I Didn't Always Enjoy Sleeping Around

I've had my share of hookups during my time here in Boston since 1994. I've always had an active sex life and my close friends often asked me who I haven't slept. When we'd enter a bar, we'd play a game where we would count all the people we had sex with and I often came up the winner.

My sexual promiscuity didn't just reside in New England, however. I'd be shacking it up with complete strangers in New York, P-Town, Florida, Palm Springs, San Francisco, London, Hong Kong, or wherever my travels would take me.

One summer's day in 2001, I remember I was at my friend's apartment in the South End watching an episode of Ricki Lake. It was a rainy afternoon and Trevor and I were nursing our hangovers from the previous night's libations at Buzz (one of the hottest nightclubs in Boston that has since shut down) with strong mimosas. We sat by a window so we could exhale our cigarette smoke from his living room, but the hot damp still made the nicotine linger around us. Our eyes were glued to the TV where Ricki's guests were gathered to discuss: Help! My sister's out of control!

Neither Trevor nor myself managed to hook-up the night before and watching this trash TV was a sad consolation prize. Nonetheless we were both captivated by the drama unfolding on the TV.

"Ricki, girlfriend, you have to talk some sense into my sister, Shaniqua," one guest complained.
"La Dawn, what is it that Shaniqua is doing?" Ricki questioned.
"Shaniqua a total ho!" La Dawn explained.

La Dawn continued to reveal that she was concerned about Shaniqua's sex life. Apparently Shaniqua was a "total ho" because she had 24 sex partners at the tender age of 28. Trevor and I looked at each other and chuckled while we slurped on our mimosas. We didn't have to verbalise anything as we already knew what we were thinking. We were in our mid twenties and our sex partners already far exceeded Shaniqua's.

"What are you laughing at you stuck up slut?" I teased Trevor.
"Lady, please! I'm not a stuck up slut. I'm a stuck up twat," Trevor defended, "I may sleep around but I still have standards!"
"Yeah, low standards!" I added.
"You should talk, Cum Sponge," Trevor always had the best nick names for his friends.

It was true. We were both easy. And that was part of the reason we were such close friends. We never judged each other for what we did in our own respective bedrooms, or in the bedrooms of others we'd end up in.

"When did this all start?" Ricki asked La Dawn.

As La Dawn started to recount when Shaniqua's tawdry habits began, I started to question myself how such an innocent Asian boy from Hong Kong turned out to be such a tramp. I took a deep drag on my cigarette and tried my hardest to think back to when my first hookup ever occurred. My memories, however, must have been under the influence of my strong mimosa and leftover remnants of cocaine from the night before, as I traveled all the way back to a time when I was in primary school in Hong Kong.

*****

I went to Peak School in Hong Kong, a primary school originally dedicated to the children of UK expats, from primary one through six. It was at the Peak School that I met my first best friend, Matt Hallard. We were both in P1.2 and Matt and I hit it off immediately, perhaps because of the fact we both didn't naturally fit in with the rest of the school; Matt was American and I was clearly not English having dark hair and no freckles.

We quickly formed a bond-alliance at school. It was us versus the Brits. Matt and I sat together, played together and laughed together. During play time we were inseparable. We were like brothers joined at the hip. We threw sand at each other and shared paints during our hand painting sessions. We giggled together during lunch when we heard our head mistress recite our daily lunch prayer: For what we're about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful. Amen!

It wasn't long before we continued our play time after school. Matt lived in a very luxurious four storey house in Strawberry Hills that was situated right around the corner from Peak School. While I took the school bus into school each day, Matt just had his maid drop him off at the school entrance. Like many of the other Brits, Matt's dad moved to Hong Kong from the States for work. Matt's close proximity to school made it convenient for me to head right there after school some days.

"Mrs. Hallard, you have such a big and beautiful house," I said shyly when I first met her.
"Well thank you, Ch'ien-hung," Mrs. Hallard smiled proudly.
"Mom, his name is Chengy!" Matt interjected.

Matt quickly pulled my arm and brought me downstairs to his bedroom to show me the fort he had constructed during the weekend. We spent hours there before my mum came to pick me up.

"Boys, Chengy's mother is here to take him home," Mrs. Hallard's voice came through the intercom in Matt's room.

"No!" Matt cried. "Can't you stay a little longer?"

I shook my head and we slowly slumped ourselves to meet our mothers upstairs in the kitchen.

"Daphne, your son is so well behaved. It's a pleasure to have him anytime," Mrs. Hallard said to my mother. "Our other son is in the Army Reserve in the States and Matt is often quite lonely without his brother," Mrs. Hallard continued.

I looked over to Matt moping into his glass of milk on the counter.

"Maybe one night Chengy can stay the night," Mrs. Hallard offered.
"Yay! When? When?" Matt perked up from his grouchiness, "Chengy, that would be awesome!"

Sleep over? What the heck was that? If I stayed over at the Hallard's, would Mrs. Hallard tuck me into bed? That was my mum's job! Or Mary's job (our maid), if my mum was out at a squash tournament. I looked back at Matt who was beaming at the idea of a sleep over and I just smiled back at him.

Matt and I continued our play sessions after school and even occasionally invited each other to our country clubs to play during the weekends. We'd splash around in the pool or run around on the cricket field while my mum played squash with her girlfriends.

Our first year at Peak School quickly ended and it was time for our summer holidays. Matt went home to the States to visit his family while I traveled with my parents to Malaysia to see my grandparents and some aunts and uncles. By the time I was returned to Hong Kong to start Primary Two I couldn't wait to see Matt. We called each other the night before school started and we were thrilled to start another year together.

At school we were quickly reunited and couldn't stop telling each other about our summer holidays.

"Chengy, you have to come over soon!" Matt started telling me over lunch. "My brother was here over the summer and he helped me build the coolest fort in my bedroom!"

Matt cheated on me and had build a fort without me! I told Matt that I would check with my parents when I could stay over. I knew I wouldn't be able to decline Matt's offers for long and that eventually, I'd have to sleep over at Strawberry Hill...

That night came the following weekend. On that Friday before, Matt pulled me aside before I got onto my school bus that would drive me home.

"Chengy, we're going to have so much fun this weekend," Matt assured.
"I can't wait," I said to Matt even though I had no idea what to expect. I had never slept over at someone's house who was not related to me.

The next day, Mary helped me pack an over nighter as we waited for my mum to come home from a morning squash match at the Kowloon Cricket Club. I knew we had a lot of time because we lived in Repulse Bay, the south side of Hong Kong Island, which meant my mum had to take the tunnel under the South China Sea and drive from the top of Hong Kong Island to the bottom.

Mary helped me pack "Bee Bee," my favourite stuffed puppy dog, a set of pyjamas, my swim trunks, toothbrush, a set of clean clothes, and a couple of my favourite Mr. Men books that I thought Mrs. Hallard might enjoy reading to me.

During the car ride to Matt's, my mum turned around to look at me buckled in the back seat. My pop was driving.

"Son, I will miss you so much tonight," my mum started cooing.
"Baby, are you sure you have our phone number memorised in case anything goes wrong?" my pop asked me.
"8-1-2-0-1-0-1!" I replied proudly.
"Of course our baby remembered our phone number, 'Dar,'" my mum snapped at my pop. She called him 'Dar,' short for 'darling.'

My pop parked the car at a guest spot at Strawberry Hill as my mum held my hand as we walked to the Hallard's front door. She rang the doorbell.

"It's Chengy!" I heard Matt scream from somewhere behind the front door.

Matt's maid opened the door and Matt came running out milliseconds after. This kid couldn't wait for me to stay over! Mrs. Hallard appeared and started chatting with my mum. Matt pulled at my arm to direct me into his house. But my other hand was still clutched to my mother's hand. My mum pulled me close to her and knelt down beside me.

"All right, son," my mum started, "Be a good boy and have fun with Matt, all right?" She pulled me closer for a hug and I sunk my face into her hair. The smell of fresh shampoo from the country club and her perfume sank into my brain.

"Mummy, why don't you stay with me and Matt?" I pleaded.
"Don't be silly son," my mum replied, "Mrs. Hallard will be here if you need anything. Have fun with Matt and pappa and I will come back tomorrow afternoon to collect you."

I hesitated to let go of my mum, but as I did, I was quickly dragged into Matt's house with my sleepover bag in tow.n I quickly forgot about my mum as Matt revealed his new fort made of sofa cushions and pillows. It was truly a construction of splenor. We crawled through the makeshift tunnels and pretended to throw bombs at everyone we didn't like from school. When we got bored of that we changed into our trunks and ran over to the pool in the Strawberry Hill complex.

When Mrs. Hallard called us home for dinner I was delighted to hear that she had prepared her famous spaghetti and meatballs that I loved. She even let us drink a whole can of Coca-Cola each! After dinner, Matt suggested we head into the TV room to watch some cartoons.

"Okay boys, I'll be right behind you with some ice cream," Mrs. Hallard said as we cleared the kitchen.
"I also have a bunch of candy in my room so we can have a midnight feast later," Matt whispered to me.

I was touched by the Hallard's hospitality, but I suddenly had a sick feeling in my tummy. I knew it wasn't the dinner. The meal was delicious. It was something else. I was starting to feel homesick. I longed for my mum, my pop, Mary, and my two older brothers. I wondered what they were doing as Matt turned on the TV and put a video in the VHS player.

