Sensitive Topics

My recent visit back to Singapore coincided with my best girl friend Nisa's surgery.

She had put it very classily.

"It's a procedure that involves handling an abscess in sensitive areas," she explains.

But the simple procedure called for Nisa to be warded for at least one night at KK Women's and Children's Hospital.

That also meant peer support was needed, and I was quick to activate the troop.

By the time Stanley my sex bunny friend responded, I was already busy coordinating ward visits, passing on preliminary info about Nisa's condition and zooming in on a time to see her among our large network of common friends.

But I was distinctly aware that during my text exchanges with Stanley, the word "pussy" had been used multiple times, one such occasion related directly to Nisa's medical condition and another was used to describe the genre of the hospital.

It was soon ward visit day, and I found myself, straight best friend Terry and Stanley to be the earliest visitors.

Nisa had opted to be in a six-bed ward where she felt more comforted amidst people.

When we arrived, Nisa was in deep sleep, like someone had spiked her long island tea but went overboard with the dose.

Stanley looked around the hospital, disappointed by Nisa's fellow patients.

"Welcome to pussy paradise," he whispered distastefully, using the term so much that he's singlehandedly placed it at the top of the most-used-words chart, an effort that would surely result in the word trending in our social circle for the next couple of days.

Just then, a heavyset matron of a nurse ambled passed us to dispense medicine to bed 20, a scrawny woman who looks too happy to be in a hospital.

Bed 20 is a scrawny Chinese woman who is always getting anyone who walks past her to take wefies with her.

"Whatever she's having, I want some of those," Stanley says quietly to me, before smiling sunnily under his mask at Bed 20 who was waving at Stanley.

Terry made himself comfortable on a chair beside Nisa, careful not to wake the recuperating woman of Bed 25.

"Do you think I'll ever find men in the vicinity if I open up my grindr app?" Stanley asks me, looking really bored.

Then he turns his attention to Nisa and thinks out loud.

"I wonder how big the abscess was on Nisa's pu -"

Just then, with precise timing that only God can arrange and mercifully intervene, Nisa stirred to consciousness.

"She's alive!" Stanley says, rejoicing.

Bed 20 responds naturally with a yelp of "yay".

Nisa reacted by grunting and rubbing her eyes.

She took 15 seconds to regain her composure, then smiled at us who have by then circled her bed.

"First things first," Stanley says.

"On a scale of 1 to 10, how bad does it hurt?"

Turns out, Nisa - who has a high threshold for pain and pain-in-the-asses - rates her situation at 8.

Stanley winces and instinctively crossed his legs tightly like he needed to pee.

"But it's better now," Nisa says, adding "they injected strong antibiotics into my body so I'm maybe at a 3 now?"

Never one to miss an opportunity, Stanley quips: "If it were to me, I'll be happy to receive both the insertive and oral treatments, but whatever rocks your boat girl."

Nisa, who is too tired to entertain Stanley, smiles weakly at my sex bunny friend.

I couldn't tell whether she was wishing away her pain or Stanley.

But one thing is for sure.

The pain that had been bothering Nisa for months is definitely gone.

Sliced, drained, and stitched up.

The abscess, says Nisa, had been building up due to stress and it reached a point when she could no longer move around and so had to have it removed.

Nisa's mum, who is a retired doctor, had set her up with a skillful surgeon at KK Hospital to have the surgery done.

Never one to miss an opportunity, Stanley quips: "Can Dr Tan fix me up with a doctor who would be investigating my privates too please?"

Nisa looked up and summoned the last dregs of her energy and replied: "Yes, my mum knows many STD specialists."

Everyone - including Bed 20 - laughed except Stanley who looked deflated.

That morning, the group of us spent hours talking to Nisa, and reminding one another the importance of good health.

After age 40, we should all be mindful that hospitalisation would be a part of our lives moving forward.

The depressing topic made the group very quiet for a while.

