Welcome To Our Whirl Part II

At exactly 8.35pm, Stanley the sex bunny, Carl the dense one and his new beau Adrian and I strutted into the rooftop bar at St Giles, JB.

The four of us were on a two-day-one-night staycation at the insistence of Stanley who rode on the occasion of meeting Carl's new boyfriend. 

In fact, leave it to Stanley to find any opportunity to ride on anything that has legs and an appendage.

"Oh I love the view," Stanley said sultrily, his eyes fixed on a lean body of an Italian-looking man who's sipping beer on the pool deck. "I know what I'll be having, boys," he said a little too loudly for the benefit of the Italian.

Carl was extremely nervous. His python sized biceps were trembling from anxiety of various levels: That his Adrian would find Stanley a tad too vulgar, and that we might not like his new partner.

As the four of us settled on a high stool overlooking the pool and the gorgeous night skyline of Malaysia's southern state, Carl finally said "well, we are finally here!"

A bottle of Prosecco was promptly ordered, along with a variety of bar bites (nachos, wedges, calamari, chicken wings).

Carl's young partner Adrian is himself a young partner at reputable law firm well known in the region. 

At 34, Adrain is wildly successful.

Stanley had done all the necessary background checks and privately posted in our group chat Just the Boys (made up of Stanley, Carl and me) informing us that Adrian probably earns S$15,000 a month. 

"What is he doing with Carl?!" he texted me privately. 

Adrian is an unassuming, pleasant and extremely humble boy. 

Boy being key word because Adrain has this chubby, cherubic quality about him that makes you want to continuously scoop food for him at a family dinner.

We learn that Adrian and my partner J have many things in common -- both went to the same boys' school and ended up in the same university course later on.  

"I would love to meet J soon," Adrian said.

"You will meet J and all of us for such a long time, you'll be sick of us soon," Stanley said, setting one red, gooey fried chicken wing on Adrian's plate. 

Adrian's also currently viewing properties, torn between waiting for one more year to buy a resale flat, or a private apartment. 

He's also musically inclined -- just like Carl, who sings like an angel and plays the piano relatively well.

Adrian sings in the church choir and plays the organ just like my partner J.

"Oh now I'm intrigued," Stanley cut in, swirling his wine glass. "I've always loved the organ."

Carl laughed nervously.

For the next day, the plan was to get together only for meals, so that we allow Carl and Adrian their personal time, and so that I could get some work done and enjoy my mandatory me time.

Stanley too, plans to enjoy his man time. 

As the night progressed, and as our systems processed one full bottle of Prosecco followed by a Penfolds, everyone -- especially Carl -- was visibly relaxed. 

"Thank you for being so spontaneous and coming on this trip," Stanley said. "Any boyfriend to this group gets fast-tracked to being a full blown member of this tight knit circle."

I looked in the direction of Stanley's line of vision and understood his choice of vocabulary, and the stresses made to words blown, member, tight.

Adrian noticed the distraction, stole a glance then looked at me and Stanley and giggled heartily, by now fully appreciating how Stanley functions. 

Carl the dense one looked at us and frowned, unable to understand what he had just missed. 

And just like that, we knew Adrian was here to stay.

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

Welcome To Our Whirl Part I

Sometimes, in our group which comprises Stanley the sex bunny and Carl the dense one, we take meet ups very seriously.

And today was one of those serious occasions.

After we learned Carl was attached, Stanley insisted we all got together and met Adrian, his new beau.

And it was Stanley's way or the highway.

Or in this case, the causeway. 

"Good thing I brought snacks and water," Carl the dense one said merrily. 

"Why didn't you bring diapers," Stanley said with a hiss, grabbing his steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white. 

"Never mind him, Adrian," I said, turning to the back seat. "Stanley's down south is always buzzing with activity."

Adrian let out a huge guffaw, entertained by this group of uncle's antics.

Prior to today's meeting, Carl -- to his credit -- had prepared his new love interest to face Stanley, warning him our sex bunny friend might appear too much on the surface but is really a wonderful friend deep down. 

