I stared. A built, athletic thirty-year-old in-shape man, one of experience, unloaded his baby batter all over a young straight twink’s begging wet lips. And then they made out. That was when Cameron’s instant message window appeared over their faces. He asked me what I was doing. Sunday night of Memorial Day Weekend—“Nothing,” I typed with one hand.
“Wanna come to my place? I’m having a small kickback.”
Obviously I had some better, more fun plans, but I agreed to come over anyway. I told him I’d leave in forty minutes.
---
“Funky Relationship”
Written April 22nd, 2004 (Excerpted)
Yesterday, I held hands with Emma. My friends kept on bothering me about holding hands, so I did it. But it’ll be the last time I’ll do it randomly. I’m waiting for the special moment to hold hands and even kiss. Why should I hold hands with her out of the blue? Or maybe I’m not good with girls, and I’m really supposed to always hold their hands for no good reason, no reason except that I’m the boyfriend and she’s my girlfriend. It didn’t feel right because it was not the “magical” moment, so I was constantly letting go and holding back on, remembering all the advice from all my friends. Emma says she doesn’t care about holding hands yet, but then others tell me that she is waiting for me to make the first move. However, since when did I let believe such crap? Hopefully never. …But what is the crap? Emma telling me she doesn’t really care, or that she wants me to make the first move?
---
Besides Cameron and me, there were only five other guys at his kickback. As expected, Cameron delved into a discussion of queer issues (“gay shit”) after a few shots, but unlike last time, I didn’t have any where to escape to unless I wanted to sit outside in the cold alone. The discussion involved him shoving his massive cock of queer logorrhea down everyone’s throats, and it ultimately came down to his one question: “If the person is attractive, good-looking, and has a great personality, why does it matter what’s in between their legs?” (Cameron being on the side of “IT DOESN’T MATTER AND IT SHOULDN’T TO EVERYONE IN THE WHOLE WORLD.”)
---
“Standing Somewhere Lost”
Written May 6th, 2004 (Excerpted)
Me and Emma have been kissing on the lips. Great. I’m not in a relationship I should be in; someone else should be in it. But my biggest problem is trying to tell her. I can’t stand to hurt the girl’s feelings, but by letting all this time pass by, I know I’m just making it worst. However, each time I’m ‘bout ready to break it out, we share a moment of glee. Damn it.
---
I sat in the corner as Trent and Cameron argued, trying to not pay attention when Ranier texted me. I was a little surprised. He and the rest of his teammates were back at the hotel in San Diego, and they were celebratin’ it up. It was a little too much for Ranier so he went outside to text me. I still felt bitter about the Sockhop ticket, but this was at least better than having to listen to Cameron. Funksters didn’t place, but they made good friends with the other teams from SoCal and had fun at the beaches down here. Overall a great experience, he said.
I started to think about what it would’ve been like if we were still together and I went to see Ranier at his competition, and the best I came up was that I wouldn’t be sitting here in the room with Cameron, who then suddenly directed his question to me: “Why does it matter what’s between their legs, huh Brian?!” Even though I was sitting on the other side of the room, I swear I could feel his spit splatter all over my face.
---
“As a Friend”
Written May 7th, 2004 (Excerpted)
Tomorrow I’m going to the mall to see a movie with my friend Vanessa and her friends for her birthday party. We were all planning to see Van Helsing, until Emma got invited. She wants to see Mean Girls. Emma is pretty stubborn, and she’s determined to go see that movie, despite all six other people, including me, are planning to see Van Helsing. Well, I hate when I get stuck with a decision like this. I’m her boyfriend, but I don’t wanna see Mean Girls. But I can’t stand thinking of her sitting alone in the dark movie theatre; then I think of her with tears slowly streaming down her face, all alone. So I think I’m going to watch it with her. It won’t be that bad. I’m easily absorbed into movies. Plus, Mean Girls won’t be a big waste of my life; it’s only an hour and a half. [[I would end up watching Van Helsing with my guy friends while Olivia watched Mean Girls with Vanessa. WIN.]]
---
I thought about Cameron’s question for thirty seconds. And that was when I realized that there was a difference between being gay and being queer. Being gay was, as I had always known it to be, nothing more than some social implications and history all based around a dictionary definition: “Being attracted to members of the same sex.” Sex, not gender. Same sex meant to me other people with the X and Y chromosome. On the other hand, the definition of being queer, as I understood it, meant absolute bullshit.
Peter, black John, Miranda, and I sat down at a lunch table to take a break from playing DDR and ITG. It was the middle of the summer before the start of my sophomore year in high school. We were at the Golf Land in Milpitas for their Thursday arcade special: unlimited free arcade game play all day for ten bucks. I dug out a bottle of Gatorade and a box of Ritz crackers from my backpack and devoured my crackers and drink.
“Hey Brian,” Peter said.
“Mhm?” My mouth was full.
“Miranda, John, and I have all been talking, and we agree that you’re gay.”
I looked up from my food. “What?”
“You’re gay, aren’t you?”
“What the hell? No I’m not!”
“Are you sure Brian?” Miranda asked. “We’re totally fine with it.”
“I’m not gay! I had a girlfriend in the eighth grade.”
“Yeah,” John said. “‘Had’—past tense. In the eighth grade.”
Peter held a stack of Ritz crackers to my face. “Does this turn you on?”
“Look,” I snapped, “I am not gay. I have never been gay. And I never will be gay. Got it?”
They all nodded, but they didn’t believe me, or at least Peter didn’t.
As much as this queer discussion with Cameron made me wanna cut my dick off, it benefited me. To stay sane, I had to reaffirm something about my identity that had been tearing away at my sanity for a while: I’m gay. I like men. With dicks. I’m gay I’m gay I’m gay. I was not Cameron, I assured myself. He was...something else. Not gay. Not bi. Probably one of those other letters in LGBTABCDEQQQ. A question that probably would require a little more thinking on my part probably would’ve been, “If the person has a dick, why does their personality/ looks/ other shit matter so much?” (The answer being I’m a proud shallow motherfucker.)
Thanks Cameron.
I shrugged off Cameron’s question, and Chris and I watched Are You Afraid of the Dark on Youtube with Cameron’s laptop as he and Trent continued to argue.
Showing posts with label cameron. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cameron. Show all posts
XY Attraction
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Tags:
black john,
cameron,
flashback,
gay,
miranda,
norcal,
oakridge,
peter,
ranier,
relationships,
repost,
socal,
winter spring 2010
The Activist
Sunday, April 18, 2010
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?
“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?
Gay Shit
Tuesday, April 6, 2010
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.
“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.
Transcendence
Sunday, December 20, 2009
I just wanna punch all the cocksucking faggots in this world, right now. Life to them is nothing more than an excuse to be loud and obnoxious.
Does it ever hurt to strive to be a little politically correct?
I don’t need to be politically correct. Fuck the gooks. Fuck the wetbacks. Fuck the niggers. Fuck the bible-banging redneck white trash.
Stop being immature. Don’t take your anger out on the whole world.
Do you want me to be politically correct then? When I refer to cocksuckers, should I rather just say the LGBTIQQAP2S community?
2S?
Yeah, exactly: who gives a fuck? Honestly, nothing matters past the B. I’d rather not be grouped with the rest.
Why not?
The first three describe only the gender I’d like to do, while the rest is too different. What’s so similar between a guy who likes to fuck guys and a guy who wishes he had a vagina and boobies? Just because we’re all a sexual minority doesn’t mean we should all be grouped together. Asians, Mexicans, and blacks are racial minorities, but it’s not like we’re all considered the same. And, much in the same way that those three races seem to hate each other, it shouldn’t be expected that I automatically be welcoming to everything past the B. I’m not, and people seem to be so surprised.
You’re giving legitimacy to racism to justify your reasons to hate another group of people; you realize that, right?
I don’t really give a fuck. I’m just saying, there is also hostility among all the LGBblahblahblahwhatever community; we’re not the one big happy family that pride parades depict us as.
That’s for sure, coming from the person who wants to punch every “cock sucking faggot in the world right now.”
Yeah.
You say you hate people past the B, but you also sound like you spite everyone within the first three letters too. Why badmouth them?
I wanna leave, separate myself from them.
Why?
Because, within each gay person I see, I see a part of me that I don’t want to be.
So saying the worst things possible about them somehow makes you transcend beyond them? I feel like you’re only descending into that dark lonely place where no one could find you. I thought you were glad to be out of there?
I’d like to go back.
What happened to your gay friends?
I’ve barely seen Cameron all quarter.
Well, not just Cameron. You’ve got the Funksters, downelink friends, Trung, and etc.
Well...ok, I’ve still got them.
Do you wanna leave them?
No.
Then who are you trying to escape from?
I don’t know. I guess...myself.
Yourself?
I’m trying to escape from myself.
Why?
When I think of being gay, I only think of it in terms of all that I’ve lost, or will lose.
I thought that, to you, “gay” only described the gender you liked to do?
That’s the biology part of it. I used to think that that was all there was to being gay, but then I realized that there’s some sociology involved too.
Do you often find yourself discriminated against?
