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Just keep swimming.

@alostfish / alostfish.tumblr.com

26 year old Gaysian in Socal. This is the blog of a small fish in a very, very large pond.
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AskG3S #3a: Role Models and Mentors in our Community

AskG3S, a.k.a. our G3S Writer’s Roundtable, is a discussion forum and advice column gathering the wisdom of some of Tumblr’s best API LGBT writers. If you have any questions about relationships, dating, sex, coming out, family issues, or anything you would like some advice on, send an ask to the G3S Writer’s Roundtable tab on our home page. We also welcome any suggestions for discussion topics. This month on AskG3S, the topic is mentors and role models in the Gaysian community.

Q: Role models and mentor figures can help us through some of life’s most challenging experiences. Growing up gay falls within that class of experiences and can be a bewildering journey, navigating identity, relationships, and more. Growing up, did you have a gay role model who shaped your view or understanding of what it means to be gay? Where did you find this role model and how did they affect your experiences?

A: By @rexomnia

Growing up, I had role models for other aspects of my life: race, education/career, etc. However, in my own journey, I had kept my homosexuality in a box and off to the side. I didn’t actually start exploring it or really thought about it seriously until I started college. And even then, I don’t believe I had a gay role model. I’ve used Reddit and Tumblr as outlets as a way to accept my homosexuality. To vent and share ongoing experiences with like-minded persons. But I never “learned” what it meant to be gay from someone else. 
I’ve sort of went through that on my own, or with others going through the same stressors and concerns that I had. And I think that’s a contributing factor to why I put myself out there on the Internet/Tumblr, or when I meet a friend in real life who is also new to the journey or exploration. Google searches aren’t always reflective of what happens in real life. 
In retrospect, I would have loved the idea of having a “role model/mentor” and learning through experiences of an individual who has had more time to live through life as a gay person. Part of me wants to be the person I never had in my life. I’m not saying I’ve experienced everything there is to know about being gay. I just don’t believe having….comrades…is the same idea as having a true role model to learn from and emulate.
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Anonymous asked:

Stumbled across your page. Read your recent post and related with some of your experiences on the dating apps. I realized it is normally a hit or a miss and could boost or deflate your ego. However, I am not in the scene and that is one of the reasons why I choose not to associate myself with all that. I hope you have had better interactions. Thank you for sharing.

Hey Anon! Sorry for the late response, since I haven't been on Tumblr for a while. Thank you very much for the message. :) - Fish

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INSTANT TIPS

  • These are extremely helpful tips for: gym manner, rest day, workout style, grips , ect.  I try too apply all these tips when I hit the gym and YOU SHOULD TOO!!
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justdilla

YES

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Diary Entry #17

Dear Diary,

I have a story to tell you –

“Where do you see yourself in 10 years?” I asked him.

He thought about it for a while and responded.

“Um, I want to have a house, and I want to have a job. On the weekends I want to go to the movies, and I want to have a group of friends to go with.”

“That sounds pretty good! How can you get there?”

Another pause.

“Well, I have to quit meth…”

It was a warm, sunny afternoon. I sat across from a friend on a balcony looking down on a calm street. We got into a conversation about his struggles with methamphetamine addiction, and I wanted to understand where he was coming from. I thought it would be a good idea to talk first about his aspirations rather than the gritty details of how he became addicted. I was shocked by how simple and “normal” his dreams were for the future. I had always taken shelter, school and friends for granted, but my friend didn’t have those things. He grew up in an impoverished neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York where drugs and violence were rampant. He joined the military, which was his ticket out of that environment. He finished his service only to fall back into a life of drugs and destitution. All of these complicated social issues were also intertwined with his sexuality. In our conversation, he told me he just wanted to be normal – a place to live, a job and friends. What was noticeably missing in his vision was a family.

◆◆◆

I recently read an article in the Huffington Post called “The Epidemic of Gay Loneliness” by Michael Hobbes that I thought captured very well some of the psychological problems that plague the modern gay man, and it has become one of my most referenced articles. One concept that stood out to me was minority stress that describes the constant psychological strain associated with being a stigmatized minority. In the case of being a minority in sexuality, relatively minor stresses dealing with perceived or actual social rejection and prejudice accumulate over time and lead to prolonged psychological trauma. It also talked about the sadness of not being able to have a traditional family. That was definitely an “aha!” moment for me because up to that point, I had not realized that a significant portion of my own depression could be attributed to my sexuality.