Stanley would later say he was a lot more things than just wonderful deep down.

"Sorry, Adrian. I didn't mean to scare you," Stanley said into his rear view mirror. "But if I don't pee in the next 10 minutes, everyone will have to sit with their feet off my car carpet because I guarantee you I WILL wet my pants," he said with a menacing threat.

"Oh, trust him. At his age, he will do anything to get wet," Carl the dense one said, to his credit.

Everyone laughed except Stanley. 

Friday evening traffic jam was no joke.

While hundreds of Singapore-regjstered cars were making a beeline for the customs, all Stanley wanted to do was to make a peeline for the toilet. And to actually pee and nothing else, given Stanley’s history  

It was Stanley's bright idea to go on a weekend JB trip and to get to know Adrain better.

It was the perfect getaway: Two nights at a hotel at St Giles with cheap foot massages, drinks, shopping all at value-for-money prices, thanks to Malaysia's weak ringgit. 

Except, right now, it wasn't so perfect and all that was weak was Stanley's bladder and willpower.

Finally, after three-and-a-half hours of this unbearable wait, Stanley parked his car right after the Singapore customs to get some release. 

"I've always thought of urinals as a place of comfort and relief as a younger man," Stanley said. "I suspect this thought is going to stay with me as an older man." 

With less distraction down there, Stanley was back to his pre-pandemic state of mind and could finally steer us in the right direction, where drinks and dinner were in order.

It was slightly past-8pm when we checked into the hotel near mid-Valley but tour guide Stanley gave us strict instructions.

"Cocktails, rooftop bar, 15 minutes' time!" he barked along the corridor of our hotel floor at Carl and Adrian. 

"Anything with the words cock and top excite me to no end," Stanley concluded. 

To Be Continued...

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

Carl's Junior

The date was circa November 2023.

The location -- a new, trendy gay pub in Tanjong Pagar.

The occasion: Celebration.

Carl the dense one had good news.

And because Stanley the sex bunny was bad news, he had suggested we gathered at Sausage Market, then-Singapore's newest gay club to mark Carl's happy milestone.

Our beefcake friend, who had been single for the last 10 years since breaking up with his long-time partner whom we all endearingly call Ah Boy, is finally attached. 

And right this very moment, Stanley too, was feeling very attached. His eyes had never once left the bulky package of a tanned beefcake who was exaggerating every of his dance moves which comprise mainly hip thrusts and trunk rotations.  

"You think his bulge is real?" Stanley screamed over the resounding music that has only one beat: Boom, boom, boom.

Carl shifted uncomfortably in his tiny bar stool.

Meanwhile, Stanley's love interest was also shifting uncomfortably on stage. The beefcake starting twisting and thrusting his crotch towards Stanley's waving 10-dollar bill. 

Carl's eyes widened with shock.

Stanley's mouth widened with instinct. 

The crowd roared as Stanley pulled the opening of dancing beefcake's trunks and stuffed his $10 note with slow, deliberate moves as if to match the sultry prancing pace.

"I love sausage market!" Stanley shouted into the beefcake's crotch, who is now $10 richer. 

Carl was mortified.

I looked around the dark, noisy room that has beaming laser lights and prayed that my no-longer-young body could handle the disco stress and not collapse into epilepsy. 

Stanley, on the other hand, was also praying -- that he could handle that young body and collapse together in bed, hopefully in a bedroom and not a hospital ward, at that rate Stanley was going.

"Stan, stop shouting into his crotch. I can see that the veins in your neck. Any more shouting and they might just pop!" I shouted into Stanley's ears.

Without missing a beat, Stanley reciprocated: "Adam hunny. At this rate that mister beefcake is going, it's not my veins the might be popping."

Hanging out with the boys post-pandemic is no longer fun.

It was refreshing to get out and dress up for a proper brunch, tea, drinks, dinner just right off COVID.

But now that socialising is no longer a taboo, I'm starting to dread crowds, even though the crowd we're currently in, is one that's young, fit, and extremely winsome looking.

