Our Souvenirs

RJ clung to my leg, as if he knew I was leaving. I knelt down on the carpet to play with him one last time.

“Your dog has really gotten used to me being here,” I said out loud. I scratched behind his ears a little and sat back against the bedside. I felt warm and cozy here in this apartment.

I got up and went into the bathroom to spray myself down with some chocolate Axe. I came back out and took off my hoodie.

“Here,” I handed it to Ranier, who packed it away in his suitcase. “Take care of it. I better get it back in one piece.”

“Thanks. You got my shoes?”

“Yeah, thanks for the Jordans. I really like them.” Ranier gave me some Jordans that he bought in the eighth grade. They were size 11, while he was only size 8 at the time. He thought that he would eventually grow into them, but he never did. I eventually came along with my giant size 11 feet, so the shoes made the perfectly convenient gift.

“So I’ll see you in four weeks?” he asked.

“Yep. April 24th-ish. Have fun in New York this week. Get me something!”

“Haha, you know I will.”

I sighed. “I’ll miss you, Ray. We’ve had one hell of a week.”

We locked ourselves in a tight hug. I wrapped my arms around him and rested my chin on his shoulder.

“I’ll miss you, too. See you in four weeks. Drive safely back to Irvine tomorrow.”

I closed my eyes, trying to turn our last few seconds together into minutes, hours. This hug would have to last me another four weeks. I took long, deep breaths.



“BRIAN WAKE THE FUCK UP!”

“Shit!” I pulled the steering wheel—“I’m awake!”—and jerked myself back into my lane. My heart was racing. This was going to be a difficult drive. I was only fifteen minutes into the drive; San Francisco was another forty-five minutes away.

After Super Saturday, Trung and I went back to my place to eat some of my mom’s Pho, but we didn’t have time to nap. I had to get back behind the wheel so that I would get to San Francisco by 6. We ended up leaving at 5:30, so hopefully, Ranier’s Funksters practice would last a little extra longer and he wouldn’t be waiting for me for a while.

I arrived at the City Dance Studio at 6:20, and for once, it did not feel good to be back. I parked my car at the opposite end of the parking lot and called Ranier to tell him to come out. I watched him through my rear view mirror has he came running out in his shorts and a tank.

I would be standing outside, my back turned away, and then suddenly I’d feel him leap onto me. I’d turn around and he’d plant a kiss right on my lips, not caring about whoever’s parents waiting around in their cars. That was how it was when we were still together.

I got out of the car—it was a chilly day in San Francisco—and he slowed down as he approached me.

He greeted me with a smile. “Hey!”

“Hey.” I couldn’t quite force the same smile. There was something about Ranier that I didn’t expect. He had a lot of energy today, which was perfectly normal. I mean, he just had practice, just spent a whole day with his friends dancing. I guess I would’ve been happy too.

“Is that Trung in the car?”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you bring him? Are you guys finally back together?”

“No, what! The fuck?”

He laughed. “Just playin’.”

“Do you have my black hoodie?”

“Yeah, hold on.” He pulled it out of his duffel bag and handed it to me.

“Thanks. I uh, I brought your Jordans. Do you want them back?”

“No, they don’t fit me, remember?”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Keep them.”

“Ok, well,” I shrugged. “Business is done. I’ll see you around.” I lifted both my arms just as he held out his hand, and I almost walked my crotch into it. “Oh, sorry,” I said. “I was expecting a hug.”

“Oh, sure, let’s hug!” And so we did. It was kinda gross because I could feel the cold, sticky dried sweat all over his skin.

We said goodbye and I hopped back into my car. I chatted with Trung a little bit, and after a while, I decided that I did not drive all the way up to San Francisco just to get back a cheap fifteen-dollar Old Navy hoodie. I called Ranier out again and forced the Jordans into his hands. Trung also wanted to know how much it would cost to cross the Bay Bridge to get to UC Berkeley. I didn’t want to go because I thought it’d be five dollars (but really because I was fucking terrified of driving across the hella longass bridge), but Trung insisted that it’d be seventy-five cents. Ranier informed us that it was actually free. Any side of a bridge running away from San Francisco was free. Great.

We said bye once again, and I pulled out of the parking lot. Trung looked back at Ranier and the rest of the Funksters messing around in the parking lot.

“Oh my god, how cute! They’re playing tag, Brian! Raindeer and the Funksters are such adorable little kids.”

“Ray’s eighteen.”

“But he was only seventeen when you guys—”

“Why isn’t he fucking sad?”

“What?”

“Why is he so happy? He looked happy when he saw me.”

“You wanted him to be sad?”

“Well, yeah! I mean, I was sad when we broke up for hella days. I don’t even know if he was sad during those days at all. And today, I was also a little sad. But he’s just so fucking jittery today.”

“That’s because you were breaking up with a great boyfriend. He was breaking up with a huge fucking douchebag. And I thought you said you weren’t really sad?”