When Mrs. Hallard came into the TV room with two bowls of ice cream and kissed Matt on the forehead I wanted to cry. I wanted my mum to kiss me on my forehead.

"Is everything okay, Chengy?" Mrs. Hallard asked.

I nodded and looked over at Matt spooning heaps of ice cream into his mouth. I told them I had to pee and headed downstairs into Matt's bedroom and started to pack my bag. I crept into Mr. and Mrs Hallard's bedroom and searched for their telephone. I found it lifted the receiver and called home.

"Mummy, I want to come home," I started sobbing into the telephone.
"Are you sure, son?" my mum asked me. "Is everything okay?"
"No, I want to come home," I said.
"All right. We'll bring you back home. Let the Hallards know we're on our way."

I quickly wiped the tears from my eyes and slowly headed back up to the TV room where the Hallards were watching cartoons.

"Chengy, your ice cream is melting," Matt said.
"Are you sure everything is okay?" Mrs. Hallard asked again.

I ignored her and started scooping a spoonful of ice cream into my mouth. The cool sweetness felt nice sliding down into my belly. I stared at the TV screen wondering when my parents would arrive to bring me home.

When the doorbell finally rang, I snapped out of my tortured trance.

"I wonder who that could be?" Mr Hallard said to the Mrs.

I continued watching the cartoon unaware of what was going on at all. Matt didn't even twitch. Matt's maid entered the TV room.

"Ma'am, it's Chengy's parents," the maid said to Mrs. Hallard.

Without hesitating, I ran out the TV room to find my mum waiting at the front door. I held out my arms and started to cry as my mum lifted me up to carry me in her arms.

"Oh, son... Don't be so silly. There's no need to cry. Mummy's here," my mother caressed my head as she held me tight.

"Chengy! Where are you going? You're supposed to stay the night!" Matt said at the doorway.

Mrs. Hallard held him back and motioned to Mr. Hallard to grab my bag. My mum put me down and I turned around to say Sorry. I wasn't sure who I apolgised to or why I was apologising but I knew an apology was in order. I crawled into my pop's Peugeot where I found him sitting in the driver's seat and my two brother in their pyjamas giggling.

"You're such a loser!" my oldest brother, Tien, said to me.
"Ha ha! You couldn't even stay away one night," added my middle brother, Ch'ien-Hsiang.
"Boys, cut it out!" snapped my pop.

I knelt onto the back seat and looked out of the car's rear window and saw my mum speaking with Mrs. Hallard. Matt was pleading with his eyes to have me come out the car, but I had already made up my mind to go home. My mum eventually started walking toward the car and got it.

"Okay, let's go home," she said simply to my pop.

As the car started, I turned again to look at Matt and Mrs. Hallard standing in their doorway. Matt wiped tears from his face and sunk his face into his mother's skirt. She cupped his head and brought him into the house.

*****

I'm not sure why that memory resonates so clearly in my head. Matt and I were so close but I wasn't able to stay at his house that night. I think another few weeks passed before I managed to stay at his house for a whole night. After that night there was no going back. I asked to stay for 2 nights and soon if I wasn't staying the night at Matt's house, he was staying with me.

I then started staying at other friends' houses, too. My parents started complaining I was never home and they missed their baby son. By the time I was fifteen I was rarely home. I was out with friends at the video arcades or sneaking into bars and smoking cigarettes. By the time I left home for University, I had full freedom to do anything without the permission of my parents.

I recounted the story about Matt to Trevor.

"Now instead of innocent sleepovers, you're just sleeping around!" Trevor laughed. "Like I said, you're a cum sponge!"
"Shut up!" I said to Trevor. "I don't know why but I still feel bad I did that to Matt after all those years... I'll never for get his face from that night!"
"So is that who you think of everytime some daddy picks you up? You don't owe Matt, or any one you wanna go home with, shit!"

I'm not sure if Trevor had a point, but I do wonder why I found it so easy to sleep with strangers. Was it a gay rite of passage? Was it curiosity? Promiscuity? All of the above? None of the above? Looking back, I think Matt was trying to fill a void his brother created when he left home to head to the Army Reserves. I'm glad Matt found me to fill it because he forced me to get comfortable sleeping in another bed other than my own.

Did That Just Really Fucking Happen?!?! Moment #1: Stop Photography

In my fourth year at Island School I quickly grew a quick affinity to photography. We wound our own film, took our own photos, and developed our own pictures. I loved getting inspired by black and white photos by Herb Ritts, Ansel Adams, Steven Meisel.

I started spending a lot of time in the dark room at school. My new hobby started invading time with my squash lessons, swim training, and everything else I loved. Photography became my new love. I was at every school event with my Canon 50mm. I caught photos of couples making out; slam dunks on the basketball court; special guests at our school assemblies.

It was no wonder that when it came time for our school Athletics Day I was asked to help take photos for the school yearbook. I was eager to step up to the plate to provide the year’s best photos.

Athletics day was a time when all six Houses at Island School competed in track and field events. Each year, Island School would rent an entire sports arena for Atheltics Day to host each House to compete with each other. The entire school had the day off so each year could cheer for their respective House.

There was a lot of House pride at Island School. Each house wanted bragging rights to be the best house at the end of each school year. If you watched Harry Potter, you’d get an idea of the Inter-House competitiveness. Every student wanted an opportunity to throw the discus the furthest; arch their back the highest in the high-jump; or speed through another record on a track event.

That year, Athletics Day couldn’t be brighter, nor sunnier. The stadium was filled with orange, purple, red, blue, green, and yellow jerseys that represented the Houses: Da Vinci, Einstein, Fleming, Nansen, Rutherford, and Wilberforce, respectively.

Our team of photographers had our own game plan. We separated into small groups to make sure we hit all our own targets: the cheering crowds and teetering teenage girls rooting for the jocks; all field events, judges and medal handlers; the commentators and announcers up in the press box; and of course, the most coveted track events that were always the most exciting events to watch. Miss Higgins, my House Mistress for Fleming, as well as school PE teacher gave me a wink and I was responsible for the track event photos.

The day was going well. I started at one side of the track where I got some great shots of racers in their crouched start positions for the shorter track races, and then switched sides to get some amazing shots of tight finishes. Eventually it was time to prepare for the longer track events where the racers had to loop several laps of the 400m track.

I met with the other two photographers so we could figure out who was taking what. We decided that because runners would lap the track several times we could make it a free for all and go wherever we pleased.

The announcers in the press box started gathering the runners for the 1600m to the starting line.

“It’s been an exciting Athletics Day today, but there are still a few races left for each House to win more points to be number one. Mr Adams here, asking all runners for the 1600m to get ready…” No one could see Mr Adams on the track, but his distinctively squeaky voice filled the air from the stadium speakers.

“Harry, I’ll make sure I get the shot of you coming in first place,” I yelled to my classmate who was running for our House, Fleming.

Harry looked back at me, gave me the thumbs up and then posed for the camera like the race was in the bag. Harry was easily one of the top contenders for this race as he’d been running cross-country breaking records each year.

“On your marks,” Mr Adams continued, “get set…”

Bang! A judge by the starting line pulled the pistol trigger and the runners were off on their way. The electronic timer began counting the seconds and the crowd went wild as they cheered for the runner representing their respective House.

Being on the field during the race is quite surreal as you see people cheering at you even though they weren’t cheering for you. I felt obligated to snap away. I took photos of everything: the crowd, the runners, the other photographers taking photographs; I felt like I was running my own race!

Harry was far in the lead. The runners had already completed several races and I knew I had to get to the finish line so I could get that winning photo of Harry. The timer on the leader board continued counting.

“It looks like Harry from Fleming could be setting a new record this year,” Mr Adams announced from the press box.

I finally got to the finish line and turned around so I could catch Harry face-on as he crossed the finish line.

“And, yes! Harry has done it again and has a new record!” squeeked Mr Adams.

I was looking through my camera and madly snapping pictures and waited for Harry to enter my photos frames. A few seconds passed and he never came. I turned to look back at the huge leader board timer and the clock had in fact stopped. So where was Harry? I turned again and saw Harry running breathless toward me and the finish line.

DTJRFH?!?!?!

I quickly realised I had run through the finish line sensor and stopped the clock on the leader board! My heart plopped into my liver. I looked beyond Harry and saw Miss Higgins screaming at me.

“Ch’ien! What have you done you ignorant boy?!” Miss Higgins was turning blue in the face.

I quickly rushed off the track and entirely missed Harry running through the finish line. Thankfully Third Year students were asked to be manual timers in the event there was a timer malfunction, which came in handy for when an idiot might run through the finish line even though he wasn’t in the race…

Miss Higgins let me off with a slap on the wrist while my classmates just thought my error was utterly hilarious. There wasn’t really any lesson I learned from this situation, except that I almost made it down in the books for the best 1600m time with my 50mm in hand…

Flying High, Over Seas

I'm not really sure what it means to be overseas anymore. I spent most of my adolescent years in Hong Kong, so coming to the US and then later traveling to Europe were my experiences, at the time, for traveling overseas.

Traveling without my parents really forced me to grow up and see the world with a new pair of eyes. I had to be smart and watch my own back. In my first year at BU, I got to fly to Montreal, Detroit, New York, London, and Amsterdam; all of which were pretty large and intense cities. My five senses were really challenged as I saw, touched, heard, smelled, and tasted brand new things. However, in all of my overseas travels, there was often one consistent thing I experienced: getting high.