Leave it to Stanley, the martyr who chose to break the silence.

"You know, Nisa, you'll have to refrain from touching yourself down there in the next few days. In fact, you'll have to leave your sensitive bits alone for a while."

From the corner of my eyes, I saw Bed 20 lean in for a better listen.

"Although if I were you, I would probably die from not being able to touch myself down there," Stanley says.

Nisa looks at Bed 20 who is giggling quietly to herself, then to Stanley who has moved on to swiping his phone for potential hookups, and finally to me and Terry.

"Save me," she mouthed the words, then sank her head deep into her pillow.

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

Single Belle, Single All The Way

I recently had a good chat with Claudia, my feisty go-getter Singaporean friend who's also based in Myanmar like me.

And like me, we're both back in Singapore because of the recent political events there.

Two years ago, we met in a party in Yangon and we both hit it off.

Soon, our friendship blossomed.

Our typical Saturday includes a serious swim session before we head out for lunch with other friends.

"Anything clean and long always gets me very excited," Claudia tells me the other day after a long and hard swim.

"And I"m not just referring to pools."

God works in mysterious ways, and somehow, even in Myanmar, I have found Stanley my sex bunny friend.

Claudia, who's only a few years younger than I, is both a straight man's fantasy and nightmare at the same time.

She's svelte and curvy from all the workouts she puts herself through (HIIT and kickboxing one day, running another, then swimming on weekends), and is of course a bright mind.

But that makes her terribly intimidating because she is so smart, she puts a lot of egoistic men in their place.

But once in a while Claudia, doesn't mind those egoistic men putting it in her place. 

Claudia believes in both short- and long-term romance.

Here is a woman who is not shy with her body - and her feelings.

"I do want a relationship - something romantic, something warm and fuzzy. I'll be honest. All girls want that," Claudia tells me one morning as we both lay on the pool deck, both of us spent from doing continuous laps.

"But I'm not going to be like most girls, hoping and planning for such romance which is totally beyond the control of just one party, you know."

"So I'm happy to be that self-contented single girl who has both the open mind of dating and sleeping around, while also ready to mingle."

I didn't dare ask Claudia what she meant by self-contented but I somewhat have an idea.

Claudia's words resounded with me - not that I'm also single.

But I imagine I'd be like Claudia if I were single: Someone who embraces singlehood and not see it as some sort of unsavoury status tag.

Later that week, I revisited the topic of singlehood.

It got me thinking.

Are the mindsets of gays and gals - and even straight guys - different when dealing with singlehood?

Apart from biological differences which puts a timeline on a woman's hatching eggs, are we that different when we view singlehood?

Claudia's frank thoughts were refreshing because she embraces both casual sex and long-term romance, whichever comes her way first.

Yet, she's careful to sit firmly on the fence in the meantime, careful to not lean either way lest she starts favouring one aspect more.

And I think her values - if they can be called so - should be universal to all singles, gay or gals or guys.

I have single gay friends who, while are very open to casual sex (some, a bit too wide open), are also constantly, constantly yearning for romance.

The type who hopes that every One Night Stand encounter can lead to long-term romance. The type who visits a sauna, gets laid, and then wants to have children with that man.

I'm not saying that's a bad thing.

But many of such friends forget to enjoy the moment for what it is: Just enjoy the ONS as it truly is, don't delude yourself into treating it as something else, and then move on.

'Cos the moment we mis-categorise something - such as thinking an ONS partner can actually become our Prince Charming - then we risk fitting our emotions into the wrong box too, and more often than not, it would mean feeling hurt when what we could have felt was bliss.

Recognising this is one thing.

Putting this in practice is another.

And I have yet to come across another Claudia.

Carl my dense friend for instance, is constantly looking for his next long-term romance since he broke up with his long-time partner Ah Boy years ago.

Since then, he's not keen on casual sex, dating only because he constantly, constantly wants to feel belonged. Wants to feel attached. Wants to feel wanted.

