That Can Be Arranged

Last week, Stanley could stand it no more.

"I'm really sick of working from home and staying at home and trudging around home in my designer underwear," our sex bunny friend said.

"And though we do meet, we're always at each other's homes."

"I never imagine I would one day say this, but boys it's about time I put on some clothes and got out for some sun," he said.

And so, we decided to deck out from head to toe in our Tuesday best, get out of the house and have lunch at Dempsey.

I chose a white button down, jeans and brown loafers.

Stanley turned up in a light green tee paired with a navy blue blazer, brown pants, shoes, no socks.

Carl the dense one -- who always never gets the memo -- came in a pair of black polo tee, a pair of beige bermudas and bloody sandals.

Stanley had insisted we ate lunch at Candlenut, a posh (but expensive) Peranakan restaurant after hearing rave reviews from some of his friends who had gone there recently.

"Explain to me why you have no self respect," Stanley said by way of greeting Carl, eyeing our gym rabbit friend from head to toe.

"Which part of 'come in your best slutty clothes' do you find hard to understand?"

Carl, who really usually doesn't understand, shifted uncomfortably and cringed at the pre-lunch image conjured by the words come, slutty and hard in the same sentence.

Inside the restaurant, we found a relatively large table to accommodate our over-ordering ways.

As we settled down and took off our masks, Stanley sighed with relief, happy to be surrounded by people.

"What have you boys been up to," asked Stanley, his eyes darting around speedily, checking out all the masked men in the room.

"Is it me or do men in masks look sexy," he asked the table.

"I mean, the fact that half their faces are covered up ramps up the sex appeal -- you'll have to imagine what's underneath that piece of cloth, much in the way you'd visualise how that person's man bits look like under that pair of jeans," Stanley continued, using his eyes to point at a slim and trim guest with a mop of curly hair, who's strolling in with his elderly grandma.

"But yes, tell me, what have you boys been busy with?"

Carl, who at that moment was indeed busy, continued tapping into his phone furiously.

"I'm trying to send an email to show that I'm working," our dense friend said. "I didn't tell my boss that I'd be venturing out for early lunch."

"Oh, I'm on leave," Stanley replied. "Just that HR and my boss both aren't aware of it."

Soon, our tasting platters were laid on the table -- mini kueh pietee, mantou with crab and wing bean salad -- and we got to work, making those exquisite morsels disappear.

"I've been busy," Stanley began as he swallowed the last of his wing bean salad, "watching Netflix. And you guys MUST watch Indian Matchmaking!"

"I've heard of it," I say, having seen the series pop up in my Netflix account. I was also constantly reminded by my sis (who insists she's a bachelorette and not a spinster, and who doesn't need to be matchmade) to watch the show so that she can have an intellectual discussion with me on the merits of an arranged marriage.

Carl, who's dense and slow to all types of development apart from growing his muscles, nodded sagely.

"You know what we talking about meh?" Stanley challenged.

Carl pouted, shook his head and proceeded to eat his fillings, which, at this point of the lunch, was minced pork, prawn and water chestnut from ngor hiang. 

What Stanley found intriguing about Indian Matchmaking -- apart from the handful of cute Indian eye candies -- is a peek into society's views on various issues: The cultural differences, the caste system, discrimination against certain 'types' of people, and of course, insights into human behaviour among families and how values are passed down from parents to children.

Stanley's strength is obviously in dissecting societal issues and breaking down barriers of human interaction.

Also making full use of his strength in dissecting and breaking down is Carl, who is now making himself useful by de-shelling our next dish, sambal prawns, for us.

"I don't know if I can fall in love with someone that's arranged for me," Carl said finally, licking his fingers clean of the piquant sambal sauce from his fingers.

Indeed, it was food for thought.

In this part of the world, we're big on love marriages.

In India (and perhaps some parts of China), they're big on arranged marriages.

"And in this spot of the restaurant, we're big on gay marriages," Stanley said a tad too loudly, which could have been his goal since I caught him smiling at the trim curly-haired boy three tables away.