“Well, I felt empty. I didn’t really know how to feel for a few weeks. But then, just this past Tuesday, I decided to look through Ray’s...Ranier’s photobucket. I was just bored and wanted to see if he added any recent pictures; I still knew his password. But nope, the photos of us from Valentine’s Day weekend were still on the first page. And that’s when I finally realized it.”

“Realized what?”

“Maybe I was wrong,” I paused to take a breath and noticed that my emotions were starting to overwhelm me. “And maybe I’ve been wrong the last entire two years.”

Breakthrough

This past Friday, I drove back up to NorCal with Trung and Sang because Trung and I were going to help out with Breakthrough’s third and final Super Saturday of the school year. By the first Super Saturday, I had already decided that I wouldn’t be reapplying to Breakthrough for summer 2010, and at the end of the second Super Saturday, I decided that I probably wouldn’t do anymore Super Saturdays. But when the email about the third Super Saturday got sent out at the beginning of this month, I reconsidered and realized that this Super Saturday would be the last time I would ever see the students. Last time I would ever do anything with Breakthrough. I had to go.

And I had to teach a workshop. At the past two workshops, teachers, including Trung, designed lesson plans and taught workshops, and the kids usually enjoyed them. For my last Super Saturday, I didn’t want to be another teacher’s helper, so I volunteered to run a workshop. The theme for this Super Saturday being teambuilding, I decided to put my old boxes of Legos in the closet back at home to some use.

I’m not allowed to post images of my kids online, so most of these photos revolve around me or the teachers, and if there are photos with kids, their faces are censored. I got the censor images here: http://www.clker.com/profile-1068.html


Back at home in NorCal, staying up late the night before prepping my Legos. I got less than four hours of sleep that night. I spy a DDR pad.


For one of the activities, the students broke into groups of three or four. One from each team, the architect, referred to a model and then instructed the builders on how to build the same model. There were a few conditions: Only the architect got to see the model; the architect did not get to look at their team’s progress; the builders were not allowed to talk to their architect or ask questions.

The model I made was a simplified version of a Lego adaptation of my favorite Pokemon, something I (well, more like my brother) made back in the good old days of the first 151 Pokemon. Can you guess which Pokemon it was? (The original model is in the upper left hand corner of this picture.)

I was floored when one of the architects cried out, “It’s a Psyduck!”


I built this as an example of the second activity the kids had to do: Each group would get some Lego pieces and had to build a part of a bridge, and at the end of the activity, all groups would join together to put their bridge parts together to make one giant bridge that would hold shit. The catch was, as you can see in the picture, I gave the students hella random and absurd Lego pieces, and they had to use all of them. I spy The X-Files, Season 6.


Super Saturday at a library downtown. Another teacher, Claudia, and me chilling in the back while the director was talking to the kids. I think I smile kinda weirdly so I just make a really weird distorted face instead.

[Photo]
The kids went to the Rose Garden for lunch. I tried to take a picture of the pretty fountain and some kids but Trung photobombed it.


Me teaching my workshop. I like my outfit.

[Photo]
Two architects rushing up to me.

[Photo]
Evaluating the first activity. I asked, “What makes a team work efficiently?” and they gave me a lot of good answers.


A photo with me and some of the ducks they constructed...You know how teachers are always supposed to be praising the students’ work? I do a very bad a job of that.

“Looking at all of your models, I can see that you guys did a really great and creative job—*SNICKER*” The director shot me a dirty glare. Oops.

[Photo]
Kids getting to work on the bridge activity. Aren’t they adorable?

[Photo]
Putting the bridge parts together.

[Photo]
Alright...so the bridge didn’t turn out like how I had hoped. Instead of an actual bridge, it was more like a structure with some platforms. We decided to just put random shit on top of the different platforms to see if it would hold.


The final product after putting anything we could find in the room on the bridge. I spy a horse, a cell phone, a door, a ladder, a life boat, and a rock monster.

[Photo]
Yea-yeeeeeaah.


“Trung, I think I look pretty good with Doug’s stunna shades. Take a pic!”

“Ok, here ya. I think this is a very good picture of you.”

“...I’m in the corner.”

“Exactly.”

[Photo]
Me with one of my dance students. She is an amazing seventh grader.

Man, I will miss this. I’m sorry Breakthrough (Well I was a terrible teacher, so in a way Breakthrough could probably do better without me, but I know I’m still letting some students down by just not being there next summer).



On the last day of teaching at Breakthrough, summer 2009, the students and we teachers spent all afternoon rehearsing for our celebration night. Toward the end of the day, the directors herded the students into the gym for “something” and left the teachers outside. The returning teachers and I already knew what was coming.

This summer with Breakthrough turned out vastly different than last summer. Despite all the changes to the way Breakthrough was ran (changes that I didn’t really like), I felt that I had made a closer bond with the students. I thought that this would be the summer that I would actually break down.

After waiting for fifteen minutes, the directors allowed us to enter the gym. The only source of light came shining through the windows under the ceiling. In the center of the gym lay twenty-seven jars in a circle, each one with the name of a teacher next to it. All the students stood lined up against the walls, and, with the sunlight reflecting off their faces, they beamed at us as we found our places and sat down. I could hear a few murmurs and already an occasional sniffle.