No, that’s not it at all. I’ve learned that there are such things as uniquely gay experiences, but, they’re not brought on by a heteronormative society, they’re brought on by the male dicksucking community itself. That’s also where I see the parts of me that I don’t want to be.
What are the things that you think you’ve lost
A bright sunny happy future with a loving wife and kid. My parents—as accepting as they are, I still know there’s some loss. My relationship.
Your gay relationship with Trung?
Well, if I was a straight guy with a girl in a relationship that had the same characteristics as my one with Trung, I don’t think it would’ve failed the same way, if at all.
But I still don’t get it. I don’t see the connections between the things you’ve supposedly lost and your problems stemming from the gay community.
Well, some are because of heteronormativity; some, of discrimination; some, of the biology behind being gay; and some, of, yeah, those fucking cocksuckers.
Are you going to elaborate?
No, I don’t think so. Sorry, but I’m going to go now.
Wait, where are you going? Don’t go yet! You’ve only given me scraps, and I don’t know if it’s enough to make the connections. I still have more questions.
That’s good. Question everything.
1 AM. The packing was pretty much done an hour ago, and I was ready for the big drive back to school the next morning and the move-in to my apartment. However, I had stayed up rummaging around my room for my iPod mini, which Cameron gave to me for my birthday. I never recovered the iPod, but it was somewhat beneficial that I had lost it. Feeling the end creeping so near, I didn’t want summer to end, despite it being so lengthy with Breakthrough, Funksters, and the breakup, and despite my excitement to start dancing in Irvine again. The iPod search gave me a reason to stay awake and milk out the last few moments of my summer vacation, and it gave Trung a reason to stay for a little longer.
During the last thirty minutes of our search, however, our conversations died and we eventually both fell silent. Both of us could sense our imminent goodbye as my Space Jam bedroom clock continued to tick away the seconds that separated us from the end.
Around 2, I called it quits. Trung solemnly nodded his head. We shared a moment of awkward silence before Trung lunged at me for a full embrace. Caught off guard, my arms wavered in the air before I eventually decided to also wrap my arms around him and to rest my cheek against his hair. It wasn’t long before I heard the sound of his weeps, and it was then that the ticks ceased and time seemed to freeze.
Muffled by the sobbing, the tears, and the chest against which he buried his face, Trung’s voice emerged, remarking, “Brian, by the time we see each other again, we’re going to be totally different people.”
Trying to reassure him, I disagreed, but in my head, I wondered how true it would turn out.
Does it ever hurt to strive to be a little politically correct?
I don’t need to be politically correct. Fuck the gooks. Fuck the wetbacks. Fuck the niggers. Fuck the bible-banging redneck white trash.
Stop being immature. Don’t take your anger out on the whole world.
Do you want me to be politically correct then? When I refer to cocksuckers, should I rather just say the LGBTIQQAP2S community?
2S?
Yeah, exactly: who gives a fuck? Honestly, nothing matters past the B. I’d rather not be grouped with the rest.
Why not?
The first three describe only the gender I’d like to do, while the rest is too different. What’s so similar between a guy who likes to fuck guys and a guy who wishes he had a vagina and boobies? Just because we’re all a sexual minority doesn’t mean we should all be grouped together. Asians, Mexicans, and blacks are racial minorities, but it’s not like we’re all considered the same. And, much in the same way that those three races seem to hate each other, it shouldn’t be expected that I automatically be welcoming to everything past the B. I’m not, and people seem to be so surprised.
You’re giving legitimacy to racism to justify your reasons to hate another group of people; you realize that, right?
I don’t really give a fuck. I’m just saying, there is also hostility among all the LGBblahblahblahwhatever community; we’re not the one big happy family that pride parades depict us as.
That’s for sure, coming from the person who wants to punch every “cock sucking faggot in the world right now.”
Yeah.
You say you hate people past the B, but you also sound like you spite everyone within the first three letters too. Why badmouth them?
I wanna leave, separate myself from them.
Why?
Because, within each gay person I see, I see a part of me that I don’t want to be.
So saying the worst things possible about them somehow makes you transcend beyond them? I feel like you’re only descending into that dark lonely place where no one could find you. I thought you were glad to be out of there?
I’d like to go back.
What happened to your gay friends?
I’ve barely seen Cameron all quarter.
Well, not just Cameron. You’ve got the Funksters, downelink friends, Trung, and etc.
Well...ok, I’ve still got them.
Do you wanna leave them?
No.
Then who are you trying to escape from?
I don’t know. I guess...myself.
Yourself?
I’m trying to escape from myself.
Why?
When I think of being gay, I only think of it in terms of all that I’ve lost, or will lose.
I thought that, to you, “gay” only described the gender you liked to do?
That’s the biology part of it. I used to think that that was all there was to being gay, but then I realized that there’s some sociology involved too.
Do you often find yourself discriminated against?
No, that’s not it at all. I’ve learned that there are such things as uniquely gay experiences, but, they’re not brought on by a heteronormative society, they’re brought on by the male dicksucking community itself. That’s also where I see the parts of me that I don’t want to be.
What are the things that you think you’ve lost
A bright sunny happy future with a loving wife and kid. My parents—as accepting as they are, I still know there’s some loss. My relationship.
Your gay relationship with Trung?
Well, if I was a straight guy with a girl in a relationship that had the same characteristics as my one with Trung, I don’t think it would’ve failed the same way, if at all.
But I still don’t get it. I don’t see the connections between the things you’ve supposedly lost and your problems stemming from the gay community.
Well, some are because of heteronormativity; some, of discrimination; some, of the biology behind being gay; and some, of, yeah, those fucking cocksuckers.
Are you going to elaborate?
No, I don’t think so. Sorry, but I’m going to go now.
Wait, where are you going? Don’t go yet! You’ve only given me scraps, and I don’t know if it’s enough to make the connections. I still have more questions.
That’s good. Question everything.
1 AM. The packing was pretty much done an hour ago, and I was ready for the big drive back to school the next morning and the move-in to my apartment. However, I had stayed up rummaging around my room for my iPod mini, which Cameron gave to me for my birthday. I never recovered the iPod, but it was somewhat beneficial that I had lost it. Feeling the end creeping so near, I didn’t want summer to end, despite it being so lengthy with Breakthrough, Funksters, and the breakup, and despite my excitement to start dancing in Irvine again. The iPod search gave me a reason to stay awake and milk out the last few moments of my summer vacation, and it gave Trung a reason to stay for a little longer.
During the last thirty minutes of our search, however, our conversations died and we eventually both fell silent. Both of us could sense our imminent goodbye as my Space Jam bedroom clock continued to tick away the seconds that separated us from the end.
Around 2, I called it quits. Trung solemnly nodded his head. We shared a moment of awkward silence before Trung lunged at me for a full embrace. Caught off guard, my arms wavered in the air before I eventually decided to also wrap my arms around him and to rest my cheek against his hair. It wasn’t long before I heard the sound of his weeps, and it was then that the ticks ceased and time seemed to freeze.
Muffled by the sobbing, the tears, and the chest against which he buried his face, Trung’s voice emerged, remarking, “Brian, by the time we see each other again, we’re going to be totally different people.”
Trying to reassure him, I disagreed, but in my head, I wondered how true it would turn out.
A Friend’s Birthday
Thursday, November 12, 2009
On Tuesday, Cameron had a little birthday bash/Veteran’s day party for his 19th birthday at his apartment. I didn’t drink at the party, but there were plenty of incidents that made me want to vomit anyway:
- (Male) Nip slips
- Cameron going shirtless and giving these lap dances where he arched his back to the point where he was upside-down and could plant his hands on the floor
- Cameron giving me that same kind of lap dance
- Lady Gaga and Britney Spears
- A very drunk Seung-Wan trying to make out with me
- Fierce eyebrows
Overall, I had fun. It was good seeing Cameron because I hadn’t seen him in a while. We have a lecture class together but I hardly ever go, and with Cameron’s fraternity and internship at the LGBTABCDEFG RC, our schedules hardly ever match enough to find time to eat. His party was like reminder of who I needed to catch up with.
At the party, it was also interesting to see Cameron’s two groups of friends mix: his Misty Mountain hallmates from last year (this is the group I’m in) and his gays. Once the Misty girls were drunk, they were going crazy on the dance carpet while the straight guys chilled on the couch. I was somewhere in the middle, going between talking with them and talking with a few other friends from the gay side.
I think Mary was gone after one shot. Her face glowed a deep red as she got grinded on and sandwiched by a bunch of guys. Guys guys guys. Poor Mary, it was probably the most action she had gotten in a while but they were all gay. When she needed something a little more mellow, I salsa’d with her. She took salsa classes at the ARC and I learned some through my social dance class, but neither of us was too amazing when we danced with each other. Her hips moved in a way that was too far advanced for me, but I had fun spinning her until I realized that she might vomit sprinkler style.
So we decided to rest at the couch. Mary sat on my lap, and I wrapped my arms around her waist; it had been a while since we found each other in this position again. During the summer we were supposed to talk a lot on the phone, but that never happened, and all quarter long I had hardly seen her because I hadn’t been really good at keeping in touch. Whenever I ran into her on campus, we’d tightly hug each other (she’s probably the only girl whose boobs I’m comfortable with pressing up against my chest). Then, since I’d almost always be running late for class, I’d yell, “Let’s eat some time!” over my shoulder as I continued on.