Sausage Market is a place Stanley's friends had highly recommended. 

Any self-respecting meat lover of the human male body would appreciate the concept -- there'll be boy dancing shows, there'll be dancing, there'll be drinking.

This concept apparently worked.

It had attracted the finest of Singapore's gay crowd and beyond. 

A few steps from our table was what looked like a group of young angmoh tourists who are getting quite a bit of attention from two budding skinny SPGs. 

In fact, everyone in that club looked like they were below 30.

My boys and I had singlehandedly pulled down the average age of the crowd.

"WOOOOHOOOO!" interrupted the unstoppable Stanley who looks like he wants to single-handedly pull down something else of the young crowd.

"I LOVE SAUSAGE MARKET!" he yelled into the air, matching the decibel and energy levels of the club.

After sitting through 40 minutes of pain, Carl begged us to leave.

Stanley said yes finally because he was satisfied.

We had reached the club just 15 minutes before the slated Boy Dancing show and because we were the oldest and possibly the richest of the crowd, Stanley told the boss that if he gave us a table near the stage, we would open the most expensive cognac that night. 

As we walked out, exhausted from watching the crowd and dancers expend their energy, Carl heaved a sigh of relief as if he had just been released from prison.

Stanley heaved a sigh of relief as if he had just released.

"I am too old for this shit," said Carl, who -- thanks to his constant doses of botox -- looked the youngest of us all.

Stanley agreed with Carl readily. 

From one meat market, to another meat market. 

We soon found ourselves a booth seat at a nearby Korean BBQ restaurant.

"Can I just say, I love meat?" Stanley said to the group, his eyes now trained on the package of a young server. 

Stanley was about to reach for a $10 bill when Carl begged him to stop.

Because right now, it was time to hear all about it. The story of how Carl got attached.

And just like that, Stanley easily detached himself from all worldly lust and paid full attention to Carl the dense one.

The story of how they met was not exactly a fairytale set up.

The two had met in a gay sauna.

Stanley was quick to join the dots -- no matter how small or big.

"Please tell me he wasn't the one who gave you STD."

Carl was mortified.

And so was the cute server who stumbled and dropped the menu from his hands.

"Sorry," he said and quickly left as if his hair were on fire.

"Please keep it down, Stan," Carl begged. "And please, Stan," Carl continued sincerely. "Don't judge us ok?"

Stanley put his hand on Carl's and said in all seriousness. "I will never judge my loved ones".

Apparently, Carl -- who had an itch to scratch -- had visited a gay sauna some two years ago.

And itch he did get.

But the STD was soon subdued even though Carl couldn't stop thinking about the source of the sexually transmitted disease. 

Soon, Carl frequented the sauna just so he could come face to face with patient zero. 

After three visits, Carl tapped him on the shoulder. 

The boy's name is Adrian. He was thirty two years old and held an extremely respectable job. A lawyer. 

That night, Carl plucked up the courage and asked Adrian out.

Their first date was a late night session of oily French fries and Coke Zero. 

Adrian had offered to pay for the meal, to atone for spreading his STD which he didn't even know he had.

One date led to another, but Carl wasn't ready to admit to being in a relationship.

Though he didn't need a fairytale beginning, Carl wasn't ready for a relationship.

Not when Adrian was too similar to Ah Boy who broke his heart 10 years ago.

Adrian and Ah Boy were too similar for comfort.

Both were around the same age, both were of the same built and both equally eloquent. 

And so Carl kept guiltily going out with Adrian -- and soon, both stopped going to gay saunas because they finally found what they were truly looking for.

I eyed Stanley, praying he wouldn't say it was STD and to his credit, he didn't. 

It took Carl some five months of dating for him to finally realise -- and admit -- that he truly liked Adrian.

And so, a month-plus before Christmas, Carl asked Adrian to officially be his boyfriend.

Which led to this rendezvous of announcing this wonderful news to us.

"Well, I think that's wonderful," Stanley said. 