And in the process, Carl has stopped enjoying the benefits of singlehood.

He can flirt with anyone in the gym and get away with it, but he doesn't.

He can choose to go shopping - or travelling - alone, spend time with himself and enjoy some quiet peace, but he doesn't.

He can decide to do something major in his life like quit his job and join the circus (in Carl's case, he's more likely to join the gym full time), or get a disastrous tattoo without his partner objecting, but he doesn't.

Stanley my sex bunny friend is on the other extreme end.

He no longer believes in long-term romance.

After searching for that elusive man all his life, Stanley decided that he's not going to waste time shopping in the wrong department.

So these days he shops online (mainly Grindr and Tinder) and he gets what he wants with instant gratification.

Fuck, chuck, fuck, chuck - move aside guys, Stanley is on a roll. Don't get in the way!

In the straight world, I have best girl friend Nisa who doesn't date casually, but doesn't go all out to find her future husband, yet, bears some hope that if he comes, he will come.

Stanley would often chide Nisa saying that a man will not just come. "You'll have to do something to his sensitive bits for him to come, girl. And it's hard work - they don't call it a hand job and blow job for nothing."

On the other hand, I have straight friends who cannot stand singlehood and successfully shed off that tag, only to land themselves in another shithole.

A handful of girls I know, who upon reaching the eggs-is-hatching stage of their lives, settle for the first man that comes along.

Their husbands are often not the type of men they had previously imagined them to be.

You can tell that it's a mismatch, but who am I to judge?

They seem happy.

I also have a handful of guy friends who have great hearts and are kind souls but aren't exactly god's gift to women.

They too, don't want to be single, so they ventured out to as far as China and Vietnam to get a wife.

They too, seem happy.

Again, I shouldn't judge.

I'm merely pointing out that some of us have very different mindsets when it comes to dealing with singlehood.

Some hate it but live grumpily with it. Some embrace it. Some are okay with it but want to get rid of it as soon as possible like it's an annoying zit.

And then there is Claudia, doing that fine balancing act of enjoying whatever comes her way - guiltlessly.

If I were single, I wonder what type of single I might be.

I'm actually quite afraid to find out.

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

Secret Recipe

The secret to a man's heart is through his stomach.

We've all heard this evergreen line about how a lovely homecooked meal can make your man fall in love with you.

Cooking for your loved ones can bring happiness.

Since my return to Singapore recently, I have had way too many gatherings.

I also began jotting down family recipes so that I can recreate them myself.

And as I compile those recipes, I unwittingly went on a journey of rediscovery of what those dishes meant to me, why I had fallen in love with them, and how I hope can be passed down and shared with my loved ones.

Here are some.

Stewed mushroom and chicken feet

• Soak mushrooms overnight till they're soft
• Stir fry soaked mushrooms the next day (do this till you smell the fragrance of mushrooms) 
• Transfer mushrooms into large pot, fill it up with water 
• Add dried mussels, whole garlic cloves, ginger slices to pot of boiling water 
• Add oyster sauce, soy sauce, sugar to pot of water to taste
• Boil pot over three days on small fire (turn off stove when sleeping, repeat process next day)
• On third day, prepare chicken feet
• Deep fry chicken feet, then soak in cold water until their skin expands
• Put in chicken feet to big pot and boil for next two hours
  

Memory behind dish:

This has been a traditional dish for my family every Chinese New Year (read it here). It's also sort of a thankless dish I had learnt to appreciate because nobody bothered asking my mum just how tedious it is to make it, and we expect it to be served annually. One year, my mum added sea cucumber to the mix, not realising that it made it very bitter. My siblings and I exchanged glances nervously and stifled our collective giggles although our mum pretended she didn't see us. Since then, the sea cucumber (which never made a comeback to the dish) became a yearly CNY joke among us.