The directors instructed us to close our eyes and cover them with our hands, and once they confirmed that we couldn’t see, silence fell upon the entire gym.

The voice of a director spoke out: “Students, touch the shoulder of a teacher who made you laugh this summer.”

Immediately, the ground began to shake and echoes of over one hundred stampeding students filled the gym. I heard a student spoke my name only briefly before I was ambushed. We teachers didn’t just get shoulder taps. We got shoulder brushes, shoulder grasps, head pats, and hugs from behind, side, front, everywhere.

Hardly waiting for the students to settle down, another director continued. “Students, touch the shoulder of a teacher who inspired you this summer.”

“Students, touch the shoulder of a teacher who you looked forward to seeing you every day.”

“Students, touch the shoulder of a teacher who gave you a reason to come to school every morning.”

By the end, I could hear Doug sitting next to me softly weeping. I never ended up crying, probably because the activity ended too soon (and because I’m cold and heartless). The teachers were allowed to open our eyes again and approach the students, who stood lined up again at the walls. As I headed toward them, I saw their faces. I saw their tears too. The sunlight shimmered off of their faces, and it was beautiful.

I was surprised to see a stream running down Nigel’s face—Nigel, one of the tough seventh graders. “It [trying not to cry] is really hard, man!”

One of my eighth grade students, Cil, who I taught during both of my summers at Breakthrough, went up to me and asked, “I’m not sure if I should come back for ninth grade next summer.”

“Why not?” I asked.

“I don’t think it’s the best way to celebrate the end of middle school.”

“It’s a great way to celebrate the start of high school.”

“Are you going to come back to teach, Brian? I’ll come back if you come back.”

I wasn’t too sure what to tell him. At this point, I could go either way. I wanted to tell him yes, because I saw his earnestness in his eyes, but I refrained from making promises. “Just come back next summer, ok?”

The Activist

Forty students crowded the room. Forty. I did not expect this many at all. Once everyone settled down, I stood up in the front, rolling up a newsletter in my hands and trying to force a confident smile across my face.

“Hello everyone,” I began, “and welcome to the first Gay Straight Alliance meeting of the 2007-2008 school year! In case you don’t know me, I’m your president, Brian Dinh.”

- “The First GSA Meeting,” written September 14th, 2007 (revised).

---

This past Thursday, I had my catch-up lunch with Cameron, just as I had promised him. We caught up on a lot of things: our love lives (his is surprisingly going better than mine), all the times he’s moved this past school year (three different places), school, future plans, old friends, new friends, parties, and what dropping E is like (he led this discussion).

We talked for a good hour before we had to go to our next classes. Toward the end of the conversation, he brought up a campus club party taking place Friday, hosted by Irvine Queers the following night. (“Club” as in school organization, not as in nightclub.) It would celebrate “breaking the silence” at the end of the Day of Silence, and I told him it sounded like something worth checking out.

“Is there going to be anyone I know?”

“Some people from our hall last year might be coming!” He answered.

“Alright, well, even if they don’t, I’m sure I’ll have fun anyway.”

“Yeah of course you will! I’M GOING TO DRESS UP AS LADY GAGA!”

“Really? Which of her outfits?”

“Lemme give you a hint!” He reached into his backpack, pulled something out, and slammed it on the table right under my eyes. It was a roll of caution tape.

Friday night at nine. Couldn’t possibly want to miss it.

---

After mapping out what was in store for the 2007-2008 school year (socials with GSAs from other schools, National Coming Out Day in October, Day of Silence in April, and Gay Day at Great America), I went into what I wanted out of the club. “I think this school is already pretty liberal, but I think there is a level beyond that that we can achieve. I don’t want other students to look at this club and think, ‘Okay, this one must be gay, that one is straight, and that one is probably bi.’ I want them to look at this club and think, ‘Wow, they’re all human.’”

Towards the end of the lunch period, I performed my “powerful” and “motivational” demonstration that I had started to think about since the beginning of July. I held up and offered a free $20 bill to anyone who wanted it, and of course everyone shot their hands up and complimented my clothes. Ignoring their calls, I began to abuse the $20 bill. I trampled it and stuck a post-it note on it that read, “FAGGOT.” I raised the beaten $20 bill and asked if anyone still wanted. Someone said my hair looked really sexy today.

I continued to label the bill with more post-its: “SLUT,” “WHITE TRASH,” “PATHETIC EXCUSE OF A HUMAN BEING,” and I stomped on it a few more times. People still wanted it. Good. This was where my little pep talk came in.

“Everybody still wants this twenty-dollar bill, because even after all this stuff that I’ve done to it, it’s still worth twenty dollars right? I want you and all people out there to think of themselves as this twenty-dollar bill. You are all worth something valuable, and there is no way that that value can ever go down. You might get trampled, you might get beaten, you might get labeled and called things you would never want to be called. You might feel terrible and like the loneliest person in the word, but like this twenty-dollar bill, everybody still loves you. Like this twenty-dollar bill, which has gone through so much, your value is indiminishable and immune to what others may say or do.”