"At the end of the day," Stanley said, refocusing his attention on us after a failed hook-up attempt, "it's about how we make marriages work. If you can't find matches, there's no shame in getting help. And if you're matched, you'll have to make your love work -- romance is unfortunately not a fairy tale."

And then, Stanley perked up.

"But sometimes there can be plot twists and miracles can happen," he said, hurriedly putting on his mask.

"Curly boy is smiling back at me... and he's walking to the toilet."

"I'll be back -- or maybe not," Stanley said sultrily and scurried off to find his love.

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

The Local Celeb Sex Drama

"Unless you've been living under a rock," Stanley said just as we sat on the high stools in the alfresco section of Wine Connection at VivoCity, "you would know what's been intensely trending this week".

"And I, Stanley Ong, do not live under a rock," he said, further adjusting his buttocks on the stool to get just the perfect fit.

"I have done many, many things under a rock -- and if you so insist, I'll tell you about the sexcapade during an outdoor adventure camp," Stanley carried on without being prompted.

"And trust me -- it involved a lot stabbing rocks and very, very little apparel," our sex bunny friend said, dribbling one eyebrow.

"Hi, please be reminded to keep your masks on until your food arrives," says a cheery voice who had no idea just how timely her presence there and then had saved the day.

Carl the dense one had by then looked nauseated, likely because he was trying very hard to un-picture the mental image of "stabbing rocks".

"Where was I?" asked Stanley, who has a tendency to get lost.

"Stabbing rocks," I supplied.

Carl coughed.

"Ah, yes. I was talking about this sensational fella and his sex drama," Stanley said.

Carl, who also has a tendency to get lost, was rightfully confused.

While our gym rabbit friend sits quietly facing Sentosa to ponder on life, Stanley is keen to discuss this topic as if it were an A Level literature paper that we are all sitting for the next day.

The drama involves a local celebrity who had recently apologised over a conversation he had with a 15-year-old boy, describing his exchange with the words "inappropriate, questionable and problematic".


"Let me tell you the long and short of it," Stanley said, picking his words carefully to suit the ocassion.

"I'll give you a blow by blow account in chronological order, from top to bottom," he continued on a roll.


Stanley spent the next few minutes giving us a summary of the allegations: Of how the celeb could have made use of his influence to entice boys for sex, to paid sex, to accusations of grooming boys for underage sex.

"So, got sex or no sex in the end?" Carl asked, tilting his head to the side looking like he got lost in the plot somewhere.

"That's not the point! The point is... this is serious sexual grooming!" Stanley shrieked.

Carl had by then looked like a lost cause, his eyebrows so buried he looked like he was deciphering the Da Vinci Code.

"But I take sexual grooming seriously," he said finally. "It's basic etiquette... trimming hair down there and make sure my boy parts are clean."

We gave up engaging Carl who was too off tangent for us to rescue.

"There's so much to talk about, so much to comment on," Stanley says, rubbing his hands in glee as he sits on his high stool.

Carl looked bored by then and began memorising the digital menu.

After our bottle of The Very Sexy Shiraz arrived, Stanley went forth to take the discussion further.


While it's definitely wrong to engage in underage sex -- groomed or paid or even consensual -- it's also none of our business.

Except in this case, the story unfolds on the backdrop of show business, so it sort of becomes everyone's business.

Everyone who considers himself or herself a local celeb or, what's the term -- Influencer -- has something to say about this incident.

And they have said it.

For the next few days since the local celeb's saga broke out, there were so many comments by them -- some were fair. Some were dark. Some were catty. Some were bitchy.

"And some quite touching and moving," Stanley added aptly. 

But after a while, the conversation goes all over the place because everyone and their grandmother had something to say and a place where they could freely say it.

And it becomes a bit toxic to follow the comments because it's tiresome.

"It's also quite scary how things can really go downhill for some people. The last I read, the fella is sort of already a lost cause -- his work is put on hold and his reputation gone."


"But guys," Carl said after a while. "Really. In the end, got sex or no sex?"

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

Curry Favour

I have always loved curry and consider it something that's very close to my heart.

When I had my first sip of red wine at the ripe old age of nine -- right after Christmas Eve midnight mass -- it was with curry and bread.