Sweet and sour pork 

• Loosen pork pieces with back of chopper (buy pork shoulder)
• Marinate pork pieces with soy sauce, pepper - keep overnight 
• Beat egg, pour over marinated meat
• Coat pork pieces with corn powder before deep frying them till golden brown
• For sauce, add sliced onion, fresh pineapples, tomatoes to ketchup - fry till it boils
• Add sugar to taste 

Memory behind dish:

This is apparently a recipe passed down by my grandmother - and one which is mastered to perfection by my aunt. My brother Barry loves this dish and without fail, every time we go to our aunt's place for dinner, he would ask for this dish. It became very apparent that I miss my brother while he was away in the UK for his studies because every time we ate at our aunt's place, I would snap a photo of the dish for him. 

Dow Gok Lap (literally French bean pieces in Cantonese)

• Chop up dried bean curd, French beans, char siew, pickled vegetables, peanuts, lap cheong
• Stir fry each item individually in wok 
• Once done, put all items in wok for a final stir fry, add salt to taste

Memory behind dish:

This is my sister's favourite dish and apparently a traditional recipe that's common in Cantonese households. I remember my grandmother's version: Her dow gok lap pieces were huge and very crunchy. Back then, all of us - the families of my married uncles, aunties and my own family - had lived together in two double-storey shophouses along Ann Siang Hill so meal times were very noisy affairs. The adults would gather and talk very loudly (my partner J keeps insisting Cantonese people are very loud) and the kids would be free to run around the backyard behind granny's kitchen, while waiting to eat.

Steamed pork with 'dong choy'

• Mince half lean, half fat pork 
• Add in dong choy (preserved mustard greens)
• Add soy sauce, corn starch, sesame oil, mix them till moist (add water so that meat is soft)
• Steam dish for 10 minutes over big fire

Memory behind dish:

This is my favourite Cantonese food. as a kid. When I was in primary school, I was in the swim team - which meant two training sessions a week. Because I was in the morning session, I would often rush to my aunt's home to have a quick lunch before training. My aunt would whip up this dish because it's easy to make, and as I realised, very yummy too. Mixed with rice, the salty, tangy flavour made for a quick gobble-up meal. To this day, when I hit the swimming pool, I would think of this pre-swim meal. 

Ayam masak merah (red paste chicken)

• Fry ground onion, tomato paste, chili powder till brown 
• Add chicken pieces to wok
• Add fresh tomatoes 
• Add sugar to taste

Memory behind dish:

This is the simplest dish that I can master, imparted to me by my godma, who is a family friend. My Eurasian godma is a great cook - but her dishes are all so complicated to make (her other god child learnt to make 'feng', a Eurasian curry that's made up of chopped liver). I had grown up eating and laughing in my godparents' cosy home as a child during school holidays. I remember drinking hot milo before bed (made by my godpa), and waking up to a sandwich breakfast made with toasted French loaf, an omelette, stir fried onions with fresh ketchup (made by my godpa). He would make that sandwich before Sunday mass. By lunch, we would be back for a simple meal, and ayam masak merah with steaming hot rice was one of those. 

Nonya chap chye

• Soak tau hu kee (dried bean curd strips), kim chiam (dried lily buds - tie them in knots), mushrooms, glass noodles, black fungus 
• Fry garlic till brown, put in tau hu kee, add oyster sauce 
• Put in kim chiam, mushroom, cabbage, black fungus
• Add in glass noodles 
• Add water and salt to taste

Memory behind dish:

This is the recipe of my partner J's mum, who is a typical Peranakan bibik who is talented in cooking. Though she also makes very good babi pongteh and ayam buah keluark, I remember distinctly her chap chye dish because this was the very first thing I ate when I first met her in 2003. It was J and my first Chinese New Year as a couple, and he had just bought his own place back then with his savings. So that year, it was CNY and housewarming in one. His mum had flown in to Singapore for the occasion and hosted J's friends by cooking up a Peranakan feast. Today, I'm no longer the shy partner of J. For every gathering among J's immediate or extended family, I would be included. And if J's mum makes this chap chye for me, I would always have third and fourth helpings. 