"We all don't need fairytale beginnings -- no matter where or how we meet our partners, it doesn't mater."

"What really matters is the journey," said Stanley, dating guru. 

"And we all know from my experience that all relationships can have a fairytale ending. A very happy ending, in my case.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the cute server make a U-turn back into the kitchen upon hearing the words "happy ending" coming out of Stanley's mouth.

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

Rent And Rave

I'm typing this as I sit in my tiny couch of my tiny apartment which I rent for a not-so-tiny sum.

But between paying a hefty $6,000-plus a month for mortgage, $2,500 a month for rent certainly didn't seem to be too costly.

Selling my apartment nearly two years ago was perhaps the most sensible thing I'd done.

And to be able to find a studio (albeit half the size compared to what I used to live in), I should count my lucky stars. 

I found this little unit after several months of house hunting.

It's a small condo development nestled in Pasir Panjang. 

At under 400 square feet, a super single bed, dining table for two, tiny couch for two are all that could fit in.

And on Jan 1, 2023 -- when everyone in the world heaved a big sigh of relief and looked forward to starting their year afresh -- so did I.

I had signed a two-year contract with the landlord of this tiny apartment -- which is just about the time I needed to recalibrate my finances and plan my next move in life.

"How the mighty have fallen" was the first thing Stanley my sex bunny said when he stepped foot into my current place.

"Adam, I mean no disrespect, but I have to remind you that this studio is the same size as my old room in my parents' house."

Carl the dense one stood at the entrance of my studio, wide eyed. 

"Is that all there is?"

Indeed, that's all there is to my ultra small space. 

I believe I have used up all vocabulary there is to use, to describe my cramped rented apartment though, for $2,500 to fetch a relatively decent space is what I might attempt to say is already a cramp de la creme situation. 

The rental market in the last few years in Singapore was frustratingly ridiculous. 

I always try to view things positively but it hadn't been easy.

Having let go of my own place -- and still wanting my own space -- meant I had to rent for the time being, especially when I had to wait for a while more to buy my next property which I aim to pay for in full. 

Being in the rental market as a tenant was when I realised how greedy some (well, most) landlords can be.

After spending weeks trawling through PropertyGuru, one can't help but wonder just what on earth had made some landlords this greedy.

A simple room -- with no toilet -- at an HDB flat can fetch up to $1,500 for a mercenary landlord. And trust me, the room is in shabby condition. 

Among my network of friends, I have heard at least four cases where their landlords raised rents to unreasonable levels.

Take my couple friends Betsy and Edward who had been renting a large 3-bedroom apartment in the far flungs of Yishun. The kind where you have to take a condo feeder bus just to get there.

To be fair, that development does feel like a resort. It's as if you've stepped foot into Batam.

The view of Betsy and Edward's balcony is to die for too. It faces a golf club so you get the vast greenery view which is calming.

Also making you want to die is the rent.

Before COVID hit, the couple paid some $3,500 for that unit.

But when every opportunistic landlord raised prices following the pandemic, their rent went up to $5,000. 

That is just pure greed.

And it makes me extremely upset.

My partner J, who had been renting out his 3-bedroom condo for the last couple of years, had never once raised rents.

In fact, at a time when most property owners lowered their own morals and raised rents, J did the exact opposite. 

J's reason is that he would rather keep his current responsible tenants and give them a friendship rate.

When J bought his place a few years ago, the owner who sold him the unit gave him a discount -- on condition that J allowed him to rent that place for around two years, at a discount.

That's because the owner was bound by rules where he had to wait for 15 months after selling his private property before he could dip into the public resale market. 

I love J for that and I too, agree that there's a fine line between making rental income and abusing it to cash in on other people's misery. 

To add oil to fire, it's not as if Singaporeans are the best landlords around.

No cooking, no particular race, no particular nationality -- excuse me?

While I am thankful my landlord hasn't raised the issue of raising rents -- and that he's kind enough to attend to some of my basic requests (such as fix water heaters), I feel angry for most of the tenant pool.