Since then, I've always regarded red wine, curry and bread as comfort food.

And last week, I decided to whip up comfort food for the boys Stanley and Carl.

"Any food that's close to the heart is dangerous," reasoned Stanley. "It often leads to death in the form of clogged arteries," my fey friend said, licking his fingers and reaching for another piece of toasted French loaf which he promptly dipped into his bowl of curry.


That night, I asked the boys over for supper mainly because I hate wearing masks outside, but partly also because I was eager to try out a new curry recipe.

It was the recipe of my partner J's mum.

The family's prized recipe was imparted to me about a month ago, during a family dinner.

I was standing around J's kitchen where his mum was stir-frying the nonya dry curry, when she offered to teach me.

It was a tedious dish that involved throwing in candlenuts, shallots, garlic and lots and lots of pounding, as well as stir-frying of chili and curry powder.

Stanley my sex bunny friend was particularly looking forward to the dish.

Anything that involves lots and lots of pounding was always promising to Stanley.

"I can help you stir you know," Stanley said that evening as he hovered over my shoulder.

"I'm surprisingly good at one-hand action even if it means stir frying," he said.

Not wanting to be left out, Carl the gym rabbit flexed his python sized biceps and made guttral noises in the hope that his body of work can also be considered for the stir-frying job.

After some two hours, I was finally ready.

My first attempt at recreating J's mum's curry -- which was in fact a recipe passed down by J's grandmother -- was rather successful.

I followed her instructions to a tee (which meant pre-deep frying the chicken drumsticks before cooking them in the thick curry gravy).

"Adam, this is good and while I won't say this is better than sex, I dare say your curry is as good as sex," Stanley remarked, and proceeded to fit a large drumstick into his mouth to make his point.


Carl looked away like a modest nun but nodded eagerly and stuffed a curried potato in his mouth.

It was a hearty sight, seeing Stanley and Carl stuffing their faces over my near-perfect curry that was meaningful because it is a dish that's passed down from generation to generation.

In a way, I felt like a legit daughter-in-law who's been endorsed by the matron of the Peranakan household.

Also, I enjoy hosting.

Feeding friends has since become an endearing habit formed after getting my own place years ago.


"When my own place is ready," Stanley said in between chewing, "I'll also form a habit to have lots of people over for feeding," he added, making inverted comma signs with his fingers at the word feeding.


It took the boys 1/4 the time I had taken to cook the curry, to polish off their plates.

"I am so full from dinner that I think my stomach would explode and my intestines would spill out," said Stanley, who's never known for his subtlety.

"And it would be a departure from my norm because whenever I explode, it's something else other than intestines that would spill out," continued Stanley, who's never known for his subtlety.

Carl looked blue and bloated from his seat, and I wasn't sure if he was in that condition because of Stanley's visuals or my curry.

Then, Carl let out a satisfying belch, closed his eyes and smelt the air, and said "compliments to the chef".

As I brought out a tray of coffee for everyone to aid digestion, Stanley lay on his side and said "After all the activities I had been doing that mimic the steps to pregnancy, I think I finally know how it feels to be heavily pregnant."

Carl the dense one responded by patting his own tummy.

"Adam, if I die from indigestion, know that it was a good last supper. Go forth and tell everyone that I had indeed led a very full life -- right to my last breath," Stanley said gripping my wrist and speaking like someone was strangling him. 

Carl drowsily made the sign of the cross at Stanley, blessing our very full and theatrical friend.

"Adam, Carl, pen down the words I'm about to say," Stanley the drama queen said as he continued to lie on my couch as if it were his death bed.

"Listen carefully. These are the words you would engrave on my tombstone if I die," he said tearfully.

Stanley Ong

1979 - 2020
All his life, he'd been dying to be laid (to rest) and now that he's officially and eternally bottom (of this grave), Stanley is happy. 

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

I love Singapore

It's August.

The time of the year again when some of us reflect on what it's like to be Singaporean -- and hopefully, count our blessings to be born in this country.

Of course, Singapore is far from perfect.