In junior year of college, I was going to a weekend retreat with the board of one of my college organizations. It was one of those bonding opportunities that gets the board closer to each other so we can work better together. The retreat would start with talks of organizational agenda setting and annual planning and eventually progress into secret sharing after a few rounds of drinks. When everyone was having a good time playing “Fuck, Marry, Kill”, I had already retreated into the corner anxiously like I always did in similar situations. I had to mentally prepare all kinds of reasons why I didn’t have an extensive dating history by college and came up with stories of attractions to various imaginary people. I would be mentally exhausted by the end of the night trying my hardest to provide unsatisfactory answers. To everyone else, it made me seem secretive and unwilling to share, defeating the point of a bonding night. It took me a while to process how those experiences shaped my interactions with others and my own psyche. I now realized how much my sexuality contributed to my social anxiety and unwillingness to get emotionally close to others. I felt like I had something to hide and was afraid I would be “discovered”. It was difficult to develop the kind of close friendship I saw in others because I couldn’t let my guards down.

I am much more comfortable with my sexuality today, but unfortunately the stress persists. When I visited relatives in China this past summer, I had an earful of questions about why I didn’t get a girlfriend in medical school or when I would get one. My family members were making all kinds of commitments to attend my wedding, including my 80 year old grandmother. When this came up, and it did a lot, I simply smiled and nodded. To them, I was an exemplar child – well educated and professionally accomplished. To me, I just felt like a fraud – I likely would never be able to deliver the kind of “normal” marriage and family they expected. I was going to be a disappointment to people who loved me the most. I believe that the closer one is to family, the worse the feeling. It only took me half a week before I couldn’t take it anymore and wanted to take the next flight back to the U.S….

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When I asked my friend why he kept using meth despite all its negative consequences on his life, he said he felt powerful and sexy with it. It’s boring to meet guys without it because he didn’t feel attractive and confident. He had been struggling with depression and loneliness, and taking drugs was his way to have a moment of feeling like normal, no matter how temporary. He actively looked for people who party and play (hook up while on drugs) on Grindr. He just wanted to feel good about himself, and drugs were his gateway to that feeling. I nodded with an implicit understanding – I knew that feeling too well.

Perhaps you have read my last year’s diary entry on my entrance into the gay world, and it wasn’t full of rainbows and unicorns, so to speak. When I first came into contact with the gay world, a series of painful rejections quickly crushed my naive idealism and simple desires for acceptance. My self-esteem was at an all-time low, and what came with it was depression and a sense of self-hatred. There must’ve been something wrong with me if none of the pretty profiles on dating apps wanted me, right? In Hobbes’ article, he describes a process of being “re-traumatized” as one enters the gay world, a community where we are waiting to be accepted for who we are, only to be ruthlessly rejected for our ethnicity, appearance, income or demeanor. A quote that stood out to me was that “every gay man I know carries around a mental portfolio of all the shitty things other gay men have said and done to him.” In an age of anonymous, headless profiles on dating apps, it’s easy to forget all social etiquette, and we end up with a collective toxic culture that makes everyone miserable.

I have been ghosted or blocked on datings apps more times than I can keep track in the past years, but I do remember a few notable ones. One time I talked to a guy for several weeks and made plans to get boba. I was blocked right after finally sending him a picture. Another time I went rock climbing with a guy and never received a reply to my text after. There was a time that I traveled all the way from Boston to Hartford for a second meeting with a guy who said “you are a great person with a great personality and career, but not exactly my type physically.” Over the years I have struggled with deleting the apps but only to go back on a few days later. I think using dating apps is like gambling. We are on it to hit whatever jackpot that we imagine for ourselves, whether it’s the perfect boyfriend or the hot-boy-next-door hookup. But just like the casino, the player never wins. We end up creating an environment where guys with the best profile pictures get all the attention and can therefore pick and choose and leave the rest of us miserable and desperate from the trail of rejections.