There are, of course, many other recipes I'd collected - some from friends, some from friends' helpers - but these are some of my favourite ones.

As I type this entry, I am cross-checking all the Chinese terms with Nisa, who is an encyclopaedia of food glossary as well as one of Singapore's few trusted translators. 

I had been urging her to master more of her mum's cooking, after tasting Nisa's ayam buah keluark, which she cooked for my farewell party before I was posted overseas.

When I shared my thoughts with Stanley my sex bunny friend, he scoffed.

"The way to a man's heart is not through the stomach, my dear," he said.

"It's through another part of the body. Trust me - I've been there, done that."

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

The Importance Of Holidays

Most of my friends have in the past year, whined about not being able to travel.

And yesterday's travel ban by Hong Kong made things worse.

Most of my friends miss eating catered food on the plane very badly, and even go as far as to say they miss having their ears blocked upon landing. 

I am unlike most of my friends: I actually love being grounded.

I am what a friend in the travel industry describes as a reluctant traveller who flies around only because I have no choice. 

Stanley my sex bunny friend is the exact opposite. 

Reluctance is firstly not found in Stanley's dictionary especially when it comes to "flying around".

My idea of a holiday is being cooped up in a resort, switch between reading a good book and watching Netflix in bed, and once in a while, stretch my legs and sit at the balcony sipping coffee.

Stanley can accept my kind of holiday if there are certain modifications. 

He's more than happy to be cooped up in a resort but the kind of activities he'd do in bed wouldn't quite involve Netflix or a book. And trust me, the very type of leg stretching he'd do would differ from mine too. 

The topic of travelling is bubbling in our group chat recently especially since Singapore has been on its on-again, off-again bubble travel with various countries and cities.

I can imagine Stanley starting to do various leg stretches to warm up to the theme of borders reopening. Stanley the sex bunny is always excited by the opening of any sort of borders.

Watch out, boys. Papa Stanley is getting ready to prowl. 

Stanley's favourite part of the holiday, he says, is not the actual holiday.

This throws our dense friend Carl off balance, who cannot begin to grasp the meaning of that sentence. 

"Why are you talking like the Dailai Lama, Stan?" asks Carl the gym rabbit, whose favourite part of holidaying is helping old aunties put their luggage in the overhead compartments. 

"The actual holidaying is fun," Stanley says though I dare not ask him what fun means. 

"But holidaying is like a one night stand. The actual sex is one thing. The anticipation, the foreplay, the after-sex exhaustion is something I enjoy more than the sex itself".

Carl, who is lost amid the twists and turns of the plot, decided to fade into the background. 

But I do get Stanley's point.  

The entire travelling experience comes in a big package, and I can appreciate that Stanley loves those big packages. 

For me, well, I enjoy fastening my seat belt and drawing up my window shades only when I'm travelling with J because I have him to myself. 

Our first trip as a young couple was to the nearby Genting Highlands.

Back then, we were in our early twenties and weren't exactly Crazy Rich Asians, so we opted for an affordable holiday.

We took an 11-hour coach ride from Golden Mile Complex, and I remember sleeping on J's shoulders in the dark, air conditioned coach, feeling the synthetic rubbery touch of his blue windbreaker on my cheek.

There were many happy moments in that Genting Highland trip captured by glossy Kodak-printed photographs.

We were one year into our relationship when we took that vacation in 2003 and that was also the year I learnt that J had a fear of heights. 

We were halfway into our cable car ride when I felt J's hands sweat: He didn't want his fear of heights come in the way of my excitement so he suffered in silence. 

Stanley later said anyone who dared to ride me would break out in cold sweat and fear too. 

I remember getting J a cup of hot chocolate after the ride to help him calm his nerves. 

