they brand themselves as sugar daddies.

Carl continued stirring his congee, not buying any of Stanley's arguments.

"Why me," Carl asked his bowl of porridge.

"Think about it - if you don't appreciate a staff, of course he will quit right?" Stanley said, referring to Carl's respectably un-promiscuous lifestyle.

"Yes, and one day your overworked staff will quit 'cos you're such an overbearing boss," I scolded.

"My member won't quit. I may overwork it, but I'm a nice boss," Stanley said, smiling.

"Because I leave it to do what it wants, and I'm not a micro manager," he continued, pleased with himself.

"Sorry Carl dear, I don't mean to keep targetting at you but seriously right now, you are indeed a soft target," said Stanley the bitch, who's on a roll.

Stanley The Size Queen

"Quick, quick, quick, I can't wait!" Stanley said, hopping from one foot to another as if he were a child on Christmas morning.

That, or Stanley needed to pee.  

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" Stanley said impatiently. This time, he was lying on his back on J's sofa, his legs pedalling an imaginary bicycle in the air.

"What on earth are you doing, Stan?" 

"I'm cycling! I love J's sofa! I love J's apartment!" my random sex-bunny-of-a-friend Stanley replied. 

"Food's ready!" J announced.  

As J dished out the steaming pot of his famous chicken stew, Stanley hurriedly ushered every one to his seat as if we were all late for the Last Supper and the host was starting to subconsciously drum his fingers on the table.

"Jesus, hurry up everyone," Stanley said urgently.

J took a seat beside Stanley, opposite Carl and me.

And even before we could open up our napkins, Stanley spoke rapidly: "Okay, J thank you for having us over and cooking for us and in line with your Holy ways, let's say grace."

And before any of us could react, Stanley added very quickly, "Grace!"

As J passed the toasted French loaves around, Stanley wasted no time in starting the topic he'd been dying to discuss.

His recent job interview.

Last week, Stanley - who was recently retrenched - got called back for a second round of job interview.

According to Stanley, his chances are quite high, but he's concerned that the firm is relatively small.

And Stanley the size queen is worried.

"Why worry so much? You can always go for all the interviews then decide slowly, no?" J asked.

"Oh, my dearest J," Stanley looked at him as if J were a naive little boy.

"Of course you wouldn't need to worry - you work for a huge law firm," Stanley said before adding "and anything that's huge and firm and lawful is always a recipe for a very, very good time."

J giggled at the random comment. Carl helped himself to chicken stew.  I rolled my eyes.

"You see, size is very important to me - in all sense of the word," Stanley continued, setting his cutlery down - a worrying sign because that means he's likely to go on and on about sex at the dinner table.

"First and foremost, the smaller the company, the more likely your boss will micromanage you," Stanley said with concern.

"But he'll be disappointed because hunny, when anyone manages me, I can guarantee him that they're handling nothing that's micro about me," Stanley continued, stroking his French loaf tenderly.

"What are your thoughts, Carl?" Stanley asked our dense friend.

Carl froze in mid-feed, and began processing the question, allowing his spoonful of chicken stew - just inches away from his mouth - to start dripping.

"Oh, so that's how it looks from a third-party point of view," Stanley said like an analyst as he observed Carl's frozen and arguably controversial pose.

"Stan, please, can we stop talking about sex over food?" I begged.

"What were you thinking, Adam? I'm always rim and proper at dinner tables," Stanley replied raising a lone eyebrow.

Carl looked very confused - likely because his brain can only process one set of data at a time, and the speed of Stanley's gear-switching is causing a lot of white noise and fuzz in Carl's mind.

"Never mind, Carl, you just put that dripping piece of meat in your mouth and swallow," Stanley said helpfully, and looked at me with cheeky defiance.

Stanley looked like he was about to spew his next vulgar comment when - "Wow, J, I could marry you if not for the fact that my best friend Adam and you are sleeping with each other behind my back."

"You make the best stew, J," Stanley sighed with gratification, his mouth chewing busily.

"There's only one other time when my mouth is filled with warm, gooey stuff and I feel like I'm in heaven," Stanley said, stirring his soup bowl and preparing for his next spoonful, "and trust me - yours is way more savoury."

Carl set his soup spoon down and tried very hard to presumably erase all mental images pumped into his head during dinner. 

"Adam, you are one lucky bitch," Stanley said, slurping the stew noisily. "Your boyfriend's stew is so rich."

"And your boyfriend is so rich," he said, turning to J.

J giggled and ladled more stew into Stanley's bowl.

"And speaking of rich," Stanley said, "I need to get back on track with my work life. This is my first job interview in weeks - one that is quite likely to land me my next pay check."

As our Saturday night dinner progressed, Stanley aired his concern over working for smaller companies.

Apart from fearing that a small team would mean more mirco-managing, Stanley was worried about the company's overall bottom line.

"And you can imagine why I'm so concerned," Stanley the pure bottom said.

"And then, if the company cannot do well, what will happen to my boners?" he said, obviously on a roll. 

"Oh, I am so funny!" Stanley cheered himself on, entertaining himself.

Carl, who was stuffing his face with his third bowl of chicken stew, clapped along by way of habit. 

But Stanley's worries are not unfounded.

Years ago, we did have a discussion about company sizes: Whether one would rather work for an MNC or settle for a small-size company.

Back then, we all readily agreed that when it comes to employment, size matters. The bigger and more reputable the company, the better.

Until Stanley - whose previous company was a huge and reputable firm - decided to retrench him.

In fact, Stanley's entire team in Singapore was axed. 

Which is why our Saturday dinner topic was really good food for thought.

"Do you think if I were to work for a lesser firm - which is smaller in size, I will be at a disadvantage?"

Stanley's question was pointedly posed to J my wise partner. An indication that Stanley had decided to close his chapter of making sex jokes and is now ready for real answers.

Sadly, J the litigator could only present Stanley both sides of the argument but really, Stanley has to be the judge of it.

And in J's words, he'll have to think about how his role in his would-be firm can propel him forward.

To which, Stanley quickly interrupted: "Oh, my role always propels me forward, backward, sideways - in all possible positions you can imagine."

And just as quickly, he added: "Sorry J - please go on. I just had to grab that opportunity when I saw it."

And just like that, Stanley straightened up.

"Wait. I think I just gave myself the answer."

Carl looked up from sipping his tea and cocked his head sideways - clearly because he hadn't been following.

"I need to grab opportunities when I see them!" Stanley said as if he discovered a formula to slow down global warming.

Just then, my partner J gently encouraged Stanley.

"And if you're in a small company, wouldn't that make you a big fish in a small pond?

Stanley lit up even further - and I really couldn't decide whether it was because J made a good point, or he thought the big-fish-small-pond analogy was yet another platform for him to make another sex reference. 

"It doesn't apply to me," Stanley replied.

"I'm always the small pond that's explored by the big fish," he added and roared with laughter.