I love being high. Wait. Don't be too quick to judge. I'm currently an employee at a top healthclub teaching indoor cycling and group fitness and get high on adrenalin and working out! All right. If you really know me, you'd know this wasn't always the case...

When I left Hong Kong in 1994 to fly to Boston, I was very well protected from the world of hard drugs. Aside from cigarettes and alcohol I really hadn't tried anything else. I had been very well educated about the consequences of drug use and I knew I would never meddle with such terrible substances. When I got to America, I quickly realised I was terribly wrong.

During my freshman year at BU, I remember working on group projects and pulling all nighters. One girl from Switzerland, Emily, pulled out some yellow pills one night and offered them to our group.

"What are they?" I asked.
"Oh nothing crazy. It's just Vivarin. Who wants some? It's two in the morning and we have seven more hours until our presentation," Emily replied.

I passed on the pills and secretly judged the others while they took a pill in their mouth and washed it down their throats with a shot of vodka. Not to be out-cooled by my group, I joined them with the shot of vodka and swallowed the hot liquid down my throat while wondering what had happened to good old fashioned coffee?

By 7AM we were almost done with our project and I was starting to get tired. That, or the effects of sipping vodka cranberries were finally taking its toll...

"Oh my God... Two more hours..." Emily moaned.

She got up from the floor where the rest of the group were huddled, scribbling away at our notes, and proceeded to work on another project at her desk. When I started to hear scratching noises, I peeked up and saw that Emily was crushing something. I looked closer and found emily cutting lines of Vivarin!

"Who wants a line?" Emily turned to the rest of the group and revealed a mirror with streaks of yellow powder. I thought she had lost her mind and gone completely mad.

"How do you do it?" asked a groupie.

Emily skillfully rolled a dollar bill and snorted a line. Two others followed.

"You guys are nuts!" I chuckled. But the peer pressure was too over whelming and I ended up opting to orally ingest 2 Vivarin pills.

By the time we got to our 9am class, I felt alive! We sat at the front of the auditorium and eagerly waited for our group name to be called out to give our presentation. I crossed my legs and pulled out my notebook, opened it to a fresh page, and laid it on my lap. As I started to take notes on the other group presentations, I noticed that I found it very difficult to write notes with a steady hand. I looked down at my chicken scratch and wondered why my handwriting looked like doodles? My hands felt fine and I started to feel a small sense of panic. I lifted my notepad and found my foot that was crossed over my grounded leg was shaking, on its own! I uncrossed that leg and grounded both feet. I took a deep breath and suddenly heard my heart thumping like it wanted to explode from my chest like an ingested alien.

I looked over to Emily and she looked like it was just another day except for the fact she had the glazed look of a Stepford Wife. I found the rest of my group and gasped when I realised they too, had turned.

When my group was finally called up to share our presentation with the rest of the class, we somehow managed to do so without a hitch. The class ended and all I wanted to do was head straight back to my dorm room where I could ditch the Stepford Wives and be alone.

I chain-smoked all the way back to the Myles Standish dorm room. Thankfully neither my room mate nor my suite mates were home so I could strip myself of my sweat drenched clothes and get under the covers of my bed. I tried to sleep but my heart was still thumping and I was wide awake. I cursed Emily for giving me Vivarin. Then I cursed myself for allowing myself to be peer pressured into taking those damned pills. And then I just wondered if I was going to survive this crazy heart palpitation. I did. And I later found out that we got an A for our group presentation.

*****

Looking back, I think it is sad to say that Vivarin, of all things, was probably my gateway drug. A couple weeks later I reconnected with Emily from our winter break and she invited me to her dorm room for a treat. She opened her desk drawer and revealed a slew of baggies that were each filled with weed or hash.

"What do you want? I have stuff from France, Armenia, Afghanistan, Nigeria, Holland, and some stuff that's homegrown," she explained.

From pot and hash, my explorations with drugs quickly escalated to acid the next week.

The acid dealer was the usual 'friend of a friend of a friend.' He sold his tabs that were all very carefully wrapped in foil. My American friend, Brenda, and I decided we'd try it out one night at a house party. Brenda also lived in Myles Standish Hall and when we met in the smoking lounge we quickly got along. She's originally from Connecticut but went to an American high school in Tokyo. We pretty much hit it off from the get go and we were both also extremely studious and never settled for anything but 'As.' I think her parents would die if they ever knew she meddled with drugs...

The night of 'the party,' we started drinking in her dorm room. What didn't we have? We started doing shots of Sambuca, vodka, Bailey's, and the list went on. We were finally ready for the final shot: acid. We carefully unwrapped the foil and on three, took a tab of acid each. We gathered our stuff and called our friends to meet us in the smoking lounge downstairs for a quick smoke before we went to the party.

At the smoking lounge, I swear I saw the tables and chairs start to breathe. They were literally pulsating. I vaguely recall seeing a two foot purple elephant run across the smoking lounge, too. Brenda and I were in hysterics! She was the only other person that saw the same things I did.

The party was a blast. Friends, cigarettes, alcohol, and pot. It's what every college student would want to find at a party. Except Brenda and I were also experiencing bursts of wild colours, dragons flying in rooms, and magical gnomes hiding from us.

"Brenda, this is insane! Wanna do another hit?" I offered?
"Sure!" Brenda replied.
"Okay, get them ready in the other room," I continued, "I'm just going to go to the toilet real quick."

When I finished my business I quickly rushed into the other room to meet Brenda. I found her sitting in the Lotus position with a cigarette dangling from her mouth.

"What took you so long, Ch'ien?" she mumbled.

I noticed she already had the tabs of acid out of the foil, and had a tab between her thumb and index finger in each hand!

"Brenda! What are you doing?" I squeeled, "You're absorbing the acid through the pores of your fingers right now!"

I charged at her and threw the cigarette that was in her mouth into the closest ashtray. I instructed her to immediately take one tab, and as she did, I headed mouth first into her other hand and swallowed the other tab. Sadly, I didn't stop there. I continued by sucking on all four fingers that had been holding each tab...

Around 4 or 5AM, we decided to head home back to our dorms at Myles Standish. I don't know what happened, but I started crying uncontrollably. It wasn't just a sniffle or a sob; I was full-out bawling!

My friends carried me to my room. Once in my suite, they were thankful to see my suite mate's lights on and they continued into his room.

"What the fuck happened, Ch'ien?" Deniz asked.

Deniz was from Turkey. He turned out to be one of my best friends while at BU. We moved into a condo in Kenmore square together for our Junior and Senior years. Friends described us as Euro-Asian Trash brothers. We went through so much together during our four years at BU, and tonight was one of his first tests to see if he would want to keep me as a friend.

My friends explained to Deniz that we had been at a party, drinking, smoking, and of course, that I did acid. Deniz exploded. I was pathetically choking and sobbing out his window.

"Do you have any of the acid left?" Deniz demanded.

Brenda confessed I still had a couple tabs left in my back jean pocket. Deniz wrestled me and stole the remaining tabs of acid and threw them out the open window.

"What the fuck did you do that for?" I screeched like a mother might have done if a stranger had slapped her child.

I ran out the suite and just remember waking up in Brenda's bed. I went into her bathroom to clean up. I looked into the mirror and saw a stranger staring back at me. I had cracked tears on my face and huge, sunken bags under my eyes. I later learned that what I had experienced was a "bad trip" coming down. I apologised to Deniz later that day and confessed that I had learned my lesson. For now...


*****

After my bad trip with LSD, I reverted back to pot and hash. But before graduating BU, I had also experimented with out-of-body experiences with opium and a fresh experience with the magical world of mushrooms. Oh, the mushrooms...

Mushrooms were like acid, but all natural. My favourite form of ingestion was brewing them in a pot of tea. I remember my friends and I would sip some Earl Grey Mushroom tea and then take a walk to look at the fairy lights, that were actually the headlights of passing cars.

Everything was always so beautiful except for the night we decided to head back to my friend's house to watch Taxi Driver. Robert DeNiro's hair turned into horns while he transformed into the devil. My friend's Godfather poster of Brando's side profile also turned into the devil; as did Brandon Lee in his "Crow" poster. I distinctly recall seeing him fly out of the poster toward me... Perhaps that was another sign telling me to stop with the drugs.

I didn't stop there either.

*****

My memories of taking drugs aren't all so bleak like those times when I came down on a bad LSD trip, or when everything turned into the devil when I was high on 'shrooms. When I graduated BU, I delved into the world of Coke and Ecstacy. It was a love-hate relationship with both drugs. The reason being that it would be a blast being high on the drug, but a total downer in the bedroom because I'd have "coke" or "E" dick (ie. I could never get it up).

When I lived with one of my best friends, Joe, we had a blast doing E together. We'd take a tab and start at Buzz (what used to be one of the hottest clubs in Boston) and then head to Rise where we'd dance till the sun rose. One time we were so bored at a house party in the South End we decided to head back to our apartment to do a booty bump so we could come back to the party with a "fresh" perspective.