And there are people who genuinely dislike being Singaporean (I know a handful who have nothing good ever, to say about our country, our culture, our food, our transport system, our blablabla, and, oh, of course, our government).

But today, I'm not talking about those negative, toxic people who have so many opinions, so many views, so many complaints, yet take no action to leave the country and take up citizenship in Guatemala.

I love my country.

I love that I'm born here.

I have even begun to love the flaws that the Western World had pointed out about us: We can't put chewing gum into our mouth, we can't urinate in lifts even if our bladders are bursting, we can't spit in public though the Merlion can, we can't have consensual gay sex legally, we don't have press freedom nor the freedom to burn our bras anywhere outside of Hong Lim Park.

While there are things we can definitely work on, I would do anything for my country.

If Singapore needed a kidney, I'd donate one to her.

If Singapore were bullied in a girl gang fight, I'd back her up with a rolled up newspaper in my left hand and a sharpened pencil in my right.

If Singapore were dumped by a bastard and got drunk and wasted, I'd gently hold up her hair while she puked outside Butter Factory, beside the Merlion.

"Why can't Singapore be a guy," Stanley my sex bunny friend wanted to know.

"I mean, why must countries all be referred to as women?"

"If we can think of Singapore as a cute, hunky guy, do you know how many gay men would willingly lay their lives down for him?" asked Stanley, who won't think twice about willingly laying himself down for any cute, hunky guy.

But the point is, we all love Singapore -- in our own unique way.

Some of us love like we're Romeos: Loud, proud and outrightly romantic.

The kind who would not only display flags outside their condo balcony and decorate their car with mini flags, but would also go the distance to wear red and white clothes for the entire month of August.

Then there are those who love Singapore like a traditional Chinese father.

The type who don't hug you and say I love you when you come home, or shout well done when you get 10 upon 10 for your Chinese ting xie spelling test.

But who would quietly put his palm on your shoulder when you break your arm in a motorbike accident. Or quietly slip $50 in between your textbook after your mum violently objects to giving you extra money for a class birthday chalet outing.

And then there's Carl.

Carl our dense friend, who up till this day cannot recite the pledge in full nor sing the national anthem without massacring at least 6 Malay words, is at a loss for all types of words right this moment.

Carl is struggling to list one reason why he's thankful to be Singaporean and how much he loves his country, so he chose instead, to post in the group chat the gif of Merlion spouting water.

Stanley immediately responded with the gif of a Tang Dynasty princess vomiting blood.

But even though Carl is dense, Stanley is slutty and I, hmmm, let's see, am intelligent, the point I'm trying to make is that regardless of personality types, we are all capable of loving our country.

I know that if there were a war, Stanley and I would gladly take up arms and fight for Singapore.

Years ago, when Stanley and I were in National Service, we talked about how we felt moved to tears when we took our oath to defend our country.

Stanley later clarified that it was because he thought he was too young to die, and we both had a very good laugh in camp.

But don't get us wrong.

The Red Berets -- trained to attack and defend, and also protect and care with those same pair of hands -- are the cream of the corps, and we will fight for honour and glory.

"Honestly if I have a choice, my pair of hands will be doing other fun things, but yeah, I'll fight and claw and pull hair for my country," said Stanley, ever the team player, player being the operative word that describes his sexual life.

Later that night, Carl replied the group after giving it a great deal of thought over Stanley's question.

"I love Singapore because..."

Stanley and I waited.

Then Carl continued typing:

"This is home, truly. Where I know I must be. Where my dreams wait for me. Where the river always flows."

Stanley later messaged me privately that if we ever go to war, Carl the dense one can be sent as an advance party to spy on our enemies.

"Because if he ever were caught, he would never divulge any of our operations secrets because he is truly clueless."

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

Friends for Life

It's International Friendship Day and I feel very obliged to write about this low-key event.

There are days dedicated to love, mothers, fathers, beer, HIV / AIDS and even the growing of moustaches.

Yet, the all-important International Friendship Day -- the foundation of human interaction -- is often forgotten.

It's such an underdog.

I ask in my group chat "Just the Boys" to see how much they know about International Friendship Day.