At 1:05, lunch ended and everyone shuffled out of the rooms, congratulating me on giving GSA a great kickoff. What brightened my day even more was the sign-in sheet: there were over 40 names on it. I was a happy, but the number just made me even more nervous. Sustaining that many members throughout the next 9 months was definitely going to be a challenge.

---

The numbers did die, but we did manage to pull off some amazing things. During the month of National Coming Out Day, October, we got a page full of coming out stories, including mine, published in the school newspaper. And on the Day of Silence in April, I didn’t stay silent because I thought the idea of being silent was stupid.

Being more effective and smarter than the mainstream fags, I actually spoke for gay tolerance and the whole cause at the beginning of each of my classes, and then I distributed safety pins with upside-down rainbow triangles that GSA had made the previous week. Other participants from GSA did the same with their classes too, and during lunch, we gave out free otter pops to whoever would support our cause and pin a rainbow triangle to themselves.

By the end of the day, every clique had at least several students with the rainbow triangles pinned to their clothes or backpacks. Jocks, nerdy Asians, cool Asians, cheerleading bitches, emo kids, beaners, etc. It was impossible to get a rainbow triangle out of sight for even a second. A lot of people kept the triangles pinned to their backpacks the following weeks. I don’t want to turn this entry into a Day-of-Silence-is-fucking-stupid rant, but my way was a lot fucking better. People with rainbow triangles are a lot more visible than people shutting the fuck up all day.



At about 8:50 Friday night, I spent five minutes debating whether or not to go and then realized that I could not see myself surrounded by a bunch of queer activists. I didn’t go to Cameron’s club party and unfortunately missed out on his caution tape ensemble.

So looking at myself the way I was my senior year and the way I am now, I guess the obvious question is, why the change?

Never Alone

Trung Nguyen:
hold on sorry ,my motor skilsl suck when im wasted
hold on brb i need to chane [change] this might take a whiel

It was only week 2 of spring quarter, so Trung was getting as fucked up as he could before the workload got heavy. I rolled my eyes and checked the time. It was 3:45 AM, on a Thursday night. I really needed to see someone right away, but who in my apartment building could I go to? Alfonso, one story above me on the other side of the apartment, is probably back from the club, but he is most likely drunk. Alex, my next door neighbor, is still probably hanging out with Kaba Modern. Maybe Khoa’s around and sober! He likes to go clubbing, but maybe he didn’t go out tonight.

I put my sweater and headed downstairs to the first floor. Tonight was a pleasant night, surprisingly calm and quiet for a Thursday night, the usual party night. It already felt a little better to be out of my apartment and to be outside breathing the crisp cool air.

I arrived at Khoa’s doorstep and went ahead with opening the door (we don’t keep our doors locked). I glanced past the bathroom to the left, only to meet the surprised stares of a rather red-faced Alfonso and a rather red-faced Khoa. They had been huddling around Khoa’s computer checking out some girl on Facebook.

“What tha gay!” Khoa said.

“What’s this gay doing here?” Alfonso walked toward me with his arms open. A hug from Alfonso? I went in for it.

“Ah!” He pushed back. “I’m not that drunk!”

“You know you want it Alfonso!” Khoa said.

“Yeah...” Alfonso and I hugged.

“So how’ve ya been?” he asked. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.” Like since last week. “Did you give up choreo? Please don’t tell me you gave up on choreo.”

“Nah, I haven’t. I signed up for the Team Millennia summer intensives remember?”

“K, good. Phew.” He sighed. “I haven’t given up either.”

“How was the Kaba Modern club party?”

“Ah dude, that shit was fucking awesome. You shoulda went. I danced with some some Kaba girls, and I even met Lawrence.”

“Lawrence Kao?”

“Yeah, I met Lawrence Kao. I was like, ‘Dude, you’re my hero. You inspire me.’ And he was all like, ‘Nah dude! YOU inspire ME!’ And I was like, ‘Whaaaa?’ And then he was all, ‘I’m just like you. I started dancing when I was in college too.’ And I then I somehow scheduled lunch with Yosuke tomorrow!”

“Wow. Lunch?”

“Yeah! I don’t know!”

“Have a fun lunch date tomorrow.”

“Nah dude it’s not like that! But how are you and your boyfriend? You still going out with that fool?”

Alfonso and Khoa were too drunk and having too much fun right now; I didn’t wanna bring down their spirits, so I lied. “Yeah, of course.”

I chilled with them for fifteen minutes, and all we did was joke around. It was good. It got my mind off the last few hours, but I still needed to have some real talk. I was stuck with my original option: talk to Trung, the drunk ex, about my most recent breakup.



Breakthrough’s second Super Saturday happened to fall over the Valentine’s Day weekend (on Saturday, as the name would suggest) at Bellarmine College Prep. I drove back up to NorCal Friday night and picked my boyfriend (at the time) up at the train station. He was going to stay in San Jose with me for the whole weekend, but there was the whole problem with what’d he do from 9 till 3 during Super Saturday.