We caught a taxi home and went into our drug stash and placed the tab up our butts. We had read that the flesh tissue in the rectum would absorb the drug into our blood stream a lot quicker and it worked. The two of us stopped off at a 7-11 to buy their entire stock of canned whipped cream to bring back to the party as party favours. The cabbie had to honk at us because we were finding it hard to tear ourselves from touching all the cold products in the fridge section. By the time we got back to the party we were both bouncing off walls and encouraging people do do cartwheels in the living room. Joe pulled out the cans of whipped cream and had party guests doing "whippits" where they just inhaled the nitrogen from each can.

Another great E experience came when Joe and I, along with six other friends, headed down to St John in the Caribbean. We flew there because four friends were working there for six months, and we heard there was going to be an amazing meteor shower and we wanted to see it while high on E. After a whole day of drinking on Jost Van Dyck Island on their pay-at-the-end "honorary system," we set out to a secluded beach on St John to prepare for the Shower. We all took a tab of E and started rolling around in the sand. While I was on my back, Joe lifted me up by my shins and swung me around like I was a set of helicopter blades. It felt incredible swinging in the air while I looked up at the dizzy array of stars.

When the meteor shower started it was truly magical. I was spinning without moving. The stars lapped my toes with each turn of a wave. The tiki torches we lit didn't reveal the crazed faces of the old men in the distance that had been doing this for years.

*****

All of my previous drug experiences never prepared me for the pot I smoked in Amsterdam. My ex-girlfriend from Island School, Marjon, was my link to Holland. She finished her uni years in the Netherlands since she was originally from Holland.

When we both went off to university, Marjon and I remained very close and always kept in touch. I went to Amsterdam almost every year and it was her friends that introduced me to the "coffee shops" in Amsterdam where you could by hash filled "Space Cakes" and buy weed and hash at these locations. After visiting these coffee shops I had to try my hardest not to get run down by cars and bikes on the winding streets of Amsterdam.

My ultimate experience of getting high in Amsterdam occurred when I flew there for Marjon's wedding. Screw any other drug I had before. Even all the hash and pot I tried at the Dutch coffee shops could not have prepared me for what Marjon had in store for me.

As a thank you for coming to her wedding, Marjon asked her close friends to "hook me up" with some "good shit." Claude and Yvette, who were a couple, rose to the challenge.

Two nights before Marjon's wedding, Claude and Yvette invited Marjon and I to their little "woonboot," or houseboat, on the river for a "smoke-up." It was a very cosy place, that I remember. Marjon rang the doorbell and I felt so excited I thought I was about to meet Madonna. Claude greeted us at the door and directed us into their sitting room where two other fellas sat smoking cigarettes with Yvette.

"Ch'ien!" Yvette welcomed me into the sitting room. She treated me like a bestie even though we had just met a few days earlier.

I kissed her three times on alternating cheeks like how the Dutch greet each other and sat down on the sofa beside her. Marjon sat on the other side of the coffee table with Claude. The two guys just raised their hands and waved a small hello to me. They sniggered when they heard I was visiting from Boston.

"So you want to try some real pot, huh?" Guy#1 asked me in his heavy Dutch accent. Guy#2 chuckled.

My five new friends began conversing in Dutch with a few giggles here and there. I felt myself shrinking into the couch. Wait a minute! Fuck you. I've done it all. I can handle whatever you give me. Bring it! If only I had the nerve to expressed my thoughts out loud.

"Ch'ien, are you ready to try some real Dutch pot?" offered Claude.
"Sure," I replied as I tried to keep my cool.
"Please be careful, honey," Yvette warned me.
"This pot is nothing like the shit you get in America," Guy#2 added.

I assured them I would be fine and that I had done plenty of strong substances already. I wasn't about to let these two Dutch bastards look down on me! One of them started rolling a thick joint. I took a big slurp of my wine to wet my throat in preparation of the hot smoke I knew I'd be inhaling. I started some small talk.

"It's a shame Farrah didn't want to join us tonight," I said to Marjon. Farrah was Marjon's best friend who flew in from London for the wedding.
"She really wasn't interested and she knows she's a light weight," Marjon replied.

A light weight? Now I'd seen Farrah get crunk with the best of them and never thought she'd consider herself a light weight. Was this Dutch pot really going to be that strong? The cigarette smoke in the sitting room was starting to burn my eyes and I excused myself.

"Yvette, sorry, where's your toilet?" I asked.
"Just go straight ahead and it's on your right," she said.

I found the rest room and locked the door latch behind me. They had such a quaint little bathroom. I noticed this was the only bathroom in their cosy houseboat. The standing sink, bathtub, and toilet fit snugly in the small space. I took a leak and reached to flush but noticed there was no flush handle. I looked around and found they really had an old fashioned toilet where the tank was above the toilet and they had one of those pull chains. So cute! I pulled the chain and was so childishly amused at the old fashioned contraption.

As I washed my hands I heard the crew laughing out loud in the sitting room.

"Ch'ien, get your shit together and put your game face on," I told myself as I dried my hands on the hand towel.

"Ch'ien, come quick, we've already gone one round without you," Yvette reached out the smoking joint in her hand.

The sitting room no longer smelled like stale cigarettes. Instead, it was filled with the sweet aroma of green. I took a seat back next to Yvette and took a long, slow drag of the Dutch pot.

"Good, right?!" Guy#1 slapped my back as I handed him the joint.
"Yeah, very smooth," I responded.
"Of course! We have the best!" added Guy#2.

In all honesty, I felt a minor anti-climax. I didn't think the pot was that special at all. But I didn't want to be ungrateful, and as I looked around the room, Claude and Yvette wore such proud smiles I couldn't find the heart to say anything negative.

The group proceeded to tell me some Dutch jokes as I sipped more of my wine. I laughed even though I didn't find the jokes terribly funny. Marjon passed the joint proudly as she was one who never got high. The joint continued to move from hand to hand and finally came back to me. I put my glass of wine down and took another long, slow drag. I held the smoke in my lungs and handed the joint over. Guy#1 sneered a comment in Dutch to Marjon.

"Ch'ien, are you okay?" questioned Marjon. "They're impressed you haven't conked out yet," she added as she pointed to the two hooligans.

I coughed the smoke out of my lungs. I gave the group a thumbs up and they cheered. I finally felt like I was being included with these guys. Finally! But my sense of triumph quickly faded as I watched the joint passed along to the next smoker. I felt my entire body grow numb. I started to hear a ringing in my ears. I saw Marjon looking back at me.

"Ch'ien, are you sure you're fine?" she asked.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," I assured even though I wasn't sure at all.

When the joint got back to me for my third hit I was worried what would happen with another drag.

"Is our American friend done for the night?" Guy#1 mocked.

Not to be outdone I took the joint and took another hit. I quickly passed it along. I lost almost all my senses. I was completely immobilised.

"Ch'ien, seriously, are you okay?" Marjon's concern could no longer be held back.

I'm okay. I wanted to say. But I couldn't even speak. I blinked at her and smiled. The two Dutch hooligans gave themselves a high five and started laughing and speaking in their native tongue. Between my paralyzed state of mind and the ringing in my ears, I was left defenseless to their mocking. After much internal struggling, I finally managed a thumbs up and a wider smile. I sat there like a sad Asian wax figure. I couldn't move, yet I had never felt so relaxed.

When the blunt came back to me I couldn't even reach for it. I pathetically shook my head and looked over to Guy#1 to take it. I looked over to Marjon for help. She knew exactly what had to be done.

"Well, guys, thanks so much for having us over. Ch'ien and I should head back home because Farrah and my family are waiting for us at home for dinner," Marjon offered. I knew I loved her for a reason. "Ch'ien, are you ready?"

Yvette kindly helped me up and I instantaneously felt a shift in my stomach. I shook the guys' hands good-bye and kissed Yvette three times on alternating cheeks.

"Ch'ien, I can't believe you got so fucked up," Marjon whispered in my ear.
"I know... Sorry... Just give me two minutes okay? I need to use the toilet real quick," I replied.

I found my way back into their rest room and quickly pulled my pants down and sat on the toilet. I was so high my body was so relaxed I released what I thought was the biggest turd I ever let out of my body. I could have been on that show "I Didn't Even Know I Was Pregnant."

My body was like jelly. It took every ounce of strength to lift myself off the toilet seat to wipe my butt and buckle up my pants. I reached around to pull the flush chain and was puzzled when I didn't hear a flush even though the chain was in my hand... I had pulled it so hard that I pulled the entire chain off the tank! I looked into the toilet bowl and saw what could have been three dark aborted babies. I was horrified.

I turned around and turned on the faucet and tried cupping water into the toilet bowl to make everything go away. The chocolate babies weren't going anywhere. It needed the flushing suction from the tank. I tried looking into the tank but couldn't figure out such an old contraption.

"Ch'ien! Are you okay in there?" Marjon started knocking on the door.

I quickly unlocked the door and explained the situation to Marjon and she laughed so loud the others in the sitting room could hear.

"What's going on over there?" Yvette was curious.
"Oh my god. Don't tell them!" I pleaded to Marjon.

Marjon ignored my plea and responded to Yvette in Dutch. I wanted to die.

"Oh no worries, Ch'ien," Claude yelled from the sitting room.

I rushed into the sitting room and apologised like my life depended on it. The two hooligans had already started smoking a fresh joint. Were they too stoned to understand what had just happened?

Marjon and I laughed about the whole experience on our way back to her place. My shit was sitting two meters above the Amstel Canal that would eventually lead into the North Sea... That pot was seriously like no other shit I had ever had, literally. Would it be inappropriate for me to ask Claude and Yvette for more at the wedding two days later even though I clogged their only bathroom in their houseboat?