Carl the dense one -- who doesn't remember his mother's, father's, brother's birthdays, and who doesn't know the difference between Hari Raya Puasa and Hari Raya Haji -- responded with an icon of a girl who seems to be shrugging.

Stanley my sex bunny friend who is very in tune with worldly affairs, current affairs and all other types of affairs, responded with a gif of a half-naked man who seems to be shagging.

"All hail friendship day," Stanley wrote.

"@Stan are you making this up," Carl asked as if Stanley were a scammer who's about to make him wire money to an offshore account.

And so in the spirit of friendship day, I want to dedicate this blogpost to the people in my life who may not be related by blood to me, but have become my loved ones.

They say you can't choose family.

But when it comes to my circle of friends, one has full control.

And I'm glad I do.

Today, if I were to clutch my heart and fall gracefully and die from a heart attack, I know I'll have four pallbearers who had verbally promised me they'll carry my coffin.

I'm not joking.

I had this conversation many years ago with some of my friends.

Two of my pallbearers are familiar characters in this blog.

Stanley my sex bunny friend, and Terry my straight best friend.

"I hope you die of a disease that shrinks you to bones," Stanley said matter-of-factly when I asked him if he'd carry my coffin if I died first.

In keeping with this spirit of friends who'd go all out to love me, here's a little list of what I love about them.

Nisa 
Best girlfriend since Sec One

Nisa is whom I'd describe as someone with big love. And she expresses it with actions. Always showering friends with homecooked food, gifts that add value to their lives -- like traditional Chinese medicines that nourishes one's health. And always literally going the distance to run errands for them.

Terry 
Straight best friend since Sec One

Terry is the one who introduced me to endurance sports like marathons. He's one of the country's fastest runners on record, but whenever we run a race together, he never overtakes me, always pacing me from start to finish, encouraging me to never give up -- just as he does in real life.

Stanley  
First my NS pal, and now one of my best friends 

Not only is Stanley the protagonist of my blog, he's also one of my strongest cheerleaders in life who would never fail make me laugh, drive me around whenever I needed him to, would never judge me for whom I am.

Carl
One of my first IRC friends 

Carl may be dense but when you truly need him to wake up and save the village he gets the job done. Carl's not the mushy group-hug, air-kissing type of friend -- in fact, his love as a friend is very much that of a traditional Chinese father. He loves you, but he doesn't show it.

Sasa
One of the pillars of my universiity life

I first met Sasa in university. At the campus bus stop, I remember clearly. I used to call her Bimbz -- short for bimbo -- because she has a giggly squeal and laughs at almost every damn thing. Life without Sasa in uni would have been very dull. But how Sasa has grown. She's now a successful career woman (living the life as a tai-tai on weekends) but she's never lost that girly, hearty laughter. I see Sasa as the best of both worlds. To others, she's that intimidating Devil who Wears Prada but to me, oh, if they only knew.

Bella
My first work friend, my first work wife

We always have one of those -- best friends from work whom we refer to as our work spouse. Except in my case, Bella and I never snogged in the office pantry, nor swept the office table clean of stationery to have a quickie. Bella has a beautiful voice and we hit it off when we hit the notes at office KTV sessions. Soon, Bella and I shared more than just work problems with each other, and we grew so close that although we're now world's apart (Bella moved to the US with her husband), we still keep in touch to keep the care and love going.

There are, of course, a lot more people whom I'm thankful for and this list is non-exhaustive.

Cliché as it's gonna sound, I'm gonna leave some space here.

Because my future will be filled with more friends to come.























Happy friendship day guys.

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

Key Decision

It's official.

Stanley our sex bunny friend has news.

Two weeks ago, Stanley stirred the group chat to life.

"Boys, let's meet 9am on Sat - pick y'all up at yr place."

The next day, the three of us gathered only at 11.30am, true to our unbecoming habit of disregarding any form of punctuality.

As Carl our dense friend steps into the car, Stanley turns from his seat to face us and announces.

"I have officially bought the Queens Close flat!"

That was quickly followed by a continuous and collective squeal by the three of us in Stanley's car.