It was a memorable day. The taste of the sweet hot chocolate amid the cold Genting air and knowing that J had wanted to make me happy. It felt warm and fuzzy.

A year later, J and I went further. 

We were in Chiang Mai where I again was impressed by him.

J was great with topography -- he could read maps a lot better than I, and he had led us around in an unfamiliar city. 

Stanley said that was no big deal, given that in NS, Stanley was one of the best map readers. And he's also great with pornography and can take the lead in exploring unfamiliar territories.

During our 2004 trip to Chiang Mai, J and I fell in love with each other all over again. 

The two of us had fallen ill from street food and during that trip, we had taken care of each other, making sure the other party felt better.

J later said that Chiang Mai would always have a special place in his heart because it reminded him of our first crisis, and how we both were capable of loving and taking care of one another. 

Throughout our near 20 years, J and I had taken many memorable trips together and each one had its own meaning. 

Like how some housewives would return from each trip with a fridge magnet, J and I would come back from each of our holidays with a special moment that marked another milestone in our relationship. 

But with friends, I am not that accommodating.

I find all sorts of excuses to turn down travelling with friends. 

I'm too old to explore caves and white water rafting. I'm too old to shop till I drop. I'm too old to try out new food places, whether they're in high society circles or in the far flungs of some dark smelly alley. 

But once in a while, magic happens. 

Four years ago, one of our university classmates Ming decided to tie the knot Down Under. 

Stanley, who is always excited by developments down under, spurred me to go. 

And so, I dropped work momentarily and said I Do to Ming who invited me, our other classmate Sa Sa and her husband B whom we also met in university. 

It was the most magical vacation because being the Type A vacationer she is, Sa Sa planned everything. All B and I had to do were literally to just show up with our passports and go with the flow. 

It turned out to be one of my happiest vacations with friends.

It came at a time when I was nearing the peak of my career and needed a break from working non stop. 

The same was for B, who, like me, is serious about making our piggy banks swell. 

The week-long trip was unforgettable. 

For me, it was a combination of various things: Spending quality time with the most important people in my uni life, and taking a break from the stress I was then going though. 

Despite being well travelled at that age, there were many magical moments waiting to be felt.

During that trip, Sa Sa checked us into a huge house right in front of the Great Ocean Road. 

We had one of the best and longest dinners facing the beautiful view.

Sa Sa had whipped up steaks, and set the fresh oysters we bought from the local market on our huge dining table. 

That evening, we feasted, chatted and drank way too many bottles of wine. 

When we were finally satisfied from watching Act I of Mother Nature's dramatic crashing waves performance at the dining room, we retreated to the living area where we watched Act II: The dance of the hypnotic flames of our fireplace. 

It was winter when we visited, and like excited kids, B and I took turns to chop up chunks of wood to feed the hungry fire, which in turn licked our plump pink marshmallows into perfect, brown melty crisps. 

When night time fell and Sa Sa and B retreated to their warm nest, I stepped out to the balcony to feel nature.

The entire plot of land we were on was shrouded in absolute darkness. The winter air was cold and biting. I could feel the howls of the wind and hear the sounds of the waves crashing unto the shore. But I could see none of those elements. While I had intended to watch the stars, I felt being watched instead -- an intruder who dared venture into the mysterious dark side of nature.

It wasn't exactly a pleasant feeling. It was creepy but in a way, memorable. 

When I related this experience to J, he immediately knew what I meant. Stanley too, said certain creepy experiences can be sexy. 

Regardless, as we revisit the topic of travelling, I once again find myself a reluctant traveller -- this time, even more so.

I do value the importance of holidays -- if not with our loved ones, then on our own, just for sanity. 

I'm also all for not being overly paranoid during this period.

But there surely must be a clear line between rushing out to enjoy ourselves, and safeguarding our health against this virus. 

Complacency or false hopes of a vaccine shouldn't be our passports to our next destination. 

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

Back To Square One

My entry today will be a short one.

I know, I know.