*****

I honestly look back fondly on my days of drug use, like I was living vicariously through a younger brother I never had. I'm glad I experienced them and feel lucky I was able to move on. When I see my old coke dealer, Cupcake, out at bars, I'm proud that I no longer slide over to him to ask for a "slice of pizza."

I graduated BU Magna Cum Laude. Drugs have also never interfered with my professional life either, for the most part...

When my good friend Joe accepted the fact he was an alcoholic, it was a time for me to reflect on my own addictions and I decided to cut out the hard drugs from my life. In my travels overseas, I played with the devil by trying out all sorts of drugs. But in my travels overseas, I have also been extremely fortunate to have met so many friends who have acted as angels and guided me to a healthier lifestyle.

Now when I travel overseas, it's to find amazing hiking trails, compete in triathlons, swim in oceans, and to get high purely on adrenalin.

I still try and fly back to Amsterdam as much as I can. Marjon eventually gave birth to a beautiful baby boy, Tijn, and she asked me to be his Fairy God Mother. Lady, please, Fairy God Mother's can still play in the Red Light District's coffee shops for some good ol' Space Cake!

Dragged to Discovery

I discovered something huge in my life in 1996 when I was 19 years old. It might have been a coincidence that later that year Madonna premiered her first huge internationally acclaimed movie, Evita, that garnered her a Golden Globe; a time when people also recognised her golden globes from having recently given birth to her daughter, "Lola." In 1996, I finally got over my one year old bi-sexual phase and fully embraced myself as a full(y) blown faggot. I have Evita playing on my TV right now and the opening credits still give me chills; similar to those of my self realisation of being a gay...

The movie reel manager has just interrupted the black and white movie in the theater, "Eva Peron, spiritual leader of the nation, entered her mortality, this evening." In the words of raisin faced Rachel Zoe: she just died.

When I finally accepted my homosexuality, I didn't just come out of the closet. I "gagged" my straight self and left him to suffocate and die in the closet with my ex girlfriends while I barged out of the building screaming Hallelujah!

On Saturday, 18th March 1995, I sucked my first dick in my Myles Standish dorm room. While I was showering to try and sober up, a buddy of mine, Darryl, came in to take a piss in the toilet. Darryl was the quintessential crew boy: tall, dark, handsome, with a six pack... I don't even want to reminisce on the beautiful size of his penis... Before I knew it, his dick somehow ended up in my mouth while I jacked off in the tub. We never spoke about it after, but Pandora's box had been opened and I was yearning for more. I laugh when I review my journal entry from that night as I wasn't fully able to talk about it with myself! I simply wrote:

The first Step. Got drunk and went into the shower. Had first Dimitri experience.

(Dimitri was the first gay guy I was ever introduced to by one of my ex-girlfriends.)

Growing up, homosexuality was never an option for me. My pop always said that being gay was something foreign. He told me gays were dirty and dangerous people.

The state of Argentina is now lamenting with a waltz at the news they've just heard.

After my incident with Darryl, I started to hang out more with a flaming Resident Associate at Myles Standish Hall, Andre, who was a good friend of my neighbour's, Jo. Andre was a very nice guy; flaming, but nice. He was very intelligent and the typical gay: long blond hair, angelic blue eyes, and pristine manicured Chanel Vamp nails! I had never had a friend that was openly gay. He introduced me to more "out-of-the-closet" gays and I found them all to be sane individuals and unlike any of the gay people my pop had described.

I was later introduced to Campus Thursdays over in Cambridge, MA where a lot of gay college kids liked to hang, and Avalon Sundays, the best gay night in Boston -- oh the good old days when Boston really had an amazing gay nightlife! I was a kid in a candy store googling at hot guys making out with other guys with their shirts off. Go-go boys were dancing on stages, and I saw the first Drag Queen in my life! Mizery! She was a fierce looking queen that could jump three feet in the air with her six inch heels and land perfectly in a split!

It was one night at campus, as we were leaving, that my friends were handed a flyer for a Drag Queen Pageant at Avalon hosted by Mizery. My friends squeeled with excitement.

"Oh my God, Ch'ien, you must enter this!" said Andy.
"Ch'ien, I bet we could make you a hot rockin' queen," added Jo, "You already don't even have a hair on your body!" An Asian bi-product that came in handy if you wanted to do drag, I guess.

The next couple weeks Joanna gathered a makeover team that would prep me for the Miss Irish Springs Drag Queen Pageant. Jen was the resident eyebrow tweezer and she couldn't wait to start plucking mine; Susanna had all the Mac makeup any drag queen would die for; Lindsey, my goth friend, had been stashing a floor length, green mermaid gown deep in her closet that she knew would be perfect for Miss Irish Springs; and Brandy and Laura were thrilled to play Barbie accessories on a full sized doll!

The pageant night finally arrived and my crew were in my dorm room getting me ready. Madonna's black and white Versace ads were plastered all over my walls to serve as my inspiration. Afterall, Madonna was the absolute and ultimate drag queen! At the time I had shoulder length hair and Brandy created a very bouncy bob with about a whole can of aqua net. It took about two hours to get my hair, makeup, and nails done while we sipped vodka tonics throughout the re-invention. Madonna would have been proud.

My friends asked me what my name was for the night. I responded with Devon Dionysia: Dimitri Devon was my first guy crush and I was studying Greek and Roman mythology at the time and somehow grew fond of the God of Wine, Dionysis. My friends looked at me puzzled.

Once we arrived at Avalon we all waited anxiously in line. I had about 30 residents from Myles Standish waiting in line with me. I finally got to the front of the line and handed my fake ID to the bouncer.

"Are we sure this is real?" questioned the bouncer.
"I'm in Drag, baby. Of course it's real," my alter ego was already taking over. "I'm entering the drag pageant," I continued.

He stamped my hand and let me in without any cover and I quickly enrolled myself into the competition. I was up against a lot of local talent but I wasn't worried because I had my posse with me. 37 in total; the 30 that came with me from the dorm and the other seven vodka tonics that were swirling in my system.

Midnight rolled around the corner and all the pageant contestants were rallied to the stage so the show could start. Mizery had just finished a dazzling performance and was still catching her breath as she ushered us up onto the stage. Stephanie White was the first to get up and she needed no introduction. Lakia Mondale and Diamond Dunhill followed. I finally got up to the stage and Mizery pulled me aside.

"Honey, what's your name?" Mizery whispered.
"It's me Ch'ien," I replied, "we met at Campus a few weeks ago. I'm Devon Dionysia tonight."
"Guurl, you look goooood," approved Mizery. And then to the crowd she announced, "And here we have Devon!" She turned back to me and hushed, "Baby, trust me and forget that 'Di dicked Diana whatever bullshit." She was obviously referring to my Dionysian reference... I appreciated such a seasoned Drag Queen's advice.

My posse and the rest of Avalon cheered. I was radiating attitude under the spotlights. I could see the other queens asking each other "Who the fuck is that?" I was the unknown underdog trying to make a name.

Each Queen was asked a question before performing a lip synched number. The seasoned Queens had been doing this for years and gave such witty answers and star quality performances I was starting to sweat under my false titties. It was finally my turn and Mizery asked me my question.

"Devon, honey, what would you do with an Irish man and his 'sack of potatoes?'" asked Mizery while looking out to the crowd?

I looked into the sea of men. I couldn't even see my posse with the spotlights in my face. I couldn't think of anything to say and started to think: What in gay hell did I get myself into? I raised my hand to stall, like I was giving the crowd my hand as if they weren't worth my time.

"That's right, baby!" Mizery yelled, "Five times as long as he's bigger than five inches!"

The crowd started roaring with laughter and I realised she saved my life. I hugged and kissed her and whispered sweet thank yous in her ear. The lights flickered and my drag number blared out on the speakers: Love Fool by the Cardigans. I lip synched for my life and knew I couldn't fuck this up (Amen to RuPaul!).

As a finale, all the contestants were summoned back on the stage to be judged by the audience's applause. As Mizery placed her hand with three inch nails over each queen, the audience screeched and clapped for their favourite. When Mizery's hand eventually haloed my bob, the crowd went wild. It was a new era as an unknown drag queen won the pageant.

"And we have a winner! Devon!" Mizery exclaimed.

"Devon! Devon! Devon!" The crowd at Avalon was screaming my name like they were calling the new President of Argentina, "Peron!"

I won my first and only drag pageant! I was crowned with a tiara and handed a wand. I collected my prize money and the club manager took my information and told me I was welcome back to the club every Sunday to perform and bring friends to the VIP section. I sashayed with my crew back to the Myles Standish dorm for a celebratory drink and cigarette in the smoking lounge.

I was high and flying adored.

I was quickly asked to enter Miss Gay Boston that would be held at Jacque's Cabaret bar in Bay Village. I pounced at the invitation. Little did I know what was going to be in store for me. The emcee that night was Miss Stephanie White, resident favourite at Jacque's, and one of the other contestants was Miss Lakia Mondale, Mizery's new protege, both of whom I beat at Miss Irish Springs.

There were four contestants in all that evening and we were to get ready in the cold, flouresent lit basement of the club. As I was getting ready, Lakia walked up to me with her fake implants bobbing with each sashay.