Anyone on duty at the weather station that morning would be alarmed by the sudden spike of seismic activity seen only in Tiong Bahru.

When the squealing finally stopped, Carl our dense friend started round two by clapping rapidly.

Stanley and I joined him, our group applause working up yet another unexplainable wave of tremors.

It must have been a busy and puzzling day for whoever was at the weather station.

But first things first.

Stanley wants us to be the first to view his flat.

Ten minutes later, we arrived at the neighbourhood.

"There," Stanley said proudly as if he were the town mayor.

"No, no, no, Carl. We're not going anywhere. We're viewing the unit from outside. I only get the keys two months down the road."

Carl's python-size biceps shrank in disappointment as he gloomily glared ahead.

"But there's nothing down the road," he said with a pout as if Santa isn't coming with presents.

Turns out, there is lots to see down the road.

First stop, Stanley brought us to the nearby Mei Ling Street Market where we would have a first-hand taste of brunch there.

As we sat before our spread of char bee hoon, fish ball noodles and black char tow kway, Stanley clasped his hands and said: "These are what I'll eat with my furture handsome husband when we wake up on Sundays after a rough night of sex on Thursday."

Carl, who has already put a fish ball in his mouth, counted with his non-chopstick holding hand, and with a sudden realisation of horror, slowly pulled out the fish ball and closed his eyes to compose himself.

After the cheap and good brunch, Stanley the Scout brought us on another adventure.

"This is the lush, green trail that I'll sometimes take evening strolls on," Stanley said with his arms spread wide as if to introduce us to the Amazon Forest.

"Over there, that's Queenstown MRT station. And over here," Stanley pauses for effect, "is the quarters of the elite police force."

Carl perked up at the revelation, his swollen biceps throbbing to life.

Carl is always fascinated by policemen.

As kids, one might say when I grow up I want to be a policeman. 

For Carl, it's when I grow up I want to do a policeman.

Carl especially likes the beefy ones who look like they can lift five burglars with one arm but have trouble chasing after one because of their bulky frame.

Carl stood near the fence of the quarters and began constructing a love story involving a very strong abang polis.

Wanting to be encouraging, Stanley stood beside Carl and put his hand on our dense friend's shoulders.

"Some day, my friend," Stanley said to Carl, "you will have a beefy policeman stopping you and asking you to blow his stick."

Carl's eyes lit up with hope.

"But let's hope you'll never be caught for drink driving." 

It was soon time for Carl to say goodbye to his short-lived romance and he reluctantly parted ways with the police quarters because Stanley our tour guide is rushing us already.

Next stop, the green corridor.

A stone's throw from Stanley's block is the beautifully revamped railway track that, in one direction takes us to Tanjong Pagar and the other, towards Rail Mall, near Stanley's and my family home.

Stanley even went to the extent of introducing us the neighbourhood cat, a grey and white tabby, who stirred awake from his noon nap, glared at his intruders, then proceeded to stretch and yawn.

By 1pm, all three of us felt the need to join the cat from all the exhaustion but no, Stanley has plans.

We were to move on to Ikea to source for furniture.

Carl licked his lips instinctively thinking of the famed meatballs there.

"There'll be so much to do from now on - there's no time to waste. I'm putting dating and one-night-stands on hold for now," said Stanley switching from sex bunny to energiser bunny mode.

"What do you think of this sofa? What do you think of this bed? What do you think of - wait, where's Carl? Did he sneak off to the restaurant?!"

Indeed, there's lots for Stanley to do, but there's only that much that can be done in one day.

By 4pm, Carl, who can lift weights for 3 hours and not complain, looked like he was about to crumble.

His human spirit and endurance have been put to the test.

"I will give you any top, official secret you seek - please either release me or finish me off," Carl begged.

Stanley the new home owner smiled.

"Yes, darling. I do seek some of the things you mentioned: Top, official, and especially releasing and finishing off".

"But let's be patient shall we? I don't have a place. Yet."

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

Child's Play

This time last year, I was travelling in a more rural part of Myanmar when I spotted a group of village kids at play.

It was fun in its most engaging, most raw forms - no sophisticated toys nor hand phone app games.