The rejections, especially in the form of ignoring, ghosting and blocking, left me confused and depressed. At times it seemed like I was bracing myself for the eventual rejection in all my interaction with guys. I was defensive and quick to jump to conclusions whenever there was even a lag in response. Many of my friends have told me that I just needed more confidence, but it was very hard to find confidence when I had just received so many rejections. It was especially bad when this was compounded by being Asian and getting racist responses from apps. A friend once commented to me, when you have low self-esteem, you become desperate. And when you are desperate, you do the most irrational things. People engage in risky hook ups and drugs in an attempt to fill this painful void, but it’s like scratching an itch; they offer ephemeral relief but only to make the problem worse long term.

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“Sometimes, I only eat a little bit of my food, like a quarter of a sandwich, and it would make me feel really fat, so I just threw the rest into the toilet.”

A while into the conversation, my friend admitted that he had been struggling with bulimia. Even though he had a normal Body Mass Index, which is how weight is measured to determine if someone is in a healthy range, he had an altered view of his body and believed he was overweight. He mentioned to me how there are so many fit and muscular guys and Grindr, and it made him feel unattractive.

A few years ago, I met up with a guy in Downtown LA. I was surprised that he even responded to me because he had what looked like a modeling picture on his Jack’d profile with the most amazing tan and ripped muscles. Fortunately for my anxiety, he looked a lot more normal in person, and we had a discussion about what he believed to be an inevitable progression for many guys in gay life. He said that when someone first enters the gay world, the person has this vision of finding and settling down with a normal looking, nice guy. Then he gets into the partying culture and starts to work out and look better. All of a sudden the nice guys are not fun and attractive enough. At the time, I was quite surprised and told myself “no, that’s not going to be me, I will always want the nice guy”.

In my exploration of the gay world, I have discovered more and more a whole lifestyle centered on partying. I started in West Hollywood and made my way around some of the gay centers in the country like the Castro and Hell’s Kitchen. I have been to clubs in LA, NYC, San Francisco, Boston, Miami, San Diego and even some international spots like Valparaíso, Mexico City and Bangkok. I started learning about the various colors of circuit parties in the U.S., Europe and Asia. Interestingly, the attendants are typically young professionals who can afford the ticket and travel expenses to attend these parties, and I have gotten a glimpse of the scale of the drug culture in these events.

I went to Songkran in Thailand during April, and I think I finally understood what that guy meant with the progression of gay life. What I saw were professionally successful gaysians with model-like bodies from around the world descend upon the city overnight, filling up all the hotels in the well-known Silom district and meandering around in the busy streets of Bangkok. I was told by an acquaintance that the parties served as body building check-points for these guys who planned their travels around Songkran in April, White Party in May and EDC in June, etc. and that the most muscular guys are the ones who are perhaps most insecure about their bodies. Perhaps these guys are the ones who have “succeeded” to reach the body image zenith that gay guys strive for and are now enjoying the partying life, but then what?

We live in the era of social media and are under the constant bombardment of impossibly muscular guys from around the world who fill up our Instagram feed. These guys put Adam West’s Batman and George Reeve’s Superman to shame. The western standard of beauty for men has changed over the years to “more muscle and less body fat the better”, and the world is catching up. It takes an incredible amount of training and dieting, as well as good genetics, to reach that level. Most of us with normal lives busy with school and work will find it hard to pursue that lifestyle, but our Instagram and Facebook give the illusion that it’s ubiquitous and anything less is unattractive. We could blame professional makeup and Photoshop for the guys in magazines, but Instagram is real people! We forget that people take painstaking effort to curate their social media profiles by picking one out of hundreds of pictures with the best lighting, angle and shading. We are now all looking for someone who looks like that and feel bad that people don’t like us for not looking that way.

That day, I tried to offer as many words of encouragement and comfort to my friend as he shared his struggles with mental health, substance abuse and body image. I tried to tell him that it’s possible to be gay and to have a normal and perhaps even “successful” life. I wished to give him more hope for the future so he could heal from his past traumas and end his drug addition. But deep down, I don’t feel so different from him. I struggle with my own insecurities and psychological void. I have a hard time defining my own vision of “success” in life in the context of the gay world. Just like my friend, I need to figure out where my own path leads to and define a vision that is worth striving for.