"Uh-uh, honey," she spat at me with her eyes, gave me the hand and turned around and swayed back to her station. Mizery started duct taping Lakia's breasts in place as well as her cock. I couldn't believe the cattiness; I suppose I was still very naive to the whole drag underground. Luckily I managed to learn how to get my makeup done in a speedy half an hour and rushed back upstairs to seek comfort with my friends.

"Devon, don't worry about Lakia. Good luck," Mizery managed to catch my hand before I escaped that dungeon of a basement. I smiled back at her.

The evening was a payback for Miss Irish Springs. My lip synched talent number was cut half way by the DJ under the instruction from Miss Stephanie White, I learned later. By the time they were announcing the new winners I came in fourth place and wanted to shrink and die. Everyone got a bouquet of flowers, but me. There were only four contestants! Could they not have spared another $5 for a shitty bouquet? I think i would have settle for weeds! I was like Miss Chi Chi Rodriguez from To Wong Foo in the opening drag pageant of that movie who was sure she would win but didn't even end up placing! My saving grace was something the overweight queen that came in third place said to me.

"Baby, don't be discouraged. We can be mean but we're still family. It took me years to get to where I am now," she whispered.

The life of a drag queen is both terrific and trying. I learned how seriously some queens take their drag. They lived it 24-7. I was just a club kid having a good time and dressing up for fun every now and then. I performed in New York City and then I had a great opportunity to fly to Oxford, England to perform at a friend's birthday, but was almost beaten to a pulp by the Oxford rowing team when they heard there was a queer drag queen on their campus.

I remember pimps trying to "own" me in the seedy playground district in Chinatown before it got cleaned up. I got three to five hundred dollars in tips sometimes in one night after only lip synching five songs. I also got some unbelievably hot fans; the only problem was they were in love with the illusion. I wasn't. I wasn't interested in a guy that was interested in chicks with dicks. I loved my own dick and loved to fuck and get fucked. I didn't want to be a conversation piece: You know, my girlfriend used to be a boyfriend...

It was hard to give up drag. I had my farewell tour back in 2003. Friends came from out of state to catch my show in the middle of a snow storm. I couldn't have asked for a better reception. That night I was rolling in cash from old friends, old fans, and old queens. When Jacque's closed for the night I invited everyone over to Dedo (the old Luxor) and treated them back to drinks.

Drag is extremely liberating for a man and I encourage everyone to try it once, straight or gay. It's addictive like a drug. I promise you when you get the drag bug you'll want to do it again. Diamond Dunhill once described it like Herpes: the itch will always come back when you're ready to quit it.

Like Cher and Barbra, I think we were all ready to quit. Whatever it is that makes them come back to prolong their farewell tour, I think I caught that same bug. It's like some kind of rerun you never know when to expect on TV. Devon still comes out every now and then as a new incarnation on special occasions. Taking inspiration from the re-invention queen, Madonna, Devon became Pacifica Rimmer, who eventually became LaNaye 3000.

"Oh, what I'd give for a hundred years... but the physical interferes... everyday more, oh my creator..." Madonna sings in her closing waltz with Che, played by Antonio Banderas.

If I were really a woman I would love performing on a stage for years under spotlights with adoring fans! But reality always sinks in and I can only be grateful for the self discovery I found when I dressed in drag. I was dragged to self discovery while, at the same time, I discovered the old cliche that drag is a drag.

To my gays and fag hags: You will never be my sister!

I'm very fortunate to have such a supporting family. My parents love me unconditionally and my siblings are my best friends. Although we are very close we have thousands of miles in between us. My immediate family live in Asia while I am the sole Chan that lives in the US. The good thing is current technology allows us to video skype over a wireless cable modem whenever we can catch each other during the 12 - 13 hour time difference.

Technology, however, wasn't always so advanced. Remember those days when we used the phone jack to get onto the Internet?

When I came to Boston in 1994 to attend BU's College of Communication (COM), my dad very generously purchased a laptop for me to use for school papers, and of course, to write letters to all my family members. I was thrilled to find my dorm had a computer lab and internet access so I quickly setup my school email account. What was even better was that there was internet access from your dorm room but you just had to configure your computer in a specific manner and I was told "I'd be all set!" All I had to do was plug the telephone cord into my laptop and access the BU ACS server. I wouldn't have to wait for a computer at the computer lab ever again!

I quickly ran up to my room with the instructions and pulled out my laptop. It was like christmas and I was about to unwrap the coolest holiday gift. I followed all the instructions and restarted my computer.

Error.

WTF?!?! I reconfigured the computer again following each step twice to make sure I could make this work. Restart. Error. Godammit!

I ran next door to my neighbour's room.

"Joanna! Are you there? It's Ch'ien. Can you access email from your room?" I panted.

Jo opened the door and let me in. She was already on her email.

"Would you mind checking out my computer? I can't seem to get onto the email?" I pleaded.

She went through the exact same steps and we both once again received the same error.

"That's so weird, Ch'ien. Try taking it to IT on Cummington street. They have a help desk there specifically for these problems," Jo suggested.

I knew where that was. It was right behind COM. I packed my laptop into its case and ran over to the IT helpdesk. I couldn't wait one moment! This issue had to be resolved immediately! IT was still open. It was God's recognition of my absolute impatience.

Two bearded white guys were chatting about Star Trek behind the helpdesk counter.

"Um, excuse me, I need some help," I started.

One of the guys rolled his eyes and turned to look toward me. I caught him give me the "up-down" look normally reserved for mean girls mocking fat chicks.

"Yeah, what's up?" he mumbled as he readjusted his glasses on his nose.

Was this denim and flannel wearing dork judging me in my Katharine Hamnett designer nylon trousers and Jigsaw sweater? How dare he! Ch'ien, regroup. You need his assistance to resolve your issue...

"Well I'm trying to log into my email from my dorm room and I keep getting an error message. I've followed all the instructions several times and I haven't seemed to have much luck. Could you check out my laptop, please?" I offered.

"Yeah, I guess I could," the dork replied. His buddy walked away. "Are you sure you followed all the instructions?" he continued.

"Yes! I even had my friend check it out and she's studying Computer Sciences!" I tried.

"Well, everything seems fine. Maybe it's the computer," he concluded.

He barely looked into anything! What kind of customer service was this? I wanted to smash the laptop into his acne infested face.

"So what am I supposed to do?" I asked.
"Well, you should probably send it back to the store you bought it from," he suggested.
"I can't do that because it was a gift and it's from Singapore."
"Well then give it back to the person who got it for you to take back to the store."

Was this guy serious?!?! What a dick! I was not about to ship this damned computer to Asia to have my dad ask some store person about logging into his son's email via his dorm room! I had to think quick and make something happen right away.

"Uh, well I can't really do that," I continued.
"Why not?" this dork was clearly starting to get agitated.
"Well, because it was a gift, from my sister," I managed to say with a quiver in my voice, "and she's passed away," I think I even managed to wring out some dry tears to my eyes.
"Oh! I'm so sorry to hear that! Let me take another look!"

I must say I felt bad to utter such words, but I also felt the victory of a squash match as I saw the dork tapping away on the keyboard of my laptop like a frantic idiot. In literally two minutes he had reconfigured my computer and sent me out on my way.

"You're all set," he said as I exited the IT building with the glass doors closing behind me.

As you might already know, my parents have three boys. I might be the daughter my mother never had, but I only have two brothers and have never had a sister.

I got back to my dorm room and successfully got onto the internet and decided to write to my brothers: Dear Dai-lo and Yee-ko... You'll never guess what just happened....

Being a superstitious Asian, I realise the seriousness of the lie I told about the death of an imaginary sister. It was a means to an end. But nonetheless, I would take full responsibility and guilt if I ever called any of my gays a sister and they were to die! That is why even to this day, fifteen years later, you'll only ever be a girlfriend, a lady, my bitch, but never, my sister!

America: A Whole New World

I've been living in America now for over 15 years. I never thought I would end up in America; especially Boston because it is so quaint and white. The US has become the country I have lived for the longest period of time in my life and is quickly starting to become my home. I'm originally from Malaysia but my family moved to Hong Kong when I was two years old. I attended primary and secondary schools with international (UK) expats and when I left to come to Boston for university my parents decided to move to Singapore.

I completed my GCSEs and A-Levels (a British schooling standard similar to an American high school level) at Island School in Hong Kong. Island School was highly recognised by many public schools in the UK, and a lot of graduates from Island School were getting into the top unis in Britain. It made perfect sense for me to continue my uni years there. UK universities normally last three years and immediately immerses you into your selected concentration. That was my main problem: How could I have one concentration when I wanted to do and be everything?

My oldest brother, Tien, always liked business and attended Nottingham University in the UK to study Econometrics. My middle brother, Ch'ien-Hsiang, knew when he was ten he wanted to be an architect and got himself into Pratt Institute in NYC. As long as we were furthering our education, my parents really didn't mind where we went to school.

I always had a thirst for learning. When we were learning about castles in primary three I would go to the library and take out as many books as I could on castles. I loved drawing and was already learning about any artist who's name would come up in class. When we studied a new continent in Geography I wanted to learn words in their language, find out about their culture, and find out what they ate! It really wasn't me trying to be a goody-too-shoes but I was really sincerely interested! There really wasn't a subject I wasn't interested in. A lot of my pocket money went to art supplies or books. My brothers thought I was an idiot because I wasn't buying remote controlled cars or figurines.

