I know this sounds damn weird, and I will probably get roasted in the comments, but I just need to get this off my chest because I literally cannot tell a single soul in my real life. Not my friends, and definitely not my family.
So here’s the thing: I have this secret habit that has been going on for a while now. Every time it hits around 2 AM or 3 AM, and I am absolutely sure my wife and my son are completely dead to the world in our HDB flat, I will quietly slip out of bed. I’ll tiptoe to my wife’s side of the wardrobe and take out her favorite silk pink nightgown. Yes, you read that right. I’m a grown man, but I will put on her pink nightgown. Honestly, the material feels incredibly smooth and cooling in Singapore’s humid weather, but the feeling of the silk isn’t the main reason I do this.
The real kick comes from the absolute thrill of stepping out of the house. I will literally wear the pink gown, throw on a pair of standard kopitiam slippers, and take the lift down to the 24-hour 7-Eleven near my block.
Walking through the empty void deck is a massive adrenaline rush. My heart beats so fast, sia. I am constantly paranoid that some random neighbor coming back from a late-night shift or a random uncle smoking at the corner will spot me. But at the exact same time, that’s exactly what I want! Deep down, I want someone to catch a glimpse of me walking around the estate in a bright pink, silky ladies’ nightgown. It is so damn exciting to toe that line between staying hidden and being fully exposed.
When I walk into the 7-Eleven, the bright fluorescent lights hit me, and I just pretend everything is completely normal. Usually, I’ll just buy something small—maybe a bottle of Coke Zero or a random midnight snack to justify the trip. The cashier—usually some tired guy or auntie working the graveyard shift—will just stare at me blankly. They probably think I lost a crazy dare or I’m just siao, but they never say a word. They just scan my items, I tap my card, and I walk out. Having another human being perceive me in that exact moment, fully knowing what I’m wearing, gives me a rush I cannot even begin to explain.
Once the transaction is done, the reality starts to set back in. I’ll brisk walk back to my block, take the lift up, and quietly unlock the main door, holding my breath. The whole time, I’m praying my wife hasn’t woken up to use the toilet or check on the boy. If my family ever found out about my late-night 7-Eleven fashion shows, I think I would legit mampus and die of embarrassment. They would never look at me the same way again. I know it’s highly risky, and one day I might really get caught by someone who actually knows me, but the thrill is just too addictive to stop.
Am I the only one who does crazy, adrenaline-seeking things like this in the middle of the night just to feel something different?