I would like to suggest that one way to counter the toxic culture in the gay community is to create supportive, friendly and less-sexualized spaces both in person and online. I admire the work done by organizations such as GAPIMNY in NYC and AQUA in DC that offer in-person communities and safe spaces for gaysians to explore their identities and connect with others in a more meaningful way. However, not everyone lives in a big city with a large enough gaysian population, so online communities become extremely important. I want to put in a pitch for G3S where we offer an opportunity to discuss gaysian related issues and offer a supportive online space for those who might not have any organizations locally. We also have a mentorship program that connects people in a more personal setting where someone new to the gay world can be paired up with a mentor who have more experiences with coming to terms with their identities. Additionally, we are working to expand our model to more in-person groups by developing local chapters in cities like LA, SF and Toronto in an effort to create a more affirming gaysian culture.

I think we all have an individual responsibility to improve our collective culture. For me, I think it’s about treating myself and others well and with respect. I want to keep a realistic perspective of how many of the above mentioned issues affect me personally and take myself out of a loop of negative thoughts. I want to have goals for myself, whether it’s body image or professionally, but I want to keep them realistic and measured against my own growth. I am also making an effort to treat my online interactions with the same courtesy I would with my in-person interactions. I do my best to clearly communicate my intentions and only make promises I can keep. I think my life would improve significantly if I surround myself with kind and supportive people who are invested in my success. I want to thank all my friends in G3S and GAPIMNY who have supported me and encouraged me to write this follow up entry!

Fish

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Very interesting comparison, which I find to be pretty accurate. Specially this section: 

The Professionals: In keeping the tone of that Southern California coolness, people in Los Angeles are far less concerned about what you do and more concerned about what you look like. People in L.A., never seem to work much at all and it is one of the only towns I have ever been to where people like porn stars and strippers are put on a pedestal. You may call that slutty - I call it entrepreneurial. However, there is something about New York that drives people to work harder for a better life. I guess it has something to do with the fact that Ellis Island is right around the corner and people there are still fighting for that American Dream or some shit. Nowhere else on the planet is a fourteen hour workday not only accepted, but the norm. The winner: New York.

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Dating has never been a forte of mine. I watched my friends in high school trying their luck with the opposite sex and it seemed like a lot of fun. It was like a game; they would plan, strategize, and execute, then deal with the unexpected challenges or unintended consequences. It was the thrill of the chase, the valiant effort, and the glorious victory (if you happened to snag your target) – the whole affair seemed addictive. Sure there were awkward moments, disappointments, and even tears, but it all seem rather harmless, and in the end and everybody would just get on with their lives.

My first date wasn’t until I was 21; the same year I left home for Canada and came out. I was keen to try out the dating game for myself, but I knew that the game would most likely be different in the gay world… and boy, was I in for a ride! I started dating in the pre-Grindr era, (or maybe Grindr existed and I just didn’t know about it) so I would nervously go to bars and clubs on my own and just see what would happen. I didn’t have many friends, let alone gay friends, at the time and so I would just put myself out there. Understand that I grew up chubby, shy, and awkward so going to bars and clubs alone to get a date was a real achievement for me. Even though I had worked on being more confident and I was no longer ‘well-fed’ as some of my dear friends would politely put it, it was still a real struggle to be comfortable with what I had to offer on a physical level and believing that guys would actually find me attractive, especially once I discovered how superficial the gay dating scene can be. I wanted to show that I’m a pretty decent guy who is fun, genuine, and caring. How to get those ‘internal’ qualities across at the bar or on a dance floor was the issue.

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G3S Social: SF/Bay Area Edition

Hello G3S!

Jeffrey here and first a big thanks to Fish for putting together the first G3S Social in LA! When Fish and I came together to create G3S, our hope was that by sharing our stories and encouraging thoughtful discussions, we would form a queer API community that values introspection and solidarity amidst a culture of shirtless Instagram/Grindr selfies, West Hollywoods and Electric Daisys. A little over a year later, it’s been incredible how much the community has grown and the many friendships we’ve made along the way. Tinychats have been one way we’ve explored virtually interacting with the community and I’m excited to see G3S Socials evolve as the next phase for in-person meetups!