By the time I was 15, it was pretty much crunch time. I completed my GCSEs with almost straight As and it was time to start focusing our selected A-Level subjects to prepare us for University. Most people went into arts, science, drama or economics. I ended up taking art, french, graphic design, physics, economics, pure mathematics, and statistics. I don't think many others had such a varied selection of subjects -- I wanted to keep all my doors open!

It was during my A-Levels that I knew I really enjoyed art. But I was not interested in going to Art School. I wanted money! I thought Art School = Starving Artist. I needed to get into a lucrative design field like Advertising with the understanding that I could change my mind at any moment and needed a backup plan. Thank God for American Universities where you pick a concentration that is to be completed in four years, but you start with your freshman and sophomore years studying Liberal Arts -- what a fascinating system -- and then you focus on your concentration during your Junior and Senior years. If I changed my mind of what I wanted to study I'd have a two year cushion; Yes!

After several offers and rejections, I decided to attend Boston University. They had a great Communications College and a huge international student community. I couldn't wait to meet these new American people that made amazing Hollywood movies! The English were getting tired to me, as were all the South East Asian countries and Australia where my parents took us during our summer holidays.

Coming to America was a trip. My mum accompanied me on my journey -- I was her baby finally leaving her nest. We stopped off in Phoenix, AZ to spend some time with my cousin before I continued on to Boston. People in Arizona were so nice it was creepy. I wasn't used to it. Why did a stranger ask me how I was doing? These Americans are weirdos... What did they want from me? I asked my cousin's husband about this (one of the nicest Americans I have ever met!) and he patiently started to clue me in on some American lifestyles and habits.

Arriving in Boston didn't get any better. I was introduced to a brand new set of ignorance. I remember being at the Eliot hotel and our waitress came to our table and asked my mum and I for something to drink.

"Can I get a glass of water, please," I said.
"Sorry, what?" our waitress replied.
"Some water," I repeated.
"Huh, is that a cocktail?" I thought my waitress was mocking me.
"Miss, some water. What they're drinking over there," I pointed to a table where the couple were sipping H2O.
"Oh! Water! Sure thing! Be right back," she chimed as she bounced off to get the water jug.

Now we might be a little lost in translation here since water looks like water on paper. But try and hear this out. When I asked for water, pretend you're watching Dame Judi Dench asking the Queen for "Wah-Terre." Then when the waitress replied to me like I was a three year old child who just got caught scratching his ass, she said "Oh! Wa-Derre." Maybe it was just the waitress? My mum and I rolled our eyes and chuckled.

After a few days with my mum in Boston, we bid our teary farewells when I started BU's International Orientation for all foreign students. It was a great program and many orientation students were international, too. It was during this orientation I quickly learned that I was referred to as Euro and Asian Trash. Solely because of my accent and how I dressed. All international students had to temporarily stay at the Towers on Baystate Road. Us foreigners quickly made a tight bond as we were clearly separated from the Americans. The Americans that were leaders were giddy to have me talk to them.

"Ch'ien say that word again... I love your British accent... Where do you put the trash? In a Bin? ha haaaa... What do you call an eraser? ha haaaaa... Say 'Wa-Dere' how you would say it again!"

What started out as something cute very quickly turned tired and annoying. Growing up we got a lot of American Sitcoms and watched all the American movie blockbusters. But didn't Americans watch BBC America or period flicks? Why are Americans so enamoured with the British accent? I was starting to feel that Americans were really protected from other cultures; it was something very hard for me to understand as I grew up with people from all over the world.

During a Freshman Orientation where all the international students were now folded with all the other US Freshmen, I couldn't believe some of the conversations I was engaging in.

Ignorant American #1: So you're from Hong Kong? But I don't understand? You speak English?
Me: Well, I am actually from Malaysia, but I went to school in Hong Kong. Hong Kong is a British Colony so there are a lot of British expats there and my parents sent me to school with them.
Ignorant American #2: But you speak English, English...
Me: Uh...
Ignorant American #3: Oh, that's so cool! You lived in Hong Kong! So do you speak Japanese?
Me: No. People speak Japanese in Japan which is a whole nother Island far away from China.
Ignorant American #4: Isn't China just a bunch of rice paddy fields?
Ignorant American #5: So does that make you Hongkanese?
Me: No, I am from Malaysia.
Ignorant American #6: Oh, so what State are you from?

I wanted to stick my "Be You at BU!" badge into my eye. I couldn't believe how ignorant of the world these people could be! And they got into the same University that I did! What did that say about the admission process?

After that orientation session I slugged myself back to my dorm room at Myles Standish Hall on Beacon Street. Before I got to my room I passed my neighbour's door that was left wide open.

"Hey! Are you my new neighbour? I'm Jo," said the girl in the room with an American accent.
"I guess so," I replied.

She invited me in and she was so sincerely friendly. We chatted for a good half hour. She was a Sophomore from Detroit, Michigan (Wait! I know that place! Isn't that where Madonna was born?!?) and had a cousin living in Singapore. Jo even knew where that was!

I called my friend, Patricia in the UK and told her how defeated and I appalled I felt from leaving the student orientation session.

"Cheng, they're just stupid. Don't worry about it. Next time just tell them you went to school in the UK and they won't ask you anymore stupid questions!" Patricia advised.

I took her advice and for the most part, it worked.

In the following weeks Jo showed me the ropes at the dining hall as many of my international friends only ate out at restaurants. There was an art to creating your own meals instead of just getting what was being offered on the lines. She showed me cheesy recipes with pasta and microwaves; how to ask for grilled chicken and making a fantastic salad with that; how to ask for a strawberry daiquiri and spike it with a nip of vodka! A resourceful American!

Jo also introduced me to the Myles Standish Smoking lounge. This was where some of the friendliest Americans hung out to study, play cards, and smoke. This was also where Joanna introduced me to many people that would become my closest friends during my time at BU.

"This is Ch'ien. My sophisticated neighbour who's Chinese Malaysian but went to school in Hong Kong and speaks with a British accent. He came into my room the other day and asked to borrow my 'hoover,'" Jo would giggle. "However, the other night when he knocked on my door to ask me if I had a 'torch' 'cuz he saw a mouse in his room, I thought he was nuts and wanted to set the poor rodent on fire! I didn't realise he was actually asking for a flashlight," she continued.

I met all sorts of Americans. Ones from Ohio, LA, Seattle, New York, Florida, Iowa, the Midwest. I had no idea they were all each such different places. I always thought America was just that: America, 50 united states. I had heard of all these cities and states but if you asked me to find it on a map I would have had to search! I started to learn about their state pride and compared them almost like fifty countries in one continent rather than fifty states in one country.

In the proceeding months I realised how ignorant I was about American geography! It was no different to people confusing Thailand with Taiwan or any of the South East Asian cities and countries. I also realised how unprepared I was in choosing what University I would attend in what city and state of America. I really lucked out with Boston. It's close to New York, the Cape, P-Town, Maine, and Boston had a really solid cultural night life. I could have ended up in the middle of "bumble-fuck," as Jo would say, since I was also offered a spot at the Rochester Institute of Technology.

Thanks to Jo and my new American friends I found not everyone was so clueless and xenophobic. Jo later found out I wasn't as "sophisticated" as I had led on. She soon started to introduce me as the "crazy fucking Chinese Malaysian from Hong Kong who speaks with a British accent." The two additional preceeding adjectives "crazy fucking" was added when she'd constantly see me laughing so hard I might snarf the vodka strawberry daiquiris out of my nose in the smoking lounge; or later getting my eyebrow, tragus, nose and tongue pierced; or when I dyed my hair blue and gave myself a mohawk and mimicked a Southern twang. I personally thought that the best form of flattery would be to assimilate to what I didn't realise would eventually become my new home.

Fifteen years later, I'm still in Boston even though I have tried numerous times to move to the West Coast. A job or a boy has always kept me here. My friends from the UK call me a Yank as I've acquired all the American slang and more and more of my friends here in the US have invited me into their families. It's only when I get angry, or nervous, or drunk, or after speaking to a friend from the UK that I speak English, English. It's especially at these moments that my American friends would ask me: What's up with that fake British accent, Madonna?

Breakdown of a Goddess

Do you ever look at people and wonder how they got to be so beautiful? Like, it couldn’t be humanly natural to be that gorgeous?

When I was in secondary school, I got my first taste of beauty, or at least of what I thought was beauty. Enter Valeria C. She was a pretty and petite Filipino who looked a little more Spanish than Asian. She had lush, black hair and tight, tan skin. When she looked at you with her sweet eyes you were the only one that existed in the world. Her full lips were those you’d dream of kissing. She quickly learned she attracted the attentions of many boys and often played with their raging adolescent hormones to her advantage.

I was eleven and in First Form when I met Valeria. Unlike all the other boys that tried hard to woo her, I had a trump: I belonged in her inner circle. I was one of her best friends, along with Gerry D., a hardcore Cockney chick, and Ramona C., the sensible Aussie Eurasian. The four of us were our own Motley crew. We weaved in and out of every circle: the dorks, the Indians, the cool kids, the Jocks, the Goths. I’m sure many wanted to be in our circle but the four of us seemed to manage to smile off the requests and offers without offending any individual.