“Alright, so I guess after you go walk around a bit and check out the Rose Garden, you can come back and clean out my car.” I tossed him the keys. It was sunny, breezy Saturday morning. A good day for a walk. “And when you finish cleaning my car, you can read the books I put in the backseat. I picked out some Aristotle for you. Alright, I’ll see you in six hours. Have fun.”

We hugged, and after double checking to make sure that there were no kids around, we shared a brief kiss. I watched him walk off into I- don’t- really- know- where- because- I- was- totally- unfamiliar- with- the- area- I- had- just- sent- him- off- into- for- six- hours. He looked too cute wearing my beanie (...which Trung got for me for Christmas) and his cardigan.

Once he was out of sight, I headed on campus and found Lan, one of the teachers from the past summer.

“Brian! Oh goodness, it’s so good to see you! Where’s Trung?”

“We rode separately. He’s not here yet? But I’m usually the late one.”

We shrugged it off. For the next half hour or so, we helped setting up before the kids arrived. Eventually, Trung showed up. He had overslept.

“Hey Brian,” he said, “When I was driving over here, I saw someone walking on the street and he looked like your boyfriend. I think so anyway. I’ve only seen him through pictures.”

“Yeah, that was probably him. He’s going to be pretty much walking and exploring the area for the next six hours.”

“Really? What’s there to explore around here?”

“I don’t really know.”

“Y’know, you should ask Jessica if he can come visit for the day!” Trung suggested.

“What?”

“He can be like the other volunteers.”

“No way, this isn’t going to fly by Jessica, and you just wanna meet him so you can like, sabotage us or tell him embarrassing stories about me.”

“No, I promise I won’t! But seriously Brian, you’re really going to let him wander around for six hours?”

“He’s also going to clean my car.”

“Com’n. Just do it. The worst that can happen is that Jessica says no, but she won’t. It’s Valentine’s Day weekend.”

Valentine’s Day weekend. I only got to see my boyfriend once every three or four weeks, and I had to make the most of the time we had together. I finally gave in to Trung’s nagging and asked Jessica, telling her that I had a friend who was very interested in teaching at Breakthrough next summer and wanted to get an idea of what the students were like. To my surprise, she agreed.

The first workshop of the day was already starting, so it was too late to go get my boyfriend. After an hour, I was free to go get him. I found him inside my car, which was now clutter-free, and I brought him on campus. The first person he met was—

“HI I’M TRUNG!”

“Ranier.”

“Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you!”

Ranier looked back at me. I shrugged.

“So Rain-ner-eee-er,” Trung’s eyes darted back and forth to check for any students, “Do you like to drink and party?”

“Nah.”

“Aw, you’re no fun like Brian.”



Drunk Trung and I talked for about half an hour before I went to bed. After telling him all about the breakup, he was able to sum it up with one pretty simple sentence: “So you just exploded and you hella burnt the bridge. You not only burnt it, but you pissed on the ashes.” Sounded about right.

Gay Shit

I knew I was looking hella shady standing and waiting here in the parking lot, outside of some apartments, on a hardly lit street close to midnight. After about a minute, I saw a familiar face heading toward me, so I opened my arms and went up to greet him.

“I’m not here for you, you betch.” He marched straight past me.

“Thanks Cameron.” I dropped my arms.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaandy!”

I turned around to him see him jumping at another guy who had just parked his car, and when I turned back, I saw SF Andrew coming up to me.

“Hey!” he said. “Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you made it. It’s almost midnight and I didn’t think you were going to come!”

“Why would I ever wanna miss this?” We hugged.

Cameron came up to me again, and I turned to face him. Oh good I finally get a greeti—

“BETCH!” He shoved me a few inches back. “WHY DON’T YOU EVER HANG OUT WITH ME ANYMORE? YOU NEVER RESPOND TO MY CALLS OR TEXTS. TOO COOL FOR ME NOW? YOUR DANCER FRIENDS ARE SO MUCH BETTER HM?”

Andrew jumped in between us. “Yo, calm down! It’s okay Cameron! He’s here because he misses us. He wants to visit. That’s why I invited him.”

“BETCH WHATEVER. YOU’RE TOO COOL FOR ME NOW.”

Looking at Andrew, I shrugged my shoulders and muttered, “This is a good start.”

“See Cameron? Brian says this is a good start!”

Clearly, everyone already had a few shots in them.

I hadn’t been to this apartment before. Cameron and Charles lived together in it, with Cameron only having moved in just a few weeks ago. It was smaller, but smaller gave it a cozy, homey, and glowing feel. Or maybe that was just the wave of drunken body heat that smothered me the moment I stepped inside, and the glowing was just from the Asian glow on everybody’s faces.

Among all the clamor and drunk people rolling on the floor, I spotted a few old friends and gave some awkward hugs (awkward because I’m just not very good at hugging), and after turning down drinks multiple times, I found a comfortable place to just sit down and chat.