I can already hear my sex bunny friend Stanley's voice in my head.

Any entry that isn't at least seven inches long needs to be reassessed. Unless they're thick as coke cans (I can quote Stanley independently because he did say those words at some point of our friendship and when you hear words like that, it scars you and therefore stays with you).  

I haven't been able to write in the last few weeks because I was in a very bad place: Literally and emotionally. 

I am not exaggerating when I say my life had recently been a roller coaster ride. 

Again, Stanley my sex bunny friend had often associated his life with roller coaster rides: The highs, the sudden slumps, the adrenaline, the rush, the enjoyable humps and bumps.

Except that in Stanley's case, it's a good roller coaster ride -- ride being the operative word which also depends on the man of the day.

For me, it was a bad roller coaster ride.

Readers who follow my blog would likely know I had been posted to Myanmar for work.

Which explains the bad place. 

But fret not. 

I am now writing this in Singapore -- safe and secure Singapore.

I am in no position to comment on the situation in Myanmar which was -- and hopefully is -- my second home in recent years.

But I will say this.

I left the country with a heavy heart.

Not long after the military coup, the management of my company who earns a lot more than I do and does a lot less than I do, decided that they would take a wait-and-see approach with regard to my posting.

The last straw came when the Myanmar army fired into crowds and killed civilians. 

In early March, Singapore issued a statement, asking Singaporeans to consider returning. 

My company, despite its strong presence in Myanmar, decided to extract me and take the cue from the government.

The following days were a whirlwind experience: Packing up, doing paper work, handing over projects at hand to my local staff, tying up loose ends, saying goodbye.

Most importantly, I still had a job -- my company, despite recalling me back to HQ, continued to have big plans for me so job wise, I'm still okay. 

I don't want to go into detail the stress I went through because doing that would revisit the heavy emotions I felt not too long ago.

Instead, I shall focus on the now.

The now, where I'm typing this blog post with a cup of espresso (courtesy of Nisa my best girlfriend who recently popped by with my favourite coffee brand).

The now, where I just had a nice, warm meal (sayur lodeh, laksa prawn with brown rice and red wine -- all home cooked by me because when I'm stressed and need to relax, I wear an apron).

The now, where, after completing my mandatory two-week hotel quarantine, I'm able to meet my loved ones for warm hugs.

One of the first few people I met were of course my family.

My mum, the usually cool Mrs Lee, revealed she was worried sick and was so glad I finally came back. 

In fact, I was back just in time to celebrate her birthday and I guess I was her best birthday gift. 

My siblings, who are both usually quietly supportive, revealed how relieved they were: Not only because I was back, but because they could finally stop pretending to be not worried for me when they sometimes get icy hands every time they get news that someone dies in Myanmar.

"Now that you're back, I can finally stop reading the news," said my sis, who isn't a big fan of news and current affairs. 

Meanwhile, the actual fan of news and current affairs -- affairs being the key word here -- rejoices that I'm back in one piece.

"I never thought I'd one day say this but hugging you had never been more comforting," Stanley said the other day.

"And I take back my words that it's my wet dream fantasy to see a soldier in uniform shoot," he added, unable to help himself. 

Carl my dense friend was also unable to help himself.

"I don't know exactly what's happening in Myanmar but I am also glad you're back," said Carl who, if ever he gets the memo or gets something right, would mean he's reaching the end of his lifespan, the way very weak cancer patients would suddenly perk up and beam exuberant energy with full awareness just days before they actually die. 

J my partner had no words for me when he saw me the first time I was out of quarantine.

His usual quiet demeanor said it all: His eyes. 

Like my siblings, J, the love of my life for the past 20 years, is the pillar of my life.

He had always been encouraging but shortly after I came back to Singapore, he looked me in the eye, held my hand, and said "Don't leave."

I don't know about my future where my career is concerned, but at least for now, I'm here.

Safe, happy, and recovering from an emotional roller coaster ride. 