Today though, the rental market is cooling down.

No longer are greedy landlords able to command such high profits -- thanks to more steady supplies of new flats and dipping demand of people who want to rent.

I can only hope that when my two-year rental contract is up, my hands will no longer be tied and that I can run freely into the resale flat market to buy something which I can fully pay for, and not fork out cash to support someone else's mortgage. 

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

Buying and Selling

Breakups are painful.

And mine wasn't rosy.

When I stepped foot into my first apartment circa 2012, I knew it was love at first sight. 

My big, one bedder; my first property; the happy place where merry dinner parties were hosted is mine no more.  

The year was 2022. 

Almost 10 years after I first bought my place, I finally sold it.

And I didn't see that coming.

I hadn't bought the property to flip.

I had, naively, thought it was my first and counting property.

While I take pride in being financially prudent, I hadn't expected interest rates to spike to more than 4 per cent.

Suddenly, the thought of owning a second property was a mere fantasy.

I had more cruel things to confront: Reality.

During the crazy COVID years, the rental market soared along with borrowing rates.

And at the rate that it was going, something's got to go.

It was a tough -- but financially sound -- decision to make.

I was feeling overly-stretched with mortgage commitments and it no longer made sense to hold on to my property. 

Stanley my sex bunny friend who always views being overly stretched as something promising, agrees.

"That's a whole chunk of money going into that place alone," he said to me via a WhatsApp voice recording, when I told him I entertained the idea of letting go of my place. 

And so in the final quarter of 2022, my partner J and I met our risk manager to look at my financial options.

The meeting took place at my then beautiful home.

My 2-metre long wooden table was laid out with a two-layer serving tray filled with savoury and sweet bites. 

Right beside the snacks was my porcelain tea set, my fine china filled up with roasted brown rice tea. 

Ash, who is J's long-time risk manager, is now mine too.

The heavy set financial expert who wheezes every once in a while if she speaks too fast is one of the most reliable advisers around, trusted by high net worth individuals. 

I wouldn't have known her if not for J and right now, I'm not feeling the likeability factor.

"You will be very poor soon, Adam," she said to me matter of factly, staring into the excel sheet on her computer. 

The spreadsheet was a product of an intensive one-hour chat she had with me, followed by a detailed form I filled to help Ash determine my spending habits and my financial end goal.

"You can afford to keep this apartment for sure but at this rate, you'll simply be bleeding yourself overtime because you're just struggling to stay afloat," Ash said, reaching out for a curry puff."

At this rate, I'm not sure if Ash too will be struggling to stay afloat if she so much as to consume one more curry puff. 

I kept those thoughts to myself and focused on more present thoughts.

The thought of me forking out a large chunk of my salary just to keep my property, leaving me with very little savings, much less investment options was something very hard to swallow -- much worse than the curry puff Ash was now easily working on.

I looked at J who gave me a sorry look. I don't know if he was feeling sorry for me or the poor curry puff in Ash's gnarly fingers, which is disappearing by the second.

That afternoon, Ash said what she had to say to me, and both of us were left to digest our respective burdens.

Had I bitten off more than I could chew? I wonder if Ash felt the same way that day, but I ought to worry about myself first. 

When interest rates were at a mere one point something per cent, my life was great. 

I could enjoy good quality of life back then -- spending without worry on food, the occasional luxury bag, shoes, ties, winter clothes. 

But soon, I may find myself scrimping and saving, fretting over why egg prices are so high, or how I should start my morning with kopi-O kosong instead of Nespresso coffee. 

At age 43 (in 2022), that's something unimaginable. 

Equally unimaginable is selling my place after staying alone for so long, and being homeless. 

The formidable Mrs Lee dismissed my fears.

"Come home and stay with me!" she demanded.

It was meant to be reassuring though it sounded like a threat to me.

J said I could stay with him while I waited and ironed out the selling of my place and the buying of my next place.

But I too, didn't want to impose on him. 

After all, his place is his. And his parents some times stayed over whenever they visited. 