To that end, I’m planning to meet with @gregasaurus and @jsl009 this Friday, December 23rd, 6:30pm at Han Il Kwan in San Francisco for Korean BBQ. If folks are interested in joining for dinner and boba, please send an email to gaysianthirdspace@gmail.com to RSVP.

Also, if you are interested in hosting a G3S Social in your area, please send an email to the above address as well.

Thanks and happy holidays!

-Jeffrey

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Announcing G3S LA Area Social

We are planning to have the first G3S in-person social in the LA area on December 17th. Please see details below and if you are interested in attending please let us know here. Hope you will come out to enjoy a chill afternoon with other gaysians in the LA area! 

Event: G3S social for the greater LA area Time: Saturday, December 17th, 2016 at 2:00pm Location: Ten Ren’s Tea Time in Monterey Park

Reminder that the G3S LA area social is this Saturday! You can still sign up if you like to come! 

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Mental health week submissions

Hi everyone, 

Thank you for reading G3S during our mental health week! We want to hear more from our readers on their own experiences or stories related to mental health. We welcome any articles, blogs, personal stories and other formats related to mental health issues and the LGBTQ community. 

You can find the submission form here

We look forward to hearing from you! 

-Fish

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gregasaurus

World AIDS Day: December 1st

In 1989, in the midst of the HIV/AIDS epidemic and before the advent of HAART, playwright Billy Aronson and composer Jonathan Larson began working on what would become one of the most critically acclaimed musicals ever produced: Rent. Set in the New York punk-art scene of the late 1980′s, Rent told the story of the struggling artist: plagued by debt, plagued by failure, and plagued by the explosion of HIV/AIDS. Rent was–and still is–praised not only for its musical and theatrical elements, but also for bringing some humanity to the otherwise grim world of AIDS.

Much of that humanity, though, was inspired from real stories from HIV-positive individuals with whom Larson had met. Playbill recounts a startling moment for Larson at a Friends In Deed meeting–a support group formed to help deal with AIDS-related death and grieving:

Larson had been absorbing stories at Friends In Deed. “One night when Jonathan was [at Friends In Deed]…a man raised his hand — a young man who I never saw before—and he said, ‘I don’t really have a problem about dying, but will I lose my dignity?‘”
-Playbill, Feb. 5, 2016

That question struck a chord with Larson, and eventually developed into the song linked above, “Will I?” Arguably one of the most moving moments in both the musical and the film, the question posed by the man aches with the pangs of the reality at the time. For LGBT individuals who were already kicked out of their homes, whose friends were dying all around them by the dozens, who were ostracized by both the public and the healthcare communities: who would be left to take care of them? In their final days, would they be wasting away to nothing? Would they expire on the streets? Would they die alone?

For many, that was an intolerable possibility. So HIV-positive individuals took it upon themselves to become champions for one another, providing food, medical attention, and most importantly support in an era when no one else would offer those basic needs. This song is one of mourning, but in a way it is also a battle cry to rally solidarity amongst the HIV-positive and, more largely, the LGBT community. To stand together and say no, this is not right, this has to change.

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When I Remember This Life

I am content. My heart satisfied.

As we shuffled out of the cinema’s exit I stopped abruptly—awestruck at the wintry scene before me. Silver white and airy snowflakes drifted by on the night breeze. My heart filled with warmth and my eyes began watering. I had always wished to know how snowflakes would look like in person.  A gentle tap on my shoulder broke my mesmerized reverie. 

Umm, excuse me sir but you’ll have to move. People are trying to leave. I gave the usher a sheepish grin and ducked out into the cold—hoping that the chill would pale the red in my cheeks. 

So, you’re not coming home? My sister tried her best to conceal it but I could hear the disappointment in her voice.  That’s okay. Will you come home for Christmas then? 

A brief silence as she waited for my reply. My fingers tightened as I shifted my grasp on my cell phone.  Actually, I’m going to India. I wanted to tell you that my department is sending me to work on a project they have there at the moment. They want to send me to Asia for a month.   I waited for her response. I love you. You know that you will always have a place here with me if you come back. I’m so happy for you. Stay safe and I’ll see you soon.  The call ended and I put my phone down. After a few moments in silent thought, I walked into my kitchen and made dinner. In the past 6 years, I have only had Thanksgiving dinner with my family once. 