As I drove Mary home again that night, I proposed the same thing again and made it a promise this time. Let’s hope I keep it. There’s a lot to catch her up on.
---
“Life Savers”
Written June 9th, 2009 (Excerpted)
The [end of the year hall activity] started off pretty stale and underwhelming for a goodbye activity for people who had to live with each other for 34 weeks. I left somewhere in the middle and I imagine that it continued to be stale and underwhelming all the way through.
But the point of this entry isn’t to talk about how the Misty Mountain “family” crumbled apart as the year progressed (because that was already talked about enough during the very sentimental activity). I’m writing this to further elaborate on what I said about the two people I gave my life savers to. I’m generally a slow thinker and so I’m bad at coming up with amazing things to say on spot. (This is probably another one of the reasons I write: So I can sound smarter about some prior incident in which I wasn’t as smart.)
I gave my two life savers to Mary and Cameron. =) Ladies first, so I will start off with Camer—okay haha lame joke I know. I’ll start with Mary.
Dear Mary,
“You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a girlfriend, except for, well, that one in the eighth grade.” I don’t actually remember how we started getting really close. I know that some time during move-in week, I was upstairs on your floor and wandered into your room. We met, I made you laugh, and yeah. During Fall Quarter, we didn’t chill all that much (except for the one time I drove you to UCLA and the knife incident), but I think some time toward the end of Winter Quarter (might’ve even been the beginning of Spring Quarter) we started talking. We bonded by pretending to be a couple, and things just went from there.
I loved out conversations. Besides my nightly phone conversations with Trung, I’ve never really gotten to have super long conversations with anyone else about how the day went, how the future is looking, etc. I’m glad that we were both to listen to each other. Oh Mary, you and your boys.
We’ve talked about likely/unlikely it’d be if we all remembered each other after a decade or if we would invite each other to our weddings or baby showers or whatever. I still say it’s too soon to tell, but I can say that you are a friend that I would like to keep for a really long time. Oh, and like I said before, I won’t forget our deal. In 20 years…!
We’ll keep in contact over the summer, mkaaaaaaay? And remember to come watch my auditions! You promised! And I’ll come help you practice your tango/ball room dancing if I get to touch your boobies some more. =)
Dear Cameron, ...
- (Male) Nip slips
- Cameron going shirtless and giving these lap dances where he arched his back to the point where he was upside-down and could plant his hands on the floor
- Cameron giving me that same kind of lap dance
- Lady Gaga and Britney Spears
- A very drunk Seung-Wan trying to make out with me
- Fierce eyebrows
Overall, I had fun. It was good seeing Cameron because I hadn’t seen him in a while. We have a lecture class together but I hardly ever go, and with Cameron’s fraternity and internship at the LGBTABCDEFG RC, our schedules hardly ever match enough to find time to eat. His party was like reminder of who I needed to catch up with.
At the party, it was also interesting to see Cameron’s two groups of friends mix: his Misty Mountain hallmates from last year (this is the group I’m in) and his gays. Once the Misty girls were drunk, they were going crazy on the dance carpet while the straight guys chilled on the couch. I was somewhere in the middle, going between talking with them and talking with a few other friends from the gay side.
I think Mary was gone after one shot. Her face glowed a deep red as she got grinded on and sandwiched by a bunch of guys. Guys guys guys. Poor Mary, it was probably the most action she had gotten in a while but they were all gay. When she needed something a little more mellow, I salsa’d with her. She took salsa classes at the ARC and I learned some through my social dance class, but neither of us was too amazing when we danced with each other. Her hips moved in a way that was too far advanced for me, but I had fun spinning her until I realized that she might vomit sprinkler style.
So we decided to rest at the couch. Mary sat on my lap, and I wrapped my arms around her waist; it had been a while since we found each other in this position again. During the summer we were supposed to talk a lot on the phone, but that never happened, and all quarter long I had hardly seen her because I hadn’t been really good at keeping in touch. Whenever I ran into her on campus, we’d tightly hug each other (she’s probably the only girl whose boobs I’m comfortable with pressing up against my chest). Then, since I’d almost always be running late for class, I’d yell, “Let’s eat some time!” over my shoulder as I continued on.
As I drove Mary home again that night, I proposed the same thing again and made it a promise this time. Let’s hope I keep it. There’s a lot to catch her up on.
---
“Life Savers”
Written June 9th, 2009 (Excerpted)
The [end of the year hall activity] started off pretty stale and underwhelming for a goodbye activity for people who had to live with each other for 34 weeks. I left somewhere in the middle and I imagine that it continued to be stale and underwhelming all the way through.
But the point of this entry isn’t to talk about how the Misty Mountain “family” crumbled apart as the year progressed (because that was already talked about enough during the very sentimental activity). I’m writing this to further elaborate on what I said about the two people I gave my life savers to. I’m generally a slow thinker and so I’m bad at coming up with amazing things to say on spot. (This is probably another one of the reasons I write: So I can sound smarter about some prior incident in which I wasn’t as smart.)
I gave my two life savers to Mary and Cameron. =) Ladies first, so I will start off with Camer—okay haha lame joke I know. I’ll start with Mary.
Dear Mary,
“You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a girlfriend, except for, well, that one in the eighth grade.” I don’t actually remember how we started getting really close. I know that some time during move-in week, I was upstairs on your floor and wandered into your room. We met, I made you laugh, and yeah. During Fall Quarter, we didn’t chill all that much (except for the one time I drove you to UCLA and the knife incident), but I think some time toward the end of Winter Quarter (might’ve even been the beginning of Spring Quarter) we started talking. We bonded by pretending to be a couple, and things just went from there.
I loved out conversations. Besides my nightly phone conversations with Trung, I’ve never really gotten to have super long conversations with anyone else about how the day went, how the future is looking, etc. I’m glad that we were both to listen to each other. Oh Mary, you and your boys.
We’ve talked about likely/unlikely it’d be if we all remembered each other after a decade or if we would invite each other to our weddings or baby showers or whatever. I still say it’s too soon to tell, but I can say that you are a friend that I would like to keep for a really long time. Oh, and like I said before, I won’t forget our deal. In 20 years…!
We’ll keep in contact over the summer, mkaaaaaaay? And remember to come watch my auditions! You promised! And I’ll come help you practice your tango/ball room dancing if I get to touch your boobies some more. =)
Dear Cameron, ...
Through the Looking-Glass
Friday, October 30, 2009
“George Mead—all about me—he came up with the concept of self! And self is used to like, describe your personality, based on your own self-awareness and self-image...”
Damn, Sarah’s going to set the curve on this midterm.
“...we try to like, see ourselves from another person’s point of view so we don’t like, make ourselves like, look dumb. Cooley coined the phrase ‘looking-glass self’ for a self-image based on how we think other people see us...”
I glanced around the room. Posters containing overwhelming amounts of brainwashing rhetoric lined the walls top to bottom, fighting for my attention. The few that managed to catch my eye, I read silently to myself, all while scrutinizing the pictures of people that accompanied them. “I’m glad I FAILED...at suicide, because my life is so amazing right now.” But your face isn’t. “I’m straight, but NOT narrow!” Yeah, because you’re fat. “Please let my mommy marry my mommy!” Stop whining, spoiled bitch. “Can you tell which of these children have gay parents?”
“...we initiate action, which is like the subjective side of the self, and then we evaluate the action based on how other people respond to us, which is like the objective side of the self...Brian?”
“Uh, huh?” I snapped out of my daze to see Sarah and Cameron staring at me from their sofa. “I’m listening,” I reassured them.
“Do you need help understanding anything in particular?” Sarah asked, sounding ever so concerned like a teacher or mother.
It was 11 AM, still too early to me. Running on four hours of sleep, I had woken up at 9 to go to my 9:30 natural disasters class for a midterm. It wasn’t that bad at all. I finished at 10 and went to the library to study for my sociology midterm coming up at 12:30. There, sitting in the library’s comfortable chairs, I was falling asleep when I got a text from Camerom asking me to study with him and Sarah at the Lesbian/ Gay/ Bisexual/ Transgender/ Queer/ Pansexual/ Intersex Resource Center (LGBTABCDEFG RC). When I got there, I was dismayed to find that the resource center’s chairs—couches—were far more comfortable and relaxing than the library’s.
“I’m tired. I think I’ll function better after a nap. Can you wake me up in 15 minutes, Sarah?”
“Sure.” Sarah surprised me by being unusually okay with my request to slack off. If this was last year back in the dorms when we were all first year students, she’d lecture me about how I hadn’t done any of the reading for the last four weeks, and with the midterm coming up in less than two hours, I couldn’t have any time to be lazy. Maybe she had given up on me.
Oh well, Sarah granted me nap time, so I couldn’t resist taking advantage of that. As I stretched out in my couch, I noticed the big window looking out into the hallway and realized that anyone could walk by and see me sitting inside among a bunch of rainbows and gay empowerment magazines, so I pulled my cap over my face. After adjusting my wedgie, I leaned back and rested my eyes.