I will start writing weekly again. 

 

 

 

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

-- Temporary Disruption --

Dear reader,

Adam And The Boys will be back soon.

I'm sorry for not posting anything last Saturday.

Yours truly,

Adam

Bought The House Down

It's official. 

Stanley has formally bought his four-room HDB flat -- his dream house. 

And it's the saucy, steamy kind of dream that occurs at night, Stanley said added.

My sex bunny friend, who had first set sights on the Queen Close apartment, has also promptly appointed a (cute) interior designer and readily accepted his proposal. 

"It's a dream come true. I've always wanted a cute man to have designs on my interior and subsequently make proposals to me about it," Stanley went on. 

"All that's left to do now is to rob a bank and pay him. And not a sperm bank, though that would be a very fun and fruitful trip."

Carl scrunched up his nose and put down the greek yoghurt he's about to put in his mouth.

We were having an urgent video call that morning in honour of Stanley's purchases. 

The total cost of Stanley's damage was $450,000 for the unit, an estimated $80,000 for an overhaul of the retro-looking apartment and a further $80,000 for furniture and white goods.

"At this rate, not only do I have to rob a bank I'll also have to sell backside," Stanley stated plainly.

Carl choked on his greek yoghurt, spluttering white morsels all over his phone.

"WOW, Stan, WOW," Carl said, recovering from his coughing fit. 

Stanley dismissed Carl's surprise, reminding us that he had impressed some one so much that it results in the person choking, gagging and eventually spilling white droplets all over the place. 

"But it's worth all the money," said Stanley who had been saving his money like a motherly chipmunk right before winter. 

And since money wasn't an issue here, Stanley went all out. 

I'm glad I have some family jewels that I can finally put to good use, and with that, Stanley spread open and let us inspect what he meant.

From the shared Zoom screen, we saw a printed copy of the cute designer's rough layout drawing but neither Carl nor I could make sense of it.

Especially so for Carl the dense one.

To help us along, Stanley then showed us the 3-D image produced by his (cute) designer. 

"I had always hoped that I would be impressed and wowed by photos shared by this cute designer, and I should have been more explicit," Stanley said as he moused the drawing part by part. 

This time we were impressed. 

If the designer's idea is anything to go by, Stanley would live in a spacious bachelor's pad that has an expensive touch. 

The designer would break down walls and reconfigure the space of Stanley's place. 

So going by that concept, Stanley would have a large area to host big (dinner) parties. And when his guests are ready to adjourn to dessert, they can do so by his window ledge which faces the lush view of the charming Queenstown estate. 

When guests are ready for digestifs or more alcohol, there's the lounge area where Stanley's expensive sofa and beanbags can maximum comfort to his friends who would by then, no doubt, be full to the point of explosion. 

And for those whom Stanley so chooses to explore any further types of explosions, he (or they) could venture into his large bedroom for round two of (non-dinner) parties. 

There are romantic lighting options to choose from but by that point, nobody would care. 

The bed, as Stanley had previously mentioned before, would be queen sized and be fitted with expensive tencel bed sheets. 

The next morning, Stanley's chosen overnight guest(s) can shower in his oversized toilet (that can host even more non-dinner type parties if he wants to) and then dress up in his walk-in closet.

If Stanley so desires, he can have morning coffee with his overnight guest(s) by the balcony which overlooks a fitness corner. 

"I like it that you have my whole life planned out for me, Adam, but my house won't be no sex den," Stanley said with weak conviction in his voice. 

Carl, who at that time had finished licking his spoon, finally said "Oh, Stan, you bought the place! Congrats!"

Stanley rolled his eyes and said flatly. 

"If Adam's life were to be represented by films, his would be documentaries -- filled with useless information and boring like the bitch he is."

"Mine would of course be an artistic art film that no mothers would allow their children to watch."

"And Carl," Stanley said looking pointedly at our dense friend.

"Yours would a silent black-and-white film."

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