Thaum kuv rov qaab ncu txuj lub neej nuav, kuv yuav luag nxti xwb. Txhob quaj nawb mog, pis kig lub nub yeej yuav tawm tshab.  When I remember this life, I will smile. Don’t cry dear, tomorrow will always come.  My mother’s words comforted me and I nestled into her lap. That morning in Sunday class, my 4th grade Sunday school teacher had taught us about the afterlife and the concept of Heaven and Hell. Afraid, I had asked if my mom would live forever. My teacher gazed at me sternly and said yes but only if she believes in Christ. After class, one of my classmates pulled me aside.

You’re so stupid you know. Everyone dies, and your mom will too. 

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Therapy

Last night, I went to my first gay peer support group. Something like the real life version of @gaysianthirdspace

It was a lot of fun. I don’t know why I never got more involved in the gay community.

About 40-50 guys attended. The group was a nice mix of gaysian teeny boppers, young working professionals and middle-aged men on botox. 

We played some ice breaker games, talked about our coming-out/dating experiences (much like a therapy session), mingled with other attendees and finished the night with dinner at a local bar.

This was good for me. I’ve been feeling unusually disconnected from the gay community since my closest gay friend passed away. It felt nice to be a part of something. 

After the group session, one of the guys invited me to a karaoke outing. I agreed to go but am a bit hesitant because the group consists mainly of 21-22 year olds. I will have to think about it I guess.

In other news, I have resumed my job at the Refugee Agency. I now attend clinics 3 days a week, helping asylum seekers with their visa applications and referring them to support organisations where appropriate.  I might also be starting some volunteer work with the Red Cross in the next few weeks. I don’t make money anymore but I am much happier doing what I do. 

By the looks of things, I might actually be starting my Masters in Social Work early next year. We’ll see. One step at a time.

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Thanks to @medicasian for sharing this cool article on Preventive Health Care for Men Who Have Sex with Men. It’s written for healthcare providers, but I think it’s helpful for people to understand what they should expect from their providers. 

Some interesting points I got from the article: 

- Men who have sex with men comprise at least 4% of males in the U.S. and they face many barriers to receiving culturally competent, comprehensive healthcare, including preventative services. 

- Health issues that have a disproportionate impact on MSM include mental health and behavioral problems, smoking and illicit substance use, and sexually transmitted infections (STIs).

A few things that you should be aware of when you visit your physician: 

- Often STIs do not have any symptoms, but you should still be screened for them depending on your risks. 

- If you have a high risk exposure to HIV, post-exposure prophylaxis (PEP) should be started within 72 hours and continued for 28 days. 

- Although Pre-exposure prophylaxis (PrEP) can provide significant protection from HIV infection, it is not a substitute for safer sex practices.

- Make sure your vaccinations are up to date. Especially for hepatitis A, hepatitis B, and human papillomavirus (HPV). 

Feel free to PM me if you have any questions and/or concerns! I can’t promise to have all the answers, but I will do my best to answer them. 

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Here's the thing...

Here’s the thing: I secretly get a lot of satisfaction seeing white guys get rejected by Asian guys at the club. It’s a rare event in the states, so when it happens in an Asian club, it’s even more gratifying. Last night we went to a gay club in Itaewon, Seoul. It’s a very touristy area with lots of foreigners. On the dance floor there was a small group of white guys; Americans judging by their accent. There was one guy, slightly overweight with a creepy smile, who thought he was hot shit. I watched as he grinded up on every Asian guy that walked by him. When one would stop and hip thrust with him, he’ll look over to his friends and give them a smile and tongue wagging ala Miley Cyrus. Seriously this guy thought he was a pimp. Unfortunately, white standards of beauty is prevalent across the globe, even in Asia. These guys were not even that good looking. Back in the states, no one would even give them a second glance. But here in Korea among the Asian faces, they stood out. And I will admit, there were some Asian guys who were actually fawning over this group of white guys. Just when I thought the nausea and disgust was beginning to take over me, this handsome muscular Asian guy walks by. The creepy white guy, now overflowing with confidence, goes up to said muscular Asian, grabs him by the waist and pulls him towards his off-beat gyrating crotch. The Asian guy immediately pushes the white guy away causing him to stumble back into his group of friends. The look of shock and disbelief on the white guy’s face was pure comic relief. Do I feel bad for enjoying the scene a bit too much? Fuck no. I grew up surrounded by this white privilege/imperialism bullshit. To see it still occurring today (and in an Asian country!) is utterly disgusting. So small acts, like scenes from last night, makes dismantling the bullshit all the more satisfying.