As a gay guy, I’m often criticized for trying too hard to put up a masculine façade. When you see me, you see a guy with a New Era 59fifty cap slapped on over some buzzed hair, a pair of black basketball shorts that matches with whatever T-shirt I’m wearing, and Nikes to complete the baller-dancer hybrid look. When I’m not dressed like your typical Irvine Asian guy, I’m in a tank at the ARC lifting weights, trying to get that nice physique—something I’d rather be doing than expressing my emotions.
I don’t want people to look at me and think, “Oh my god, with gay guys like that, why would I ever want one to raise kids?” Yes, I do try too hard, and I even get carried away sometimes. Kevin and Alfonso expressed far more emotion than I did when CADC rejected them, while I, not wanting to do anything that “the gays” would do, sat silently and took it like a man. A robot, more like it.
But it was also that same night when I got the CADC rejection email that I realized that under this “masculine façade,” I am nothing. There are no layers in my character to peel back. The masculine façade has become my personality. The accusation that I’m trying to butch things up is preceded by the assumption (or expectation) that, as a gay guy, I have some kind of more emotional and expressive side. That assumption in itself is a gay stereotype. And for me, it’s one that is not true. Not anymore, at least. I’m the way I am because that’s just how I am.
However, I still can’t deny the fact that my character is flawed, that something is wrong. And the problem is more deeply rooted than just refusing/not being able to feel any sad emotions. The main question is, what is the problem? I don’t know.
I’ve never fully come to terms with being gay. I never thought I’d be able to, and I never thought that I’d need to. But maybe the problem is that I really do need to.
The total amount of time I’ve spent hanging out with straight guys (Kevin, Alfonso, and other dancers) is probably more than my senior year in high school and first year in college combined. It’s been ridiculously fun, but I still feel a sense of loneliness. I’m wondering if I need a strong group of gay friends too to fulfill that hole. Maybe this is the problem. I used to be able to go to Cameron for gay friends, but I don’t hang out with his gay friends unless I’m hanging out with him, and Cameron is too busy with his internship and gay frat nowadays. If I go out into the gay world looking for friends, I need to go on my own. And then somehow, I’ll finally fully accept myself.
I dunno. This is getting convoluted. I’m looking for some kind of answer, but I don’t even have the question fully formed in my mind. Being the anxious person I am, however, I can’t wait for that question to form. My urge is too strong, so I’m going to form the question over time while I search. Fortunately, I already know where to start looking.
---
“My DowneLife”
Written March 5th, 2006 (Excerpted)
Among all the private messaging and stuff, I've only actually talked to [a few] from DowneLink on AIM so far.
The first guy was rather interesting... He's black, he's a senior at Independence High, he's... interesting. And by interesting, I mean he kept on talking about jacking off and penises. He said his was... 8 inches long. oh god.. =/ And then he asked me if I had a digital camera. I said yes [[how did it not strike me that I should’ve lied?]], and then he started bothering me about showing him pictures of my penis. I tried to be as nice about it as possible, saying stuff like, "Taking pictures of my penis makes me feel really weird, sorry! =)" I'm just glad he didn't show me pictures of his 8-inch black cobra.
The second guy, I only talked to for five minutes. He asked me my age, to which I responded 15. He was disappointed and told me, "Oh, I can't talk to you. You're too young." My DowneLink profile says I'm 18 because that's the required minimum age; I hate having to lie about my age and misleading people like that... And... Apparently I'm "too young"... was this guy looking to have sex with me or what? =/
---
And no, the answer/question doesn’t involve sex or relationships.
Damn, Sarah’s going to set the curve on this midterm.
“...we try to like, see ourselves from another person’s point of view so we don’t like, make ourselves like, look dumb. Cooley coined the phrase ‘looking-glass self’ for a self-image based on how we think other people see us...”
I glanced around the room. Posters containing overwhelming amounts of brainwashing rhetoric lined the walls top to bottom, fighting for my attention. The few that managed to catch my eye, I read silently to myself, all while scrutinizing the pictures of people that accompanied them. “I’m glad I FAILED...at suicide, because my life is so amazing right now.” But your face isn’t. “I’m straight, but NOT narrow!” Yeah, because you’re fat. “Please let my mommy marry my mommy!” Stop whining, spoiled bitch. “Can you tell which of these children have gay parents?”
“...we initiate action, which is like the subjective side of the self, and then we evaluate the action based on how other people respond to us, which is like the objective side of the self...Brian?”
“Uh, huh?” I snapped out of my daze to see Sarah and Cameron staring at me from their sofa. “I’m listening,” I reassured them.
“Do you need help understanding anything in particular?” Sarah asked, sounding ever so concerned like a teacher or mother.
It was 11 AM, still too early to me. Running on four hours of sleep, I had woken up at 9 to go to my 9:30 natural disasters class for a midterm. It wasn’t that bad at all. I finished at 10 and went to the library to study for my sociology midterm coming up at 12:30. There, sitting in the library’s comfortable chairs, I was falling asleep when I got a text from Camerom asking me to study with him and Sarah at the Lesbian/ Gay/ Bisexual/ Transgender/ Queer/ Pansexual/ Intersex Resource Center (LGBTABCDEFG RC). When I got there, I was dismayed to find that the resource center’s chairs—couches—were far more comfortable and relaxing than the library’s.
“I’m tired. I think I’ll function better after a nap. Can you wake me up in 15 minutes, Sarah?”
“Sure.” Sarah surprised me by being unusually okay with my request to slack off. If this was last year back in the dorms when we were all first year students, she’d lecture me about how I hadn’t done any of the reading for the last four weeks, and with the midterm coming up in less than two hours, I couldn’t have any time to be lazy. Maybe she had given up on me.
Oh well, Sarah granted me nap time, so I couldn’t resist taking advantage of that. As I stretched out in my couch, I noticed the big window looking out into the hallway and realized that anyone could walk by and see me sitting inside among a bunch of rainbows and gay empowerment magazines, so I pulled my cap over my face. After adjusting my wedgie, I leaned back and rested my eyes.
As a gay guy, I’m often criticized for trying too hard to put up a masculine façade. When you see me, you see a guy with a New Era 59fifty cap slapped on over some buzzed hair, a pair of black basketball shorts that matches with whatever T-shirt I’m wearing, and Nikes to complete the baller-dancer hybrid look. When I’m not dressed like your typical Irvine Asian guy, I’m in a tank at the ARC lifting weights, trying to get that nice physique—something I’d rather be doing than expressing my emotions.
I don’t want people to look at me and think, “Oh my god, with gay guys like that, why would I ever want one to raise kids?” Yes, I do try too hard, and I even get carried away sometimes. Kevin and Alfonso expressed far more emotion than I did when CADC rejected them, while I, not wanting to do anything that “the gays” would do, sat silently and took it like a man. A robot, more like it.
But it was also that same night when I got the CADC rejection email that I realized that under this “masculine façade,” I am nothing. There are no layers in my character to peel back. The masculine façade has become my personality. The accusation that I’m trying to butch things up is preceded by the assumption (or expectation) that, as a gay guy, I have some kind of more emotional and expressive side. That assumption in itself is a gay stereotype. And for me, it’s one that is not true. Not anymore, at least. I’m the way I am because that’s just how I am.
However, I still can’t deny the fact that my character is flawed, that something is wrong. And the problem is more deeply rooted than just refusing/not being able to feel any sad emotions. The main question is, what is the problem? I don’t know.
I’ve never fully come to terms with being gay. I never thought I’d be able to, and I never thought that I’d need to. But maybe the problem is that I really do need to.
The total amount of time I’ve spent hanging out with straight guys (Kevin, Alfonso, and other dancers) is probably more than my senior year in high school and first year in college combined. It’s been ridiculously fun, but I still feel a sense of loneliness. I’m wondering if I need a strong group of gay friends too to fulfill that hole. Maybe this is the problem. I used to be able to go to Cameron for gay friends, but I don’t hang out with his gay friends unless I’m hanging out with him, and Cameron is too busy with his internship and gay frat nowadays. If I go out into the gay world looking for friends, I need to go on my own. And then somehow, I’ll finally fully accept myself.
I dunno. This is getting convoluted. I’m looking for some kind of answer, but I don’t even have the question fully formed in my mind. Being the anxious person I am, however, I can’t wait for that question to form. My urge is too strong, so I’m going to form the question over time while I search. Fortunately, I already know where to start looking.
---
“My DowneLife”
Written March 5th, 2006 (Excerpted)
Among all the private messaging and stuff, I've only actually talked to [a few] from DowneLink on AIM so far.
The first guy was rather interesting... He's black, he's a senior at Independence High, he's... interesting. And by interesting, I mean he kept on talking about jacking off and penises. He said his was... 8 inches long. oh god.. =/ And then he asked me if I had a digital camera. I said yes [[how did it not strike me that I should’ve lied?]], and then he started bothering me about showing him pictures of my penis. I tried to be as nice about it as possible, saying stuff like, "Taking pictures of my penis makes me feel really weird, sorry! =)" I'm just glad he didn't show me pictures of his 8-inch black cobra.