Stanley my sex bunny friend often agrees that fun in its most engaging - and especially raw forms - would be exceptional even if there are no sophisticated toys involved.

But today's topic is honestly wholesome.

Nothing of the Stanley's type of sexual nonsense.

The kids - ranging from five (I think) to as old as 13 (I think), were running around with sticks and tree branches, pretending they're machine guns.

It's a refreshing sight, to see such unadulterated play among kids.

I cannot ever recall seeing any kid in Singapore (my godson included), playing without expensive, sophisticated toys or without the aid of mobile apps.

Singapore is a society that breeds successful children who would be engaged in either designer play or intellectual games. There's no room for letting children's imaginations run wild and have them pretend to be astronauts using make shift spaceships made out of card boxes.

No. Not when we are so wealthy and can shower our kids with these toys.

Perhaps, kids today won't know what they're missing if they haven't grown up in the 80s like my siblings and me.

Of course, we did grow up with Nintendoes and the Brick Game, and later on the Play Station.

But when we were much younger, we had very little toys.

While our mum believed in showering us with toys, granny strongly objected to it, saying it's a waste of money.

So when we were toy-deprived, my siblings and I would make up games to play - which proved to be some of our happiest childhood memories.

Thanks to granny's addiction to TVB drama serials, much of our childhood games were inspired by the period dramas that involved sword-wielding heroes who could fly from tree to tree with ease.

I remember fashioning a sword out of a long ruler - pasting one end of the stationery with paper (which would be my sword handle) and making a sheath out of newspapers for my Heavenly Sabre.

My elder sister's choice of weapon was a deadly Chinese fan which she claims can slice a person's throat and kill him in under two minutes.

My sister was that dark and detailed.

Younger brother Barry chose a whip as his offensive weapon, made out of rubber bands plaided together with the help of our mum.

Our play time would often be before dinner, when our mum allowed us to run around the front and backyard of our house, working up an appetite for dinner.

Our pugilistic games would often revolve around one of us battling for the title of the Formidable One.

Very often, it would be a team effort - usually my whip wielding brother and I would combine forces to attack our fan slicing sister.

My sister would, however, be the one calling the shots, deciding if a particular blow my brother or I gave her was lethal or strong enough to injure her, which, as you can guess, was never the case. She was always somehow immune to our attacks.

She on the other hand, decided that her fan moves could injure me or my brother and she always ended up being the Formidable One.

My brother and I would be left with no choice but to heal each other with our inner strength, which often involves one of us pushing his palms against the injured party's back, causing him to fake-vomit blood to recover from sis' fan slices.

And then there were peaceful, non-battling days.

I would play dress up with my sis, helping ourselves to mum's collection of jewellery especially her many clip-on earrings.

Sis would always take pride in decking me up, pleased to have transformed me into the little sister she never had.

Meanwhile, Barry, who would run away the moment sis tries to dress him up, would end up playing the role of the male servant to his two princesses.

Those were such happy memories that I messaged my siblings in our group chat, asking if they remembered those precious days.

Of course, sis remembers but denies ever using her authority to bully us into making herself the Formidable Fighter.

Barry has no recollection of having two older sisters but recalls being healed by me after sis's fan attack.

That day, I spent the entire day reliving my happy childhood games, wishing we never had to grow up.

Stanley my sex bunny friend does not have such happy child-play memories with his sister Cindy Ong whom Stanley hates with a passion.

"She never shares her barbie dolls with me," Stanley said to me. "So one day, when she was in school, I took one of her dolls and cut her hair, thinking it's okay because hair would grow after all."

Stanley was in Sec One when he did that.

"Why are you asking?" Stanley said, unable to believe that I'm running out of more exciting topics to write about that I had to resort to writing childhood games.

"If you lack inspiration, all you have to do is ask," Stanley said.

"I have a hell lot of childhood game stories I can tell you about, which would leave your readers lusting for more," Stanley the Slut offered.

"And trust me, like you, I fashion toys but instead of using them to attack, I use them for pure enjoyment."

God bless Stanley and his scarred childhood.

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