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r3fugitiv3

Picture Son: How to Love Yourself and Your Gay Vietnamese Children

Something I wrote for the most recent issue of Non Song. Intersections between being Vietnamese-American, second generation, and gay. Enjoy!

Picture Son: How to Love Yourself and Your Gay Vietnamese Children
By Trung Nguyen
I kept watch at the mailbox every day for the first two weeks of May during my Senior year of high school, memorizing the exact window of time the mail carrier approached our home. He would come between three to four in the afternoon, right when I got out of school. I would rush home at a frenetic pace, keeping an anxious eye out for his white truck and blue uniform, a feverish prayer on the tip of my tongue that I wouldn’t miss him. On the days I managed to bolt home before he arrived, I would wait from my living room with a view of our front yard, straining to identify the envelopes and packages that he would unload from his satchel.
I was on the look out for any oversized envelope, larger than most letters with the dimensions of a manila folder but slender enough to fold to the curved half-circle of our mailbox. Each time that the envelope didn’t arrive, I could breathe for a second, being relieved for the day. But it wasn’t for long – I mentally prepped myself for the next day of waiting and anxiety. It had to come soon. And I had to get it before anybody in the family did.
I wasn’t out to my family. Inside the package would be our prom pictures: my then boyfriend and I, two boys, hands clasped and suits matching. My parents wouldn’t be ready to see this picture, especially because one of them was their only son.
My patience paid off. A day later, the photos arrived and I let myself melt after secretly peering into the envelope. When I looked at our photos, all of the anxiety and fear was worth it. I kept them hidden in my room most of the time, only bringing it out whenever I was feeling particularly lonely or needed something to cheer me up.
One day, I got a call from my mom while I was out. “I cleaned your room today. I just wanted to let you know.” Searching for a reason why she would call me for something so simple, I thanked her and let her know I’d be home for dinner.
The realization only came later. My heart stopped. I forgot to put away our prom pictures. I rushed back home.
***
I was my parents’ many firsts. I was their first born (and only) son, the first to be surrounded by an entire family who had spent the last twenty years resettling from Vietnam, the first to graduate high school with a 4.0, and the first to go to a UC school – these were some of the highlights of many other firsts.
While more these firsts than I could count were met with anticipation and celebratory welcoming than with unease and tension, my parents never expected that I would also be their first gay child.
I grew up in East Side San Jose, an immense Vietnamese-American enclave and Southeast Asian refugee haven. It was nearly impossible to be alone as a child: our entire extended family lived within three blocks of one another, my schools offered Vietnamese bilingual education, and my friends didn’t question why I brought out fish sauce instead of soy sauce to the dinner table. I had a strong sense of my history and my heritage. Yet despite being affirmed in my Vietnamese identity, I couldn’t shake off a chronic sense of immense loneliness and crippling fear I had growing up. It was a fear I couldn’t escape, one that I was reminded about day to day: the fear of being who I was and loving who I wanted to love. It was paralyzing.
This same fear propelled me home the night my mom called me. Would my key work or would the locks be changed? If I had five minutes to stuff my belongings into a bag, what would I take? How much of a physical or emotional beating could I take before I made a run back out the door?
I was terrified – mostly, of losing my family. I lingered on the sidewalk of my house, carefully observing the lights in every room, as if staring at the flickering yellow glow would magically show me what everyone was doing. I talked to my then boyfriend and made back-up plan after back-up plan in case I would get kicked out. After assuring me a warm place to sleep and food to eat, I worked up the courage to enter the house.
My keys worked. I stepped inside. It was quiet. My mom was watching TV with my dad. I snuck my way past them, still fearful. As I entered my room, I couldn’t have prepared myself for what I saw.
At the front of my desk was my prom picture, neatly framed in new black wood.
***
We don’t speak of it much but small actions have liberated me over the years. They no longer bother me about girlfriends. They invite my “friend” over for family celebrations. They leave out two plates for breakfast when my boyfriend stays for the night. In the process of letting go of fear and allowing myself to love without fear of losing my family, I have become an active member of both the Vietnamese and LGBT community, working with youth and advocating for a stronger future. I would have never done any of this had I continued to live in fear.
Like many Vietnamese families, there wasn’t much my family could offer by way of support, but what they did have was their love. But this was all I could have asked for and this is what I ask of all my readers: continue loving your sons, daughters, little brothers and sisters even if they love somebody of the same sex. You have the power to transform and empower a life and I urge you to use it for the better.   
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ihatejoelkim