And yeah, that was really it. I just talked a lot. First with Sarah and Seung-Wan, two girls who lived in my dorm last year, and then I found a place to sit down on the floor in another room with a bag of chips and some more unfamiliar faces. I met Andrew’s bestie Chris; the little bro of someone I worked with at Breakthrough this past summer, Wilson; and another Viet guy named Minh-Tuan (who everybody calls Minty, but I can’t quite get that name to roll smoothly off my tongue), just to name some.

The kitchen for some reason had a really huge mirror running from ceiling to floor, so I taught Andrew the pop diva dance I learned the other night, and we further struck some sexy poses.

Eventually, Cameron and I made up. I don’t remember what I said, but it was basically a contest to see who could yell louder over each other.

I think I still have a long way from opening my mind when it comes to broader gay shit, or, as everyone likes to call it, “queer issues.” Whenever “queer issues” came up at the party, Andrew and I would ditch and go into the next room.

And I could hardly resist rolling my eyes when Cameron lectured me on not using the word “tranny.”

“There’s someone in the room that you could offend.” He motioned at a tranny standing by the door.

“I can think of another word that would offend everyone in the room. It starts with an ‘f.’”

The kickback quieted down and everyone was about ready to call it a night around 3 or 4. Chris, who was Andrew’s ride, ended up making some new plans for the next few hours, so we all decided that Andrew would sleep at my apartment on my couch until 7:30 AM, when Chris would come pick him up.

As I was leaving, Cameron approached me for a hug and to talk to me one last time for the night.

“So Brian,” he said, “can I expect to see ya around more often?”

---
March 9, 2010, 2 A.M, via instant messaging:

Trung Nguyen:
How’d you feel after that? Do you remember?

bbq dinner:
Ashamed and insecure about myself. My thoughts about myself haven’t changed much since then.

Trung Nguyen:
Why don’t you think they haven’t?

bbq dinner:
Because I still suck d.

Trung Nguyen:
WHY THE FUCK CAN’T YOU SAY DICK. D-I-C-K. you should also say, “I’m gay.” It’s not hard.

bbq dinner:
Ok, that one’s actually hard for me

Trung Nguyen:
Ok, baby steps: “I like men.”

bbq dinner:
I like gangsters.

Trung Nguyen:
No. “I like men.”

bbq dinner:
I like ghetto Asian guys!

Trung Nguyen:
I wasn’t ghetto!
“I like men.”

bbq dinner:
I like men with fresh kicks!

Trung Nguyen:
“I like men.”

bbq dinner:
No, I think that’s enough baby steps for me today.

Trung Nguyen:
No it isn’t. You’re never going to get to that point if I let you dictate it. “I like men.” Say that and we’re done with this exercise.

bbq dinner:
I like menz K-LOL-ALL-DONE.

Trung Nguyen:
Can you please do it without all the silliness attached to it?

bbq dinner:
I like men.
:( :(

Trung Nguyen:
Ok. That’s better.

bbq dinner:
If you had to run a workshop to help confused college southeast Asian gays feel comfortable about themselves, you should run the workshop like this.

Trung Nguyen:
Omg you are being sarcastic aren’t you? DO YOU NOT THINK THIS IS EFFECTIVE?

bbq dinner:
No, it’s totally effective. I’m totally going to go apply to intern at the lgbtabcd resource center tomorrow, and Imma hit up Cameron right now for a catch-up lunch.

Trung Nguyen:
omg -_- Anyway, the point is, you clearly have issues. And honestly it’s not gonna get better if you don’t do something about it. I don’t expect you to be an activist, but at the very least, be happy with yourself.
---

“Yeah,” I told Cameron. “I’ll answer your texts. Invite me to some more kickbacks, and we’ll get caught up at lunch or dinner some time. Promise.”

Thank you to everyone there for one of my better and more fun college nights in a long while. Yes, all I had was water, but I only really need everyone around me to be drunk, and then I’m good.

The Right Stuff

I was the only guy in the pop diva class. Fuck. Ok well, there were like two other thirty-year-olds/middle-aged men, and then there was the instructor, who had clearly had his fair share of dicks. The rest of the room was crowded with vaginas, and I might as well have had one too.

As the name of the class suggested, the choreo that the instructor taught was sassy, with some bitchassness and lots of ‘tude. (That’s short for “attitude.”), and of course the song was Britney Spears’s Womanizer. I picked the choreo up pretty quickly and found myself rolling my eyes a lot, so I constantly reminded myself why I was here taking beginners’ classes at the arc.

I know the choreo, and I think I look pretty fucking fierce in the mirror, but I probably actually suck and look hella awkward. The blonde cheerleader with the chicken wings next to me is probably killing it better than I am.

After the class, I recorded myself doing the choreo and watched it, and just as I had thought, I failed at swinging my ass, flipping my hair, shimmying my boobs, and doing a bunch of other things. I looked like an awkwardly tall person in an awkward body.