The second guy, I only talked to for five minutes. He asked me my age, to which I responded 15. He was disappointed and told me, "Oh, I can't talk to you. You're too young." My DowneLink profile says I'm 18 because that's the required minimum age; I hate having to lie about my age and misleading people like that... And... Apparently I'm "too young"... was this guy looking to have sex with me or what? =/
---
And no, the answer/question doesn’t involve sex or relationships.
Not Me
Thursday, October 15, 2009
In my French Grammar class, there was a guy named Marc who sat on the other side of the room. When the teacher would call his name during role, I would always instinctively look up with the word “présent” already on the tip of my tongue.
“No wait—that’s not me.” I always managed to stop myself each time until finally, I no longer responded to the name “Marc.” I no longer turned my head toward the sound of it. No longer shook myself awake from my snooze to meet the teacher’s stern face.
I know it’s only been three and a half weeks, but I already knew after the first week that I was just kidding myself by thinking that there was still a chance to respark my interest in French.
---
“Dénouement”
Written June 1st, 2009 (Excerpted)
I was very worried that I had lost interest in French, as trivial as it may sound. French is my major, and for two to three years I’ve said it’d be what I’d do. I had already envisioned the way my French class would work, the lesson plans I would create, and the things I would have my students do. So the loss of French to me would mean the loss of a chunk of my future that I had already planned out.
I sulked over this conflict for a while, but a few weeks into Spring Quarter, I got over it after having a good talk with my friend Cameron during a late night walk around campus. He suggested that maybe my interest in French got pushed back because I more recently got into hip hop dancing. I have more interest in dancing right now because it’s so new and exciting to me that I want to devote more time to it to explore all that it has to offer me. Once I get to the level that I want to be at, I can tone down my focus on dance and split my attention evenly among all my other interests.
Still, I’m still itching for an immediate solution that says either I AM or am NOT interested in French, but probably no such solution exists. I’ll have to wait it out, and I’m fine with that, for now anyway.
---
After four months, I finally got my answer, but I can’t say whether or not it was the answer I had wanted.
“No wait—that’s not me.” I always managed to stop myself each time until finally, I no longer responded to the name “Marc.” I no longer turned my head toward the sound of it. No longer shook myself awake from my snooze to meet the teacher’s stern face.
I know it’s only been three and a half weeks, but I already knew after the first week that I was just kidding myself by thinking that there was still a chance to respark my interest in French.
---
“Dénouement”
Written June 1st, 2009 (Excerpted)
I was very worried that I had lost interest in French, as trivial as it may sound. French is my major, and for two to three years I’ve said it’d be what I’d do. I had already envisioned the way my French class would work, the lesson plans I would create, and the things I would have my students do. So the loss of French to me would mean the loss of a chunk of my future that I had already planned out.
I sulked over this conflict for a while, but a few weeks into Spring Quarter, I got over it after having a good talk with my friend Cameron during a late night walk around campus. He suggested that maybe my interest in French got pushed back because I more recently got into hip hop dancing. I have more interest in dancing right now because it’s so new and exciting to me that I want to devote more time to it to explore all that it has to offer me. Once I get to the level that I want to be at, I can tone down my focus on dance and split my attention evenly among all my other interests.
Still, I’m still itching for an immediate solution that says either I AM or am NOT interested in French, but probably no such solution exists. I’ll have to wait it out, and I’m fine with that, for now anyway.
---
After four months, I finally got my answer, but I can’t say whether or not it was the answer I had wanted.
Paramasturbatory Illusions
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
When I tell the story of how I got into hip hop choreo, there’s the short version, and then there’s the long version. When I don’t want to bore the hell out of everyone and lose my audience, I tell the short version: “Through a friend.”
That’s not an exciting story at all, and the long version isn’t that boring. It’s an intricate, seemingly disconnected series of cause-and-effect, a long chain reaction affected by other chain reactions. It doesn’t seem to be going in any direction at first, but bear with it.
- During my junior year in high school, 2006, DDR was dying, so black John got me into breakdancing. I quit permanently at the beginning of 2007 due to lol-drama between me and John.
- In 2007, a guy named Jon randomly messaged me on Downelink (the gay Myspace) and told me that I looked like his friend QA. I humored Jon and agreed to start talking to QA.
- Somewhere in my conversations with QA, he briefly mentioned a summer teaching internship called Breakthrough. I saw it as an opportunity to teach my very own French class, but the deadline had long since passed. I forgot about it after a while.
- In March 2008, I randomly recalled that one conversation with QA about the teaching internship. I couldn’t remember the name of the internship, and I figured that the deadline would’ve already passed. However, I decided to dig through my AIM logs anyway to find the name of that internship. I found it and discovered that I had two days left to do the Breakthrough application. I worked till the early mornings on it.
- I got the job, but then I found out that I couldn’t teach French for an elective. So, I had to think about something else. I looked back into my past and decided that it was time to revive my interest in breakdancing so I could teach it.
- After the summer, I decided to continue pursue breakdancing into college, and I vowed not to do any other form of dancing because breakdancing was probably the least gay of them. Admittedly though, I wasn’t too into it.
- When signing up for my winter quarter classes back in Fall 2008, I wanted this one Hum Core class for this one time, but that wasn’t available so I had to get another. I was kinda satisfied, but one random day a month later, I decided to check class schedules again and found that a another class for the original time I wanted opened up. Of course, I switched to that one.
- Winter Quarter started in January 2009, and there was no one really noteworthy in my class. I will mention that there was a tall Asian guy named Sam; he became important later.
- UCI held Vibe 14, one of the big SoCal dance competitions. I went because I still had a slight interest in breakdancing and wanted to see the breakdancing club perform.
- I had planned on going to Vibe early but ended up oversleeping, so I got stuck in the back of the line.
- Competing teams were practicing in area close to the back of the line, and that was where I spotted Sam practicing with CADC.
- CADC won, and I congratulated Sam in class the next day. We bonded over dance.
- He told me about Kaba Modern audition workshops.
- I didn’t want to go without Cameron, but Cameron didn’t really wanna go.
- While Cameron and I were walking back from the student center the day of the first workshop, he ran into his friend who convinced him to go. Since he was going, I was going too.
And those audition workshops were how I got into dancing.
All of the above was a summary of a really long entry that lead up to this entry:
---
“all things”
Written May 30th, 2009 (Excerpted)
The path of my life that has led to the person I am today is so delicate and fragile. One different tiny detour in that path could’ve led somewhere totally different. I ponder, what would’ve happened if Cameron and I left the arcade five minutes earlier or five minutes later. At the moment, leaving a little earlier or a little later didn’t seem like it mattered at all. But then we wouldn’t have run into the girl that had convinced Cameron to accompany me to the Kaba Modern audition workshops. If I had never accidentally fallen asleep before [Vibe 14], I would’ve gotten in line close to the front and would’ve not seen Sam. If I had never decided to randomly check the schedule of Hum Core classes, I would’ve not known Sam in the first place.
And going all the way further back to two years ago, if I never bothered to reply to the weird message from Jon on Downelink, I never would’ve met QA, never would’ve heard about Breakthrough, never would’ve forced myself to [relearn] breakdancing as a last minute resort, never would’ve actually gotten interested in breakdancing. It’s possible that I might’ve taken the same Hum Core discussion class in Winter Quarter, but I definitely would not have gone to Vibe 14 without my interest in breakdancing. And yeah, my whole path of becoming a hip hop dancer would’ve fallen apart with one detour that I did not make very early on. And it could’ve still easily fallen apart if I did not make any one of like, eight other detours.
Look at where I am. I’m a (beginning) hip hop dancer now. I once told my dancer friend Kevin, “I just realized that I really love dancing. This is the most fun hobby I’ve had since I quit DDR.” As nerdy as it sounds, to say that I love something as much as I used to love DDR—that’s really huge for me. DDR was six or seven years of my life, and I’ve won competitions and made some great friends through it.
---
I’m beginning to rethink that theory, that one tiny change in the past could’ve led to me never getting into hip hop dancing.
What if it was actually bound to happen? As in, meant to be? As in, fated?
Sam wasn’t the only one who told me about the Kaba Modern auditions. Alfonso told me about them too. So all that stuff about choosing my Hum Core class and sleeping in for Vibe might have not mattered.
Would I have gone to Kaba Modern auditions if Cameron didn’t go? Possibly. I was always prone to making last minute decisions due to getting really bored at night in Irvine.
And what was my reason for doing breakdancing and nothing else? Because breakdancing was the least gay. Cameron changed my attitude about all gay things toward the end of the year, and with my views changed, could I have been more open to giving choreo a try?
And let’s not ignore the obvious: I was going to UC Irvine, the “dancer” school. All of our three competing teams, Kaba Modern, CADC, and Common Ground placed in the top five at Hip Hop Internationals at Las Vegas. It would be hard to avoid going to any kind of dance workshop throughout all four years of college. Everything that happened before me going to Irvine might as well have not mattered.
I never asked for this. To start dancing. To fall in love with it. I feel like I’ve made a lot of sacrifices for dancing, and those sacrifices included bits and pieces that made up part of what I had envisioned as my future. I had a plan, a grand master plan, my own self-made destiny that didn’t include dancing at all. But unexpectedly, dancing did come along, and I guess it just threw things in total different directions. It’s a concept that I still have trouble fully understanding: fate coming in and throwing off the destiny that I had made for myself, as though I really am supposed to not have a choice in creating my own destiny.