Stanley my sex bunny friend, to his credit, had offered me his spare bedroom.

"Any man in need of bed space can always count on me," said Stanley who had meant to come across as saintly though he sounded more satanly, like an old horny priest about to de-robe and later defrocked. 

Finally, two months after speaking to Ash, I decided to be an adult. 

On Sep 1, 2022, I listed my "beautifully renovated bachelor pad" up for sale. 

It was to be sold exactly one month and 12 days later after we listed it.

And even as I type this today, 16 months later, I still feel like it was so, so surreal.

I miss my old home.

And it doesn't help that the current one that I'm in is a tiny rented one-bedder in Paisr Panjang, half the space I am used to. 

Yes, it's comfortable and yes, the profit I made from my sale has help me cut my losses and fund my current rental transition period.

But I still have no home to call my own.

At least for now.

 

 

 

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

The New Prime Minister

It isn't General Elections. It isn't even the National Day Parade.

But it's still the event of the nation -- the swearing in of our new prime minister.

So two weeks ago, the boys and I gathered at Stanley our sex bunny friend's spacious and cosy Queens Close flat for a watch party. 

At 6:30pm Singapore-Hong Kong time, a "very cute" Grab delivery rider passed us our tze char orders.

Stanley the sex bunny gave him five stars solely based on his looks.

"I only wish Grab gave us other rating options too. Like, you know, assessing their drivers on Q&As, followed by the swim suit round," he said, setting the plastic bag of food on his table.

But there was no time to ponder on Grab's rating system right now.

"Hurry up," the bossy Stanley yelled as he commanded Carl the dense one and me to set the table.

That evening, we were to have an after-work dinner at Stanley's followed by wine as we tuned in to the country's most watched event: The swearing in ceremony.

"Fuck, he's cute," Stanley said, getting into the mood of the swearing in ceremony.

To prove his point, Stanley shoved his phone in our faces.

A black-and-white video featuring a very young Lee Hsien Loong was playing on his IG reel.

Carl the dense one was fascinated. 

"He's such a twink! So young, so handsome, so full of drive," said Stanley who went on to constructively suggest that in our upcoming General Elections, the government should seriously consider letting voters assess their future leaders and MPs based on looks, Q&As and the swim suit round.

"I'm so sad for PM Lee," said Carl the dense one who cannot name all past prime minsters of Singapore.

"And why's that so," Stanley challenged.

"It's... a demotion," said Carl in a timid tone.

Stanley didn't want to waste time engaging Carl so he made full use of his life by filling everyone's glasses with red wine (Rioja).

"I actually feel happy and sad for Loong," Stanley said, referring to our ex-prime minister as if they were Bosom Buddies. 

"If he weren't the son of LKY, he may not have needed to choose the life of politics," said Stanley, political commentator.

"Agreed," said Carl, who has no idea what he's agreeing about.

"Wow, Lawrence Wong's wife is hot," Stanley said. They're going to make a goodlooking couple on the international stage.

"I think this person is cute," Carl said pointing to the screen as the camera panned to Xie Yaoquan, one of the youngest and most muscular lawmakers. 

"I will sleep with him," Stanley agrees, adding "I also don't mind Tharman. I love men in power".

"You don't mind a lot of people, Stan," I cut in. "Men in top positions, or sideways or even bottom -- you'll take them all."

Stanley pouted as if he were hurt and then said "Oh, Joseph Schooling is in the crowd."

He shook his head. "Didn't the fella take drugs? Can he even enter the Istana?!"

Carl -- who doesn't read the news nor keep up with current affairs -- has absolutely no idea what we're talking about. He proceeded to sip his Riojia and watch out for other muscular guests at the Istana. 

While the boys and I aren't exactly fans of the politics, Stanley would always find ways to gather the boys.

But that evening's gathering meant differently to some of us.

For Stanley, it was the end of the charming Lee Hsein Loong's era.

"I've always found him very handsome," Stanley repeated for the umpteenth time, licking his lips. 

"And he truly deserves the nation's love," he added, giving the word love unhealthy emphasis. 