For the first three years of our friendship I was there for every guy crush she had, and also every guy’s heart she crushed. Including mine. She was a maneater in training.

One party night at Gerry’s, Valeria and I ended up in the same bed. We were getting off with each other and I could not believe the day had come. I was getting off with one of the hottest girls at Island School! I remember trembling when I undressed her; when I made her quiver when my tongue found her dark nipples and eventually found itself between her legs (all right faggots, stop gagging…). I remember thinking I wouldn’t stop until she came. That night I knew I became a man.

The next day we went out to join the others in Gerry’s living room.

“Did we have a good night, Valeria?” Ramona said in a way a bitch would mock her prey.
“Hey, leave my girl friend alone,” I defended. Valeria looked away.
“Valeria, did you just hear what Cheng called you?” Ramona hissed.

I knew I was done when Valeria grabbed Ramona’s hand instead of mine. I just became one of Valeria’s other boys. I had been in love with what I knew to be the most beautiful girl in the world for three years and in one night I became a lovesick mess. Literally: Oh em gee. I died. I cried over her for days. It’s pathetic when I look back at it now but I remember that my life was over at the time. Back then, in my mind, I forgave her every time she hooked up with numerous other guys in the weeks and months that came.

One Friday night at a school dance I couldn’t keep my eyes off Valeria. She loved music and loved dancing. Gerry and Ramona urged me to move on. How could I? She was my first love! Then all of a sudden, Valeria’s favourite song came on, George Michael’s “Freedom! ’90.” I wasn’t really that familiar with him at the time. I just knew he was one of the two queer guys from that 80’s group, Wham. And he was the one with that popular butt-waggling track, “Faith.”

Freedom was a hot fucking record. And the video! It was an orgy of the hottest Supermodels at the time. Talk about “beauty!” Linda Evangelista, Naomi Campbell, Cyndi Crawford, Christy Turlington. I became obsessed with the video and soon realised Valeria looked nothing like these beauties (but in her defense, not many people ever do!). Valeria was short and no where as graceful as these models. She also didn’t have much of a bust. Linda had such perfect and stunning features. Christy looked like a Greek Goddess wrapped in that huge sheet as she sauntered through that grand room. What an entrance! Divine. Christy also had incredible cheek bones and those eyes… And then the hottest scene ever when the two of them prick their fingers by the fire place. Hot! I wonder how many times I jerked off with that image in my head wondering when I would ever have the opportunity to meet a girl that looked as hot as Linda or Christy.

The day came 16 years later in the summer of 2005 when I was in Florence, Italy for a fashion show and I actually met the Ms. Christy Turlington. I was the Art Director for PUMA’s Black Station luxury line of footwear and apparel at the time. Christy had a partnering collaboration with PUMA of yoga inspired fashion called “nuala” (an acronym for Natural, Universal, Altruistic, Limitless, and Authentic; look, she’s a gorgeous model so let her name her line anything she wants!). You may have seen the nuala line at high end retail outlets like Bloomingdales. Other Black Station collaborators I got the privilege to work with included the teams of Neil Barrett, Alexander McQueen, Yasuhiro Mihara, Phillippe Starck, and Rudolph Dassler. This particular fashion show was a preview of the fall/winter collections of all these collaborations. But back to Christy!

She had not aged one bit! She was still stunning (even today she still is stunning!). Everyone in attendance of the Black Station fashion show eyed Ms. Christy. I’m not normally star struck but I was with her. I mean, she probably knew Madonna (my ultimate idol whom I love to hate)! I found out Christy’s agent is the same as Gwyneth Paltrow’s and Gwyneth and Madonna were besties once! Maybe all of us could go to a Coldplay concert? And swoon over Chris Martin?

Anyway, after the show, my PR girl buddies, Danielle and Lisa, quickly casually introduced Christy to me.

“Ch’ien, I look forward to working with you. I have a lot of ideas for this coming campaign,” she said. Did the Goddess just talk to me? My heart was thumping. I was screaming like a tween school girl on the inside! In my role as Art Director, I would work with the collaborators for their marketing and advertising campaigns. I looked around and noticed dozens of pairs of eyes spitting at me with jealousy at the fact that Christy spoke to me. Fuck team Edward and Team Jacob! I’m with Team Christy!

I was just a simple boy who grew up in Hong Kong. I must have gloated to my best friends as soon as I returned to my hotel room. I could never have imagined I’d meet and work with a Supermodel! It was a gay man’s dream come true (aside from being in the 14th row of a Madonna concert and almost touching her when she danced down the catwalk singing “Give It To Me!”)! Later that night when I was heading out in search of a gay bar in Florence I happened to pass by Christy and her posse off to some dinner. It looked like a photoshoot. Gorgeous people running down the cobble stone streets of Florence. Oh the glamour! I was too shy to call her name and just admired them in the shadows.

I’m not sure if I really heard anything during my first meeting with Christy at her office in the Meat Packing District in NYC. I was still in awe. She is gorgeous. And she’s still a Supermodel. Her assistant, Sascha D, and I hit it off immediately. Sascha also has a sick sense of humour and I was thrilled to know this would be a great working relationship in the year I would work with Christy and Sascha.

I watched Christy Turlington Burns grow during the following months as she was pregnant with her second child. She still worked hard during her pregnancy and boy did she glow. She was everything: wife, mother, entrepreneur. And she still looked amazing.

During one meeting, Christy, Sascha and I were huddled in Christy’s office. We were reviewing Christy’s upcoming campaign and apparel line for nuala. Sascha got up to use the ladies and dropped something. Without thinking I just reached down to help retrieve whatever she had dropped and found a tampon in my hand.

“Great! Now the gay guy knows I have my period,” Sabrina said.
We all laughed.
“Well I guess it means Ch’ien’s family now,” Christy replied, “So Sascha, you won’t mind sharing if it’s a heavy day?”
She was sharp and had a sense of humour, too! And I was now part of the “family.” When do I get to meet her sexy hubby-actor-director Ed Burns?

Months passed and I was always thrilled to take the Boston shuttle to New York every week to meet with the nuala team. We worked a lot and both Christy and Sascha introduced me to many of their favourite lunch and dinner spots. Thanks to PUMA’s expense account no expense was ever wasted!

After Christy gave birth to her boy, Finn, she still called in to our meetings while she stayed home with Finn and her girl, Grace. When the photoshoot finally arrived, Christy was determined to be there as she loved to be hands on with all her projects. When she arrived, my internal jaw dropped. She was still glowing and had already lost all the weight she gained during her pregnancy. I looked down at my own gut and noticed my booze belly was probably bigger than Christy’s and she had just given birth not too long ago!

The shoot went well. The apparel fit the ballet dancer like a dream. She slipped in and out of each look seamlessly. Her naked breasts were freely cupped by the stylist as she changed into another dress. Female nudity is very common during photoshoots and always wasted on gay men. Just my luck it wasn’t a shoot with hot male models today…

During a break, Christy’s nanny came to the set with Finn. Everyone oohed and ahhed at what a handsome baby he was. Christy, Sabrina and I moved into a private room to discuss the progress of the shoot. As suddenly as Finn had arrived, Christy’s tit was suddenly out of her dress for Finn’s baby lips to find Christy’s supermodel nipple. I felt my face turn hot. I’ve seen my fair share of breasts, but I had never seen supermodel titty! I started to fumble on my powerbook to pull up some of the digital shots we had so far.

“Ch’ien, the shoot is going great so far, isn’t it?” Christy said.
“Um, yeah. Great!” I kept my eyes on my powerbook.

We continued to chat from across the sofa until Finn was done with his feeding. I looked away so Christy could readjust herself and turned my way to Sascha.

“Christy, you have to check out some of these images!” Sascha said excitedly.
The nanny took Finn away and Christy was back to work mode and standing over my shoulder.

“So let’s see what you’ve got, Ch’ien,” Christy asked.
“Well take a look at these –” I was suddenly interrupted by something falling before I could finish.

I reached down to the floor to retrieve what Christy had dropped. I just handed a round piece of fabric back to Christy before really computing what I had in my hand.

“Oh my god,” Christy chirped, “I can’t believe you just handed me breast pad; how embarrassing!”

“It’s fine, Christy,” I said on some kind of reactive autopilot.

But was it really fine? I mean I just touched a supermodel’s breast milk drenched breast pad! As a gay man, I didn’t even know breast pads existed. I thought I was handing over some kind of damned drink coaster to Christy (goes to show all I ever think about are drinks...)!

When I told my straight buddies what had happened, the breast pad incident didn’t phase them at all. They were more concerned by the fact I didn’t photograph Christy’s bare breasts! I suppose I had Goddess Christy on such a high pedestal I never imagined humanly fluids to be secreted from any part of her body… She was afterall, Goddess Christy, Supermodel, Entrepreneur, Mother, Friend, and Human. Christy is vulnerably human, just like Valeria, and every other person I have found to be unhumanly stunning.

In August 2008, I happened to come across a shoot in W Magazine with Christy entitled Champion. It was photographed by Michael Thompson and she really "worked the warrior-goddess side of Greco-Roman influence" in this shoot. Hot! But even after viewing these beautiful images of Christy, I couldn't help but think she was a down to earth mother.
I’ve never really ever put anyone male nor female back on such a high pedestal since. I did, however, find myself to have some very special and hidden talents to add on my resume: will eat out and excellent female hygiene product retriever.