---
“all things” (Continued)
There are some choices that I make because I can see the consequences, but then there are some choices that I make that lead to consequences that I could have never dreamed of. And it just happens that the latter type of choices happen to be big life ones. And, since they’re such big life choices that lead to consequences that I don’t see and understand at the time I make them, can I really say that I’m in control of my life?
I want some sense of control and assurance that my life is not just a random and hectic path leading down to my destruction, so I think it’s plausible to say that other people have some control over my own life. That’s reasonable. After all, it’s a well known fact that our lives are shaped by the way other people come into our lives. But really, when Jon messaged me to tell me that I looked like a friend of his, did he really intend to give me the choice of becoming a dancer? Nope.
So who’s in control of my life?
---
Gotta love fate.
That’s not an exciting story at all, and the long version isn’t that boring. It’s an intricate, seemingly disconnected series of cause-and-effect, a long chain reaction affected by other chain reactions. It doesn’t seem to be going in any direction at first, but bear with it.
- During my junior year in high school, 2006, DDR was dying, so black John got me into breakdancing. I quit permanently at the beginning of 2007 due to lol-drama between me and John.
- In 2007, a guy named Jon randomly messaged me on Downelink (the gay Myspace) and told me that I looked like his friend QA. I humored Jon and agreed to start talking to QA.
- Somewhere in my conversations with QA, he briefly mentioned a summer teaching internship called Breakthrough. I saw it as an opportunity to teach my very own French class, but the deadline had long since passed. I forgot about it after a while.
- In March 2008, I randomly recalled that one conversation with QA about the teaching internship. I couldn’t remember the name of the internship, and I figured that the deadline would’ve already passed. However, I decided to dig through my AIM logs anyway to find the name of that internship. I found it and discovered that I had two days left to do the Breakthrough application. I worked till the early mornings on it.
- I got the job, but then I found out that I couldn’t teach French for an elective. So, I had to think about something else. I looked back into my past and decided that it was time to revive my interest in breakdancing so I could teach it.
- After the summer, I decided to continue pursue breakdancing into college, and I vowed not to do any other form of dancing because breakdancing was probably the least gay of them. Admittedly though, I wasn’t too into it.
- When signing up for my winter quarter classes back in Fall 2008, I wanted this one Hum Core class for this one time, but that wasn’t available so I had to get another. I was kinda satisfied, but one random day a month later, I decided to check class schedules again and found that a another class for the original time I wanted opened up. Of course, I switched to that one.
- Winter Quarter started in January 2009, and there was no one really noteworthy in my class. I will mention that there was a tall Asian guy named Sam; he became important later.
- UCI held Vibe 14, one of the big SoCal dance competitions. I went because I still had a slight interest in breakdancing and wanted to see the breakdancing club perform.
- I had planned on going to Vibe early but ended up oversleeping, so I got stuck in the back of the line.
- Competing teams were practicing in area close to the back of the line, and that was where I spotted Sam practicing with CADC.
- CADC won, and I congratulated Sam in class the next day. We bonded over dance.
- He told me about Kaba Modern audition workshops.
- I didn’t want to go without Cameron, but Cameron didn’t really wanna go.
- While Cameron and I were walking back from the student center the day of the first workshop, he ran into his friend who convinced him to go. Since he was going, I was going too.
And those audition workshops were how I got into dancing.
All of the above was a summary of a really long entry that lead up to this entry:
---
“all things”
Written May 30th, 2009 (Excerpted)
The path of my life that has led to the person I am today is so delicate and fragile. One different tiny detour in that path could’ve led somewhere totally different. I ponder, what would’ve happened if Cameron and I left the arcade five minutes earlier or five minutes later. At the moment, leaving a little earlier or a little later didn’t seem like it mattered at all. But then we wouldn’t have run into the girl that had convinced Cameron to accompany me to the Kaba Modern audition workshops. If I had never accidentally fallen asleep before [Vibe 14], I would’ve gotten in line close to the front and would’ve not seen Sam. If I had never decided to randomly check the schedule of Hum Core classes, I would’ve not known Sam in the first place.
And going all the way further back to two years ago, if I never bothered to reply to the weird message from Jon on Downelink, I never would’ve met QA, never would’ve heard about Breakthrough, never would’ve forced myself to [relearn] breakdancing as a last minute resort, never would’ve actually gotten interested in breakdancing. It’s possible that I might’ve taken the same Hum Core discussion class in Winter Quarter, but I definitely would not have gone to Vibe 14 without my interest in breakdancing. And yeah, my whole path of becoming a hip hop dancer would’ve fallen apart with one detour that I did not make very early on. And it could’ve still easily fallen apart if I did not make any one of like, eight other detours.
Look at where I am. I’m a (beginning) hip hop dancer now. I once told my dancer friend Kevin, “I just realized that I really love dancing. This is the most fun hobby I’ve had since I quit DDR.” As nerdy as it sounds, to say that I love something as much as I used to love DDR—that’s really huge for me. DDR was six or seven years of my life, and I’ve won competitions and made some great friends through it.
---
I’m beginning to rethink that theory, that one tiny change in the past could’ve led to me never getting into hip hop dancing.
What if it was actually bound to happen? As in, meant to be? As in, fated?
Sam wasn’t the only one who told me about the Kaba Modern auditions. Alfonso told me about them too. So all that stuff about choosing my Hum Core class and sleeping in for Vibe might have not mattered.
Would I have gone to Kaba Modern auditions if Cameron didn’t go? Possibly. I was always prone to making last minute decisions due to getting really bored at night in Irvine.
And what was my reason for doing breakdancing and nothing else? Because breakdancing was the least gay. Cameron changed my attitude about all gay things toward the end of the year, and with my views changed, could I have been more open to giving choreo a try?
And let’s not ignore the obvious: I was going to UC Irvine, the “dancer” school. All of our three competing teams, Kaba Modern, CADC, and Common Ground placed in the top five at Hip Hop Internationals at Las Vegas. It would be hard to avoid going to any kind of dance workshop throughout all four years of college. Everything that happened before me going to Irvine might as well have not mattered.
I never asked for this. To start dancing. To fall in love with it. I feel like I’ve made a lot of sacrifices for dancing, and those sacrifices included bits and pieces that made up part of what I had envisioned as my future. I had a plan, a grand master plan, my own self-made destiny that didn’t include dancing at all. But unexpectedly, dancing did come along, and I guess it just threw things in total different directions. It’s a concept that I still have trouble fully understanding: fate coming in and throwing off the destiny that I had made for myself, as though I really am supposed to not have a choice in creating my own destiny.
---
“all things” (Continued)
There are some choices that I make because I can see the consequences, but then there are some choices that I make that lead to consequences that I could have never dreamed of. And it just happens that the latter type of choices happen to be big life ones. And, since they’re such big life choices that lead to consequences that I don’t see and understand at the time I make them, can I really say that I’m in control of my life?
I want some sense of control and assurance that my life is not just a random and hectic path leading down to my destruction, so I think it’s plausible to say that other people have some control over my own life. That’s reasonable. After all, it’s a well known fact that our lives are shaped by the way other people come into our lives. But really, when Jon messaged me to tell me that I looked like a friend of his, did he really intend to give me the choice of becoming a dancer? Nope.
So who’s in control of my life?
---
Gotta love fate.
Tags:
alfonso,
black john,
breakthrough,
cameron,
dancing,
flashback,
french,
future,
kevin,
norcal,
repost,
socal,
spirituality,
summer 2009,
teaching
Orpheus
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
“I really really think that this year will be the most FUCKING AMAZING year, EVER!” Cameron so vehemently declared.
Last night, the two of us met up at a quaint little Asian café up in Fremont to catch up and get ourselves excited for Irvine.
It hasn’t really quite hit me that I’m going back to college this Saturday. It’s going to be difficult leaving home. Again.
Cameron invited me to a party at his apartment Saturday night. I understood this perfectly: A Party. Saturday. Cameron’s place.
But I have some kind of mental block that’s not letting me wrap my brain around the fact that all that will be taking place down south.
I question myself. Why do I get attached? And what is it that I get attached to that makes leaving hard? Am I attached to Funksters? I really only had like three or four friends from Funksters, and I had only known them for less than eight weeks. There should no big deal.
Am I attached to San Francisco? Am I attached to that dance studio, with its gray mats, bigass mirrors, loud fan, high ceilings, and the sound of the BART whooshing by?
I had thought this was going to be easier the second time around, but it actually feels harder.
Last summer, about two or three days before moving down south, Trung and I headed over to Oakridge late at night and met up with Black John. We decided to head to the top level of the parking garage where we could take in the magnificent breathtaking view of the In-N-Out and Kohl’s across the street. (The garage was three stories, so we didn’t have much of a view.)
This was probably our third or fourth time here on top of the parking garage. We’d always just live dangerously and sit on the edge, our legs dangling over three stories above the ground. We’d chat and reminisce about old times.