I sat alone in the corner of the dance studio, going through past videos of myself on my iPod and critiquing and criticizing myself. My boyfriend doesn’t like it when I bring myself down, but I have to be hard on myself because everyone else is afraid to do it for me.



I was on a dance team from November to February. It was a pretty small one that was just starting up, and it took anyone who wanted to dance, whether they had very little experience or a lot of experience. Similar to how CADC branched off of the Chinese Association club, this one branched off of...the Informatics Student Association club (INSA) (Computer club basically). The coordinator of the dance team needed a club to sponsor us, and INSA was willing too.

According to the INSA website on our new dance team, “One of the things INSA sought to strive for at the end of last year was to show that ICS students were not nerds and had other talents.” Ironically, none of the dancers recruited were or currently are in INSA. But we had a sponsor, so all was good.

After much struggle trying to decide the name of our dance team, we simply became INSA Dance, though in the minds of many, we were the Insane Nigga Swag Alliance.

I have to admit, at some points I had trouble considering INSA a real/serious dance team. But we did have a photoshoot; that was pretty legit. (That’s where the sexy photo on the left came from.) Other than the photoshoot, I would just skip practice like it was whatever, or I’d show up late (though I had pretty good reasons to be late, reasons that will be elaborated on eventually, but not too soon because they involve TMI). It got to the point where I stopped showing up and then quit.

One of the main reasons I quit was I eventually realized that I could grow a lot faster outside of INSA because INSA wasn’t giving me the kind of training I needed. After watching a video of myself at Kaba Modern auditions in February, I realized I needed something far more than just cleaning. I really had to go back to basics, something that I neglected when I had first started dancing because I was too impatient and eager to start taking intermediate/advanced classes.

I figured that I’d be doing this training with myself and my iPod camera. For the past year, I’ve trained with my friends, who have all been very helpful and important to my dancing, but too often I’d get “You’re too stiff,” “You’re too loose; you need more control,” or “‘Feel’ the music.” Seriously, sometimes people even used “too stiff” and “too loose” in the same sentence when they generalized my dancing problems. My iPod camera proved to be a lot less vague and a lot more patient when it came to analyzing the problems of each and every move.

My last day at INSA was Sunday, February 7th. It was fun, but it wasn’t what I needed yet.



Wow, I don’t keep my head still. Seriously, it’s all over the fucking place when I dance. I have no neck control. How did it take me so long to notice this?

I got up form the corner and recorded myself going through the Womanizer piece again, this time keeping my head still so that it didn’t dangle off of my neck like a bobblehead. I looked half as awkward on camera as before. Aw shiiet, I’m getting somewhere.

Money Doesn’t Matter

Once I got back to my apartment, I tried calling Urban Outfitters to schedule another interview day because the one they scheduled for me, Thursday at 2 PM, conflicted with my classes.

I got as far as the chick on the other line saying, “Hi, Urban Outfitters at the Spectrum,” before my call dropped.

I live in a fucking dead zone. It’s the most frustrating thing ever because I always miss important calls (“PARTY TONIGHT?!?!”) and receive text messages hours after they’re sent (“WE’RE GOING TO GO GET BURRITOS!”). Thank you campus-sponsored apartments. Please burn down once I move out.

I called Urban Outfitters again, and this time, I made it farther.

“Hi, could I speak with Crystal?” I managed to asked.

“Uh, sorry, we don’t have a Crystal here—” CLICK.

Okay, this was not looking good. Not only did it seem like I was hanging up rudely, but now I was probably looking even more stupid asking for people that didn’t work at Urban Outfitters. I left my apartment building, and as I drove in my car across the street to Albertsons, I listened to the voicemail I had gotten earlier in the morning. The name that girl said definitely sounded like Crystal.

Full bars in the Albertsons parking lot. Great. I called back Urban Outfitters, asked for the manager, who turned out to be the girl I walked to the second time, and apologized for the drop calls. She didn’t sound too forgiving, just annoyed instead.

“Well, as I was trying to say before you hung up”—she couldn’t have sounded any snider—“We don’t have a Crystal, but we have a Krista.”

That sounded right. I explained to her about how Krista called me about scheduling an interview for Thursday and how I needed to reschedule. She told me she’d tell Krista and have her call me back. I barely got to utter “bye” before she hung up.

This job hunt was going great. I’ll be done with The Education Academy in no time.



In February, I visited my aunt at her apartment in Westminster, and I didn’t come bearing any fucking persimmons this time. The occasion was Lunar New Year, so of course I went there expecting my usual one hundred bucks plus twenty extra dollars in quarters.

I tried to be polite to her, so I offered to stay and eat. Even if I didn’t want to be polite, I still probably would’ve stayed. She made me stewed beef with hard boiled eggs and rice, a favorite dish that my mom and dad also made back at home. The food sat on a tiny kitchen table in a bowl covered by saran wrap, and my aunt told me she had been saving it for me since New Years. Did I mention I was visiting her one week after New Years? No I didn’t, and I figured that hard boiled eggs or any type of cooked egg shouldn’t be kept for more than a day, but I was hungry.