First off, thank you (again) to everyone who has posted the set or reached out to say all those nice things about my set, my arms and/or my skin (the latter of which is now completely destroyed, btw). It was a completely amazing, surreal experience and one I have not quite convinced myself I deserved. Since I found out I’d be doing it, I’ve cried several places (bunk beds, hotel rooms, airports) not out of happiness, but out of complete and utter fear. Fear that I wasn’t ready, fear that everyone would be mad at me and most of all fear that I did not deserve this immense five minute honor. What a fucking idiot.

I hate to use that sticky internet phrase “imposter syndrome,” because it’s the kind of reference I would normally invoke ironically in that sort of post-comedy, new-Millennial way that is so pervasive on my social media accounts. But this whole week, I did truly feel like an imposter.

And of course I work my ass off. I’ve worked my ass off to get where I am, I’m a funny boy whose charisma on stage makes up for those few holes in my set that are more about personality than joke writing and I know all that, I don’t need any back patting here to assure me that all those thoughts are insane. But my lizard brain keeps whispering, “you are not white, you are not straight, you were not forged in the fires of Chicago open mics for ten years before the industry took notice of you, in fact they only want you because you’re a minority, not because you’re funny or original or groundbreaking or alt or cool.”

(as though any of those things are mutually exclusive, but whatever).

It’s not as though those dark thoughts sprung up out of nowhere either, versions of that little subconscious speech have been spoken aloud by plenty of people to or around me, sometimes even by people I respect! But you know, like everyone else who’s heard a different version of the “you only got that because you’re [gay]” speech, you either quit or say “fuck you I’m here, I’m [queer], not a single person is owed anything by this industry, no one ‘deserves’ shit, we all just work and work and fucking work and if it works out it does and if not you decide if you want to keep working, it’s all random and meaningless and the only thing that matters is the work, get used to it.”

That’s the funny thing too. I’ve spent my entire career trying to prove that I’m funny despite being gay. Running full speed away from the “gay comic” label because I was afraid if people said that about me it somehow ghettoized me away from the regular comics and the kinds of opportunities they got. That it would always hang over accomplishments like this.

But, at the risk of sounding -very- self congratulatory here, I am a gay comic and being on late night television, doing my gay fucking bits was a big fucking deal to a lot of people who don’t get to see faggots like me talk about faggoty shit on tv since Looking went off the air (oops there were no asian fags on that show, but I don’t have time). People like Matteo and Guy and Solomon and Gabe and John and James (all of us VERY different I might add) and everyone else who’s ever gotten on TV and had the chance to have an audience of thousands, that’s fucking cool and important to kids like me who grew up in Plainfield IL and didn’t see gay people on TV. So yeah, I’m going to own that and I’m going to take pride in that. And if you think I got there BECAUSE of that, well ok that’s fine, I still got paid, I’m still on TV and I’m sure whatever you’re doing is pretty cool too, but you sound like a miserable fuck.

This is already insanely long and like, how obnoxious of me to think anyone wants to hear me dump all the emotions I’ve been feeling over the last few days onto the internet, but at this point I feel like you know what you’re getting by being here.

Anyway, I’m mostly posting this version of the clip because it has the intro and outro and all these fucking Youtube commenters (don’t tell me not to read them like you wouldn’t) are saying shit like “notice Conan didn’t give him a handshake at the end… hmmmmm” like they’ve cracked some fucking code and realized jet fuel doesn’t melt steel beams and not that they possibly had to edit it for time.

Ok bye!!

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