John lit a cigarette, and I think the topic of that night was old TV shows, or Super Smash Brothers Brawl. I think I aimlessly ran around in the parking lot too and attempted to bboy.
This was my last night with Oakridge, the mall that I had grown up in all my high school years. It was going to be hard to let go. I didn’t know what it’d be like in SoCal if I wasn’t going to this mall every god damn week.
After an hour, we took the elevator back down to the first floor. As we got out, there were two cops, a female and a male one, there at the elevator door. We thought they were getting on, but they actually detained us. Uh oh.
Apparently, there were cameras on the roof. And we seemed shady.
The female officer took our drivers’ licenses and ran background checks. While waiting for the background checks, the male one searched and questioned us.
Were we terrorists? Nope.
Were we carrying rocket launchers? Nope.
Were we contemplating mass suicide? Nope.
Were we in possession of marijuana? Fortunately, John wasn’t that night.
I feel that if their cameras were any bit decent, they could’ve at least figured that we weren’t carrying rocket launchers.
I don’t remember how long we were there for with the cops. Thirty minutes? It was long enough to get uncomfortable, with all the shoppers walking by and turning their heads to watch the teenage delinquents possibly getting arrested. I seriously thought that they still could’ve nailed us for something, like loitering.
Fortunately, they let us go, but I couldn’t help but feel bitter about the entire incident.
That was when moving on became easier. Four years at Oakridge: I had outgrown this place. It didn’t want me anymore.
(*Trung came up with the title.)
Last night, the two of us met up at a quaint little Asian café up in Fremont to catch up and get ourselves excited for Irvine.
It hasn’t really quite hit me that I’m going back to college this Saturday. It’s going to be difficult leaving home. Again.
Cameron invited me to a party at his apartment Saturday night. I understood this perfectly: A Party. Saturday. Cameron’s place.
But I have some kind of mental block that’s not letting me wrap my brain around the fact that all that will be taking place down south.
I question myself. Why do I get attached? And what is it that I get attached to that makes leaving hard? Am I attached to Funksters? I really only had like three or four friends from Funksters, and I had only known them for less than eight weeks. There should no big deal.
Am I attached to San Francisco? Am I attached to that dance studio, with its gray mats, bigass mirrors, loud fan, high ceilings, and the sound of the BART whooshing by?
I had thought this was going to be easier the second time around, but it actually feels harder.
 Magnificent view. |
This was probably our third or fourth time here on top of the parking garage. We’d always just live dangerously and sit on the edge, our legs dangling over three stories above the ground. We’d chat and reminisce about old times.
John lit a cigarette, and I think the topic of that night was old TV shows, or Super Smash Brothers Brawl. I think I aimlessly ran around in the parking lot too and attempted to bboy.
 Me and John. |
After an hour, we took the elevator back down to the first floor. As we got out, there were two cops, a female and a male one, there at the elevator door. We thought they were getting on, but they actually detained us. Uh oh.
Apparently, there were cameras on the roof. And we seemed shady.
The female officer took our drivers’ licenses and ran background checks. While waiting for the background checks, the male one searched and questioned us.
Were we terrorists? Nope.
Were we carrying rocket launchers? Nope.
Were we contemplating mass suicide? Nope.
Were we in possession of marijuana? Fortunately, John wasn’t that night.
I feel that if their cameras were any bit decent, they could’ve at least figured that we weren’t carrying rocket launchers.
I don’t remember how long we were there for with the cops. Thirty minutes? It was long enough to get uncomfortable, with all the shoppers walking by and turning their heads to watch the teenage delinquents possibly getting arrested. I seriously thought that they still could’ve nailed us for something, like loitering.
Fortunately, they let us go, but I couldn’t help but feel bitter about the entire incident.
That was when moving on became easier. Four years at Oakridge: I had outgrown this place. It didn’t want me anymore.
(*Trung came up with the title.)
Tags:
black john,
cameron,
flashback,
norcal,
oakridge,
summer 2009,
trung
A Friend’s Bonfire
Thursday, July 30, 2009
I always wonder, if my current sat down and chatted with my past self (like maybe from 7 or 8 months ago), who would slap the other person first?
I went to the bonfire last Saturday thinking that I could have some fun, but not enough to make time unexpectedly fly by fast. Generally nowadays, I have fun going to gay functions, so I don’t know why having fun still surprises me.
When I arrived at the bonfire, there was about two and a half hours left before 9, the official start time. Cameron was there with about ten other friends saving a bonfire pit, and we all chilled. There was some pleasant guitar and some banter and some getting to know each other. I liked that. It’s more chill and easier to get to know people when there aren’t like a million homos drunk off their asses. I didn’t stay for the drinking, and I don’t know what I would’ve thought of the bonfire overall if I had. Though I can say from experience that drunk gay guys aren’t that bad either.
---
“Life Savers”
Written June 9th, 2009 (Excerpted)
Dear Cameron,
When we first met each other at move-in week, we knew right off the bat that we didn’t like each other that much. I saw your rainbow studded belt and a million other happy happy gay pride accessories and dismissed you as another flaming gay (which you are), and you saw me and my very dull and unexciting personality and dismissed me as an overly straight guy in denial (which I am).
But we grew acquainted, enough so that I asked you to come along with me on a random trip to the Asian Garden Mall in Westminster so I could relive a bit of my childhood. From there, we started building our friendship. We became good friends. Probably not as much as you and Charles or you and Bryan or you and San Francisco, but whether or not you really know it, you’ve had some profound effects on my life.
[…]
The other, even bigger effect you’ve had on me, I haven’t really realized it until recently. When I came to college, I really had this whole “Fuck you” ideology and mentality about the 95% of gay guys who didn’t meet my extremely high standards of tolerable. Between the two teams, Team Anti-Gay and Team Pro-Gay, I played a pretty weird role. I didn’t really play in a team at all. I was sometimes with the gays, and sometimes I wasn’t. I took pride in where I stood outside the gay community. I stood there as someone different from the rest, someone who was more of an individual and who was more rational. (I’m not saying that the gay community isn’t full of individuals. I just had this thought that I could be even more individualistic by not being part of a certain community.) But you came along, and in less than two (academic) quarters, you tore down an ideology that I had been developing for over two years. Through you, I realized that the role I was playing—no matter how much pride I took in playing it—it was nonetheless a lonely role.
I went to the bonfire last Saturday thinking that I could have some fun, but not enough to make time unexpectedly fly by fast. Generally nowadays, I have fun going to gay functions, so I don’t know why having fun still surprises me.
When I arrived at the bonfire, there was about two and a half hours left before 9, the official start time. Cameron was there with about ten other friends saving a bonfire pit, and we all chilled. There was some pleasant guitar and some banter and some getting to know each other. I liked that. It’s more chill and easier to get to know people when there aren’t like a million homos drunk off their asses. I didn’t stay for the drinking, and I don’t know what I would’ve thought of the bonfire overall if I had. Though I can say from experience that drunk gay guys aren’t that bad either.
---
“Life Savers”
Written June 9th, 2009 (Excerpted)
Dear Cameron,
When we first met each other at move-in week, we knew right off the bat that we didn’t like each other that much. I saw your rainbow studded belt and a million other happy happy gay pride accessories and dismissed you as another flaming gay (which you are), and you saw me and my very dull and unexciting personality and dismissed me as an overly straight guy in denial (which I am).
But we grew acquainted, enough so that I asked you to come along with me on a random trip to the Asian Garden Mall in Westminster so I could relive a bit of my childhood. From there, we started building our friendship. We became good friends. Probably not as much as you and Charles or you and Bryan or you and San Francisco, but whether or not you really know it, you’ve had some profound effects on my life.
[…]
The other, even bigger effect you’ve had on me, I haven’t really realized it until recently. When I came to college, I really had this whole “Fuck you” ideology and mentality about the 95% of gay guys who didn’t meet my extremely high standards of tolerable. Between the two teams, Team Anti-Gay and Team Pro-Gay, I played a pretty weird role. I didn’t really play in a team at all. I was sometimes with the gays, and sometimes I wasn’t. I took pride in where I stood outside the gay community. I stood there as someone different from the rest, someone who was more of an individual and who was more rational. (I’m not saying that the gay community isn’t full of individuals. I just had this thought that I could be even more individualistic by not being part of a certain community.) But you came along, and in less than two (academic) quarters, you tore down an ideology that I had been developing for over two years. Through you, I realized that the role I was playing—no matter how much pride I took in playing it—it was nonetheless a lonely role.
Back in Irvine
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
I was doing fine back up here in NorCal until this past weekend when I experienced intense Irvine nostalgia.
As Breakthrough comes to a close, I’ve begun to slowly transition into another phase of my summer. Over the past weekend, I drained nearly my entire gas tank driving to San Francisco and back on Saturday and Sunday. And it’s all for a dance class, a “summer intensive” with Funksters SF (which is tied to Funkanometry SF and other things through ways that I haven’t really tried to understand yet).
I’m taking the class with my friend Kevin, who, from here on out, will be referred to as Dancer Kevin (because the other day I got my roommate assignments for my apartment this coming school year, and I will refer to one of them as Roommate Kevin when the time comes).