While I ate in total silence, my aunt asked me a bunch of questions, to which I answered with curt one-word answers. This time, she grilled me more than ever about my college major. In the past, she’d drop it in like five minutes after realizing that she’s talking to a brick wall, but this time, my major was all she could talk about. Switch to math. Or do computers. I’ve seen you type really fast.

Fuck, if I had to learn Vietnamese, I would learn enough words just so I could argue with my aunt. The only reason she’s been spewing the same shit about changing my major for the past two years is that I haven’t properly shut her ass up yet. How do you say the following in Vietnamese? I can’t do math or science because not only do I not understand it, but I don’t give enough of a fuck to understand it. I like language arts, and I like working with kids and students. Writing and teaching are my passion. Nothing can change that. Money doesn’t matter to me. It’s not my motivation. All I need is a place to sleep and food to eat. Sofas, HDTV’s, and a two-story house make you happy, not me. Now gimmie money and fuck off.

I nodded my head as I sat at the table, mashing and mixing an egg into my rice. I figured, maybe if I nodded my head this time and lied, saying that I’d follow her advice, she’d stop nagging me. And maybe start giving me two hundred dollars every time I visited for being such a good nephew.

I endured a half-hour lunch and earned my one hundred bucks plus twenty in quarters, like clockwork. Money in hand, I thanked my aunt profusely, which, of course, is mostly an act to show her how grateful I am in hopes that she will continue to feed me her money. I left in a hurry, eager to get out because it was still barely afternoon, and I had things I had to do.

Walking store to store, reading flyers on windows, and seeing my own reflection stare back at me in the dark windows, I found myself, one hour later, picking up job applications. Lollicup? In-N-Out? Guppy’s? Oh, this place promises up to twenty-five hours a week? My paycheck would be like four hundred bucks! That’s three hundred and fifty more than what I get at that damned Education Academy.



Still haven’t heard back from Urban Outfitters. What a fucking fat bitch. That’s ok. President of Urban Outfitters feeds money to anti-gay shit. Though I really would’ve liked an Urban Outfitters discount.

This past week, I’ve sent out applications to Old Navy, Gap, Red Mango, and I’ll send one over to Jamba Juice in Mission Viejo later. More job applications to come.

Nothing’s Really Changed

150.2 pounds, as of this past Tuesday. Considering my erratic eating schedule during spring break, I was surprised, and relieved. I’m going to hit 160 by the end of the quarter. If my dancing doesn’t improve and if I don’t get a new pair of shoes, I’ll be fine as long as I reach this goal.

After putting on some clothes and making myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, I headed out the door to my first day of classes.

While walking to my English class at 9:30, I got a new voicemail. I figured it was a call from the Education Academy, because if anyone ever left me a voicemail in the morning, it’d be my boss to inform me that she’s cutting even more of my hours for the week. So when I listened to the voicemail, I was a little surprised:

“Hi Brian, this is Krista calling from Urban Outfitters at the Irvine Spectrum. I’m calling about the application you turned in about two weeks ago and I wanted to invite you to our interview...”

Two weeks ago. I had thought that they put my application through the shredder as soon as I walked out the door.

If I got this job, that would mean that I’d be quitting my job at the Education Academy earlier than I had expected.

Thursday night, I ran into Kevin while heading to the dining hall. I asked him if he wanted to take a dance class with me at the gym, but he had INSA practice at nine. I was a little disappointed, mainly because the dance class was a POP DIVA *BITCH* dance class, and I didn’t wanna be the only guy taking it in fear that I might look hella gay.

I was also a little disappointed because, knowing how far INSA had come along, I kinda wished that I had stayed dancing with them. I heard they were having their second or third hell week now for another upcoming performance.

Even though some practices pissed the hell out of me, being on a dance team was still fun. But that was over for me now.

Friday night, I was working out—nothing too different from other nights. I was texting Gay SF Andrew back and forth because he was in LA visiting. I asked him if he was going to visit Irvine, to which he responded that he was going to a kickback at Charles’s place Saturday night. I texted back, “Charles has a kickback tomorrow? Lol. Honestly I haven’t talked to anyone gay in Irvine for the last six months. Can you bring guests?”

Somehow, Andrew got me invited even though I didn’t ask to be invited. Seriously, all I asked was, “Can you bring guests?” and I guess Andrew made an assumption and asked Charles if I could come. Well, it looked like I was going.

Of course, I called my boyfriend to tell him about it. I didn’t want him thinking that I was going to go to the party to get trashed and get laid. He said he was chill with it. I’m happy that we have trust in our long distance relationship. I think the next time we see each other will be in May, so we’re going to end up missing our three-month anniversary together. I don’t think the fourth one will be a charm either, but at least I know that we’ll be spending time together on my birthday and that he’ll finally visit me in Irvine over Memorial Day weekend. Lots of things to look forward to in May.



Alright, so it’s Saturday night, almost 11 PM. Time to head out.