"But what I cannot stand, is how every Tom, Dick and Harry are posting photos and tributes to him as if he were dead," Stanley said.

Carl looked up from his phone, tilting his head as if to ask who died, then decided he would fare better in his iPhone game than to ask us anything.

Indeed, our past week's social media posts had been filled with people posting photos with Mr Lee.

"I conclude that for this bunch of pathetic losers," Stanley said, "it's not about their tributes. It's about showing off they once had a close brush with our charming leader," Stanley said caressing his chest. 

For Carl, it was like he was an alien who just landed on earth and is taking this chance to absorb new information.

"So... this person is our new prime minister?" the dense one asked, pointing at Tharman who's strolling in to the Istana.

For me, what struck me was that our new PM is taking a lot of effort to show he's one of us. 

That he's not blue blood.

That he, like us normal Singaporeans, have normal parents who work, and a normal childhood and could afford overseas education only because of a scholarship.

Stanley pointed out that all three of us are way luckier than Lawrence Wong given that we all were born into relatively well to do families who didn't have one parent work as a cabbie or hawker and squeezed into one-room flats and who all come with sob stories.

Then again, we didn't make it as prime minister, did we?

My point is, PM Wong made it very clear that he's his own man. One who embodies meritocracy.

This point struck home big.

He has to prove he is his own man -- that if you work hard, you will get there.

What's more, he's born in the 70s, like all of us.

Would that mean he would know best, what our generation is going through, and thus, be more mindful of the needs of our generation with his policies? 

By the 45th minute of the swearing in, Carl was visibly bored.

He dozed off. 

Stanley asked me how I envisioned a Singapore under PM Wong.

I shrugged.

I hope he is grounded.

The fact that he makes a great show and tell of his humble beginnings and his promise to listen to us, and for our "hopes to inspire" him and our "concerns to guide" him, I certainly hope he does his best. And stays on track.

No matter which leader takes the helm, the key is for him to do what's best for us.

Stanley says he likes that PM Wong wants to make Singapore a place for everyone to feel happy in, as long as we worked hard.

And when Stanley didn't throw in a sex joke, I knew he was serious.

Carl, confused to the max and bored to tears, did his very best to join the conversation.

"So, if you guys were in the Cabinet, what positions do you all want," he asked. 

Without missing a beat, Stanley replied.

"I don't know if I'll be in the Cabinet -- I'm long out of the cabinet or any closet. But if I were to choose a position..." Stanley paused and left it hanging. 

Carl was finally engaged for the first time of the evening.

He laughed and raised a toast to all of us.

"And to Singapore. May it prosper," Carl said, adding "Happy National Day!"

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

Mother's Day Special

The Lees were out and about last week in the name of the Mother.

And because Mrs Lee loves her Chinese food and tradition, we ended up once again at Spring Court as with all other Lee occasions, this time being Mother's Day.

"Ah, Lei Tai!" the elderly valet bellowed at our mum as soon as she was spotted outside the Chinatown restaurant. 

Oh, yes. Our mum, a retired publisher and now full-time social butterfly, is a regular at Spring Court and she's affectionately known as Lei Tai -- or Mrs Lee -- to the Cantonese staff there. 

Satisfied that she's given the grand VIP treatment for all her useless children to see, the grand dame coyly waves off Valet Uncle's affection while turning to our direction just to be sure we registered this fantastic fanfare.

Younger brother Barry, also the one with the most mischief genes among us, literally slow-clapped for our mum's outstanding performance. 

"Wah. Only 11am and already so packed," eldest sis S remarked.

"When you're old and still gold, that's what happens. People will still recognise you for that," replied Mrs Lee, her choice of words and tone suggesting it was a teachable moment to all three of her kids who're waiting to inherit her blood, sweat and tears -- her own reference to money. 

"I love your mum," my sex bunny friend Stanley said when I relayed this over to him via text. "And going by her Spring Court principles, then I'm hot property!"

Lunch that day with Mrs Lee was a decidedly elaborate affair.