Dancer Kevin and I felt really old. The class is for 13-18 year olds, but the average age is clearly somewhere between 15 and 16. And the scary thing (to Kevin and me) is that all these high school guys were taller (if not as tall) and buffer than us. And they had tattoos. And they just looked intense. Until I saw their parents waiting for them at the door to drive them home, I forgot their ages, and I felt like I was back at UCI taking a dance class. I got at least Kevin, and then these other college-looking girls and guys (and some were just as gay).
And that’s probably how, on Saturday, I felt this wave of UCI nostalgia wash over me.
At the beginning of winter quarter in January, I signed up for my first real dance class, which was a popping class at UCI’s gym, the ARC, and the almighty famous Mike Song from Kaba Modern Legacy taught it. Dancer Kevin was in that class, and I was aware of his presence (he set off my gaydar), but I didn’t talk to him at first.
Halfway into the quarter, Kaba Modern held auditions in search of less than ten dancers among the 100+ dancers who auditioned. My friend Alfonso auditioned but didn’t make it. He was a mutual friend between me and Kevin, who also auditioned and didn’t make it. After the auditions, I started talking a lot more to Kevin through Alfonso. And then we became friends. Sessioning in a parking lot till late and coming back from Pho at 3 AM during finals week. That was a good memory.
(Somewhere along the way, it was established that Kevin was straight. I think it was when I made a comment on the image plastered on his credit card, and he said it’s a great conversation starter with girls. He then related a story about his ex-girlfriend and making ATM deposits. The image on his credit card? Not big breasts. Not a football field. It was Mashimaro. Ironic.)
Spring Quarter came, and we (at that point, Kevin, Alfonso, Dancer John, Alex Dunn, and me) shared one hip hop class together at the ARC. I usually hogged the first or second row even though there were better and shorter people behind me. Screw them.
Every Tuesday for an hour. Then session a bit and go get some late night at the dining commons. Those dance classes were good times.
This past Saturday, after my summer intensive class got out at six, I braved the hell roads of San Francisco and drove Kevin back to his place (he lives in SF). Then I drove another mile or two to Ocean beach. (It seriously felt like I drove through time, from summer straight into winter. SF weather is irritating.) There, I was attending a bonfire. My friend Cameron’s bonfire. I went there to chill with him before he left for Irvine. Just for him. Which is probably why I refer to it as “a friend’s bonfire” instead of a huge drunk drunk drunk gay gay gay bonfire. Apparently, it was an annual bonfire for NorCal gays (“downe” guys and their fag hags, or, according to Cameron, their “flame dames,” the more politically correct term).
When I arrived at the beach, I was still feeling the effects of the Irvine nostalgia. I saw Cameron, and it only added to it. And then SF Andrew later arrived. More nostalgia, and then I learned Charles was coming. I couldn’t let myself leave without seeing Charles. We’re not super best friends, but seeing him would complete my figurative day in Irvine. I had planned on leaving at 8 so I could get to a Breakthrough teacher get-together by 9, but 8 quickly came and he still wasn’t there. I waited (but the wait wasn’t really much of a wait because I had more fun than I thought I would getting to know the people there).
I met Cameron at the beginning of the school year. He was in my same residential hall Misty Mountain. At first, we didn’t like each other too much. He was too gay and out there for my tastes, and I tried too hard to feign manliness and only came off as too closeted for his tastes. He wasn’t around the hall a lot, so I assumed he was out having orgies with a million other gay people.
We eventually got to know each better though, and by the beginning of winter quarter, we had a budding friendship. Later on Spring Quarter, he would introduce me to some of his other friends, including Charles and another guy named Bryan.
On a spring quarter night in UCI, I was sitting through a very long activity at Misty Mountain. Cameron came through a back door and pulled me out, saving me. It was going to be another night hanging with his friends, Charles and Bryan. That night I met SF Andrew, who was an easy guy to talk to. We had an interesting time food hunting and hanging out at Charles’ apartment.
Charles showed up at the bonfire a little bit before ten. With no more time to waste, I jumped up and ran (waddles through the sand) to him, gave him a hug, and jumped into my car and drove off into the thick-as-a-brick-wall fog of the freeways, leaving behind people back at the bonfire to their drunk (but classy) festivities. It was only an hour-long drive back down, but in my head, it was a six hour drive up and away from Irvine. I’ll be back in one and a half months.
As Breakthrough comes to a close, I’ve begun to slowly transition into another phase of my summer. Over the past weekend, I drained nearly my entire gas tank driving to San Francisco and back on Saturday and Sunday. And it’s all for a dance class, a “summer intensive” with Funksters SF (which is tied to Funkanometry SF and other things through ways that I haven’t really tried to understand yet).
I’m taking the class with my friend Kevin, who, from here on out, will be referred to as Dancer Kevin (because the other day I got my roommate assignments for my apartment this coming school year, and I will refer to one of them as Roommate Kevin when the time comes).
Dancer Kevin and I felt really old. The class is for 13-18 year olds, but the average age is clearly somewhere between 15 and 16. And the scary thing (to Kevin and me) is that all these high school guys were taller (if not as tall) and buffer than us. And they had tattoos. And they just looked intense. Until I saw their parents waiting for them at the door to drive them home, I forgot their ages, and I felt like I was back at UCI taking a dance class. I got at least Kevin, and then these other college-looking girls and guys (and some were just as gay).
And that’s probably how, on Saturday, I felt this wave of UCI nostalgia wash over me.
At the beginning of winter quarter in January, I signed up for my first real dance class, which was a popping class at UCI’s gym, the ARC, and the almighty famous Mike Song from Kaba Modern Legacy taught it. Dancer Kevin was in that class, and I was aware of his presence (he set off my gaydar), but I didn’t talk to him at first.
Halfway into the quarter, Kaba Modern held auditions in search of less than ten dancers among the 100+ dancers who auditioned. My friend Alfonso auditioned but didn’t make it. He was a mutual friend between me and Kevin, who also auditioned and didn’t make it. After the auditions, I started talking a lot more to Kevin through Alfonso. And then we became friends. Sessioning in a parking lot till late and coming back from Pho at 3 AM during finals week. That was a good memory.
(Somewhere along the way, it was established that Kevin was straight. I think it was when I made a comment on the image plastered on his credit card, and he said it’s a great conversation starter with girls. He then related a story about his ex-girlfriend and making ATM deposits. The image on his credit card? Not big breasts. Not a football field. It was Mashimaro. Ironic.)
Spring Quarter came, and we (at that point, Kevin, Alfonso, Dancer John, Alex Dunn, and me) shared one hip hop class together at the ARC. I usually hogged the first or second row even though there were better and shorter people behind me. Screw them.
Every Tuesday for an hour. Then session a bit and go get some late night at the dining commons. Those dance classes were good times.
This past Saturday, after my summer intensive class got out at six, I braved the hell roads of San Francisco and drove Kevin back to his place (he lives in SF). Then I drove another mile or two to Ocean beach. (It seriously felt like I drove through time, from summer straight into winter. SF weather is irritating.) There, I was attending a bonfire. My friend Cameron’s bonfire. I went there to chill with him before he left for Irvine. Just for him. Which is probably why I refer to it as “a friend’s bonfire” instead of a huge drunk drunk drunk gay gay gay bonfire. Apparently, it was an annual bonfire for NorCal gays (“downe” guys and their fag hags, or, according to Cameron, their “flame dames,” the more politically correct term).
When I arrived at the beach, I was still feeling the effects of the Irvine nostalgia. I saw Cameron, and it only added to it. And then SF Andrew later arrived. More nostalgia, and then I learned Charles was coming. I couldn’t let myself leave without seeing Charles. We’re not super best friends, but seeing him would complete my figurative day in Irvine. I had planned on leaving at 8 so I could get to a Breakthrough teacher get-together by 9, but 8 quickly came and he still wasn’t there. I waited (but the wait wasn’t really much of a wait because I had more fun than I thought I would getting to know the people there).
I met Cameron at the beginning of the school year. He was in my same residential hall Misty Mountain. At first, we didn’t like each other too much. He was too gay and out there for my tastes, and I tried too hard to feign manliness and only came off as too closeted for his tastes. He wasn’t around the hall a lot, so I assumed he was out having orgies with a million other gay people.
We eventually got to know each better though, and by the beginning of winter quarter, we had a budding friendship. Later on Spring Quarter, he would introduce me to some of his other friends, including Charles and another guy named Bryan.
On a spring quarter night in UCI, I was sitting through a very long activity at Misty Mountain. Cameron came through a back door and pulled me out, saving me. It was going to be another night hanging with his friends, Charles and Bryan. That night I met SF Andrew, who was an easy guy to talk to. We had an interesting time food hunting and hanging out at Charles’ apartment.
Charles showed up at the bonfire a little bit before ten. With no more time to waste, I jumped up and ran (waddles through the sand) to him, gave him a hug, and jumped into my car and drove off into the thick-as-a-brick-wall fog of the freeways, leaving behind people back at the bonfire to their drunk (but classy) festivities. It was only an hour-long drive back down, but in my head, it was a six hour drive up and away from Irvine. I’ll be back in one and a half months.
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