My Lee siblings and I decided that we would go all out -- and so we ordered mum's favourite popiah and half a suckling pig, followed by Buddha Jumps Over The Wall, bird's nest, abalone and a bunch of other less costly items. 

Mrs Lee was suitably impressed. 

Over the years, she's come to be more accepting of our generous overtures, no longer resisting our extravagant offers such as paid holidays, luxury bags and expensive treats. 

And it must be so refreshing for her especially since I've graduated from buying her "Prada" at Bangkok's Pratunam wholesale market to an LV at an actual, legit boutique. 

All her life, Mrs Lee dedicated her time and energy to her children.

And it wasn’t easy — not when our “heartless father” (as our mum would sometimes refer to him) left us when we were mere kids. 

Technically, my mum wasn’t wrong.

Our dad Mr Lee died of a heart attack so he was in a way heartless. And he did indeed leave us. 

My sis was only 7, and I 4 and younger Barry 2, when this happened. 

I think among us kids, my sis was hit the hardest. She had both the intellectual awareness and emotions to handle the situation.

I distinctly remembering that I had the intellectual awareness but not the emotions. 

At the wake, the adults — one of my most annoying and loud aunties — asked me “where’s your daddy?”

I remember answering her “daddy is dead.” 

I knew as a 4 year old that daddy would no longer come back. That much I knew. What I didn’t have the capacity to know, which is a blessing, is the emptiness, sadness, and pain of losing a dear one, the way adults with emotions would be subjected to.

In retrospect, that loud aunty of mine ought to be cremated alive along with my father for being so cruel to a child but all is forgiven. 

Youngest brother Barry, on hindsight, is perhaps the most fortunate of the lot if fortune can be counted this way. He didn’t have any pain nor memories but that in itself can be painful — Barry didn’t know our dad well enough to miss him. 

But what we lacked in a dad, we found in our mum. 

And it was through Mrs Lee that all three of us turned out the way we were.

Mrs Lee threw herself into work, making sure she could scale the corporate ladder to earn enough to feed her kids. 

She made sure she gave us all we needed: Food, attention, swimming lessons, martial arts classes, whatever she thought could give us a leg up in life.

While she slogged at the office at her publishing firm on week days, our eldest sis appointed herself as surrogate mum, bossing us around to do our homework and to shower after school and eat our pre-cooked meals. 

I remember hating her for her bossiness but whenever she slipped back into her childhood and became my sister, I forgot all about it and we were kids. 

Today, S always thinks five steps ahead of any situation and has every contingency plan thought of. 

She's also caring and still bossy.

Barry, being the baby of the family, grew up sheltered and protected not only by our eldest sister but also me. 

He was, as a result, fearless because he knows he can venture out to do anything and have us as safety net.

As for me, I'm a middle child. 

It also means I am on middle ground, having the benefit of observing the actions of the older and younger sibling, waiting to see what I should and shouldn't do to avoid punishment or effect reward.

My sharp observation skills were perhaps my strength as a child.

I watched how Mrs Lee would always laugh at herself in any situation. As kids, we were always brought to her office -- and we had a glimpse of our mum at work, from her day-to-day life to company events and D&Ds.

I found that mum was always surrounded by people who were eager to talk to her, laugh with her.

This became the premise of my character. 

Be a Mrs Lee who is always cheerful, easy going and be surrounded by people who are attracted to you because you're always very pleasant. 

Mum retired at an age when all three of her children were doing extremely well.

All graduates, all earning decent salaries, and most importantly, all willing to splurge and return the love plenty-fold, the way Mrs Lee had expended her love unto us.

It was one of the heartiest meals in a while for our family given that I, the black sheep of the family, am always so busy.

As we lumbered our way to the ground floor, the elder Valet Uncle lit up.

Barry the cheeky one also lit up.

"Ooooo.... somebody's smitten," he said a little too loudly for everyone to hear. 

"Father's Day celebrations at Spring Court next year," Barry informed the family.

 

 

 

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