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.

Love For Those You Respect

I think we've all received that email that asks you to name famous people that invented things throughout history or that accomplished grand feats in their lifetime. The final question was something like "Now try and name a teacher that nurtured you and inspired you." Now that's an easy one.

The goal of the email wasn't really testing your strength in trivia but moreso to demonstrate we all remember those whom have made a positive impact in our lives.

I went to a secondary school in Hong Kong called Island School. It was part of the English Schools Foundation that was established for British Expats' children to attend while their parents were stationed in Hong Kong. Being a British Colony at the time, there were huge numbers of these British kids that needed their homeland education so they could still compete with their homeland peers when it was time for uni hunting. Island School was one of the best schools in Hong Kong when I was there; excelled in education, sports, and even drama. It also had House names a lot more interesting than other Secondary Schools in Hong Kong. Ours were separated by famous innovators: Nansen, Da Vinci, Einstein, Fleming, Rutherford, and Wilberforce.

One teacher that really stands out in my memory is Mr Galbraith. He was my form tutor years one and three, if I recall correctly. He was also my French teacher forms one through three. We crossed paths a lot in the seven years I was at Island School since we were in the same House, Fleming. When I got my class sheet on my first day in Form One I was so thrilled to learn French was mandatory. French! That's the language they speak in Paris! That fabulous city that everyone romanticises about!

I knew from first meeting Mr Galbraith he was a "nice" man. He was going to be a "nice" teacher. There was something about him. He had that really friendly aura. He literally had that 'je ne sais quois."One of those people that could never lose their temper. He was all smiles when he welcomed us First-Formers to our new school. Something deep inside me knew I could count on this guy for anything!

Entering secondary school was a big deal to any eleven year old. It's like entering middle school or becoming a freshman in high school. When I was in Peak School (my primary school), I somehow adopted the nickname, Chengy. I can't remember how it came about but now that I was in secondary school could I drop the "y" and make my name sound a little more grown-up? Kind of like Ludacris using his real name when he was trying to break into a serious acting career or P-Diddy doing the same thing when trying to establish a serious fragrance and fahion label?

Even though my name is Ch'ien (pronounced more or less like "Chen"), my friends that joined me from Peak School managed to appease me somewhat by calling me "Cheng." I suppose that sounded a little more mature. I could deal with it.

So fade to black and cut to new scene where I'm sitting in my first ever French class with Mr Galbraith...

He started off by calling off the roster adding a French twang to each name. Robert became Robert (with the silent "t"). Michael became Michel. Helen became Helene. Ch'ien became Cheen. Cheen??? That doesn't sound so fancy! What's up with that. Later in the class as we started to learn some animal names I realised Mr Galbraith didn't want to call me "dog!" That's right. Mon prenom, Ch'ien, c'est comme "le chien" mais il y a une apostrophe apres le "h." I hated my parents for giving me my name! They insisted the name was given by a Chinese God and that my first name meant "healthy" in Chinese. Screw me not wanting to be called Chengy because for most of my first year at Island School I was called the 'Healthy Dog...'

Mr Galbraith was so gracious. There were plenty of teachers that would have teased students at any chance but not Mr Galbraith. He snapped at anyone that called me chien. I felt like I owed him something so I made sure to try my best to excel in French. I did pretty good for the most part. Mr Galbraith was always very encouraging even when my homework came back with a lot of red and I had to redo a lot of it.

By the third year when most of the kids in my year were about thirteen, we drove Mr Galbraith nuts one day. Afterall, isn't thirteen, like the ultimate "Mean Teen" year? I can't remember what exactly happened in class, but Mr Galbraith was as angry as he could be. He couldn't really raise his voice, but he was trembling and red in the face. I wasn't one that was in trouble (why would I be when I was teacher's pet) and I just sat at the front of the class snickering at those who were getting a scolding. After a few minutes I suddenly became the target of his fury:

"Ch'ien-hung, please leave my classroom if you're going to continue being so rude snickering in the corner!" he said with his finger pointing to the door.

I got up and walked out the room. I couldn't believe it. But it was my own fault. I knew he was really upset as he called me by my real full name. Like how you would say it in English. He continued yelling at some of the kids inside and when he was done with them he came out to meet me. His face was still ruby red.

"Ch'ien, don't ever let me catch you smirking again in my classroom. Now get back inside." he said.

I felt humiliated. The hooligans were yelled at but I was sent outside. How could he do that to me? To think that I had once wasted my time sketching a portrait of him and framing it as a thank you gift the year before!

Later in some period where we had to watch some documentary in a lecture hall, I took out some Tipex and started drawing Mr Galbraith getting it doggy style from another male teacher on the table. There were rumours that Mr Galbraith was gay. I knew what I was doing was bad, but I finished this masterpiece nonetheless. My friends sitting next to me thought it was hysterical.

By the end of the third year it was time for us to pick what subjects we wanted to continue for our GCSEs. I still loved French and decided to continue the subject. I ended up with a new French teacher, Ms Church. Ms. Church and I hit it off from the get go, too. And for some reason, her teaching method really clicked with me and I was suddenly top of the class hardly ever getting any red in my homework. I was writing essays in French with no problem.

One day when I was walking down a corridor between periods I passed Mr Galbraith and he stopped to ask me how I was doing and enjoying French with Ms. Church.

"She's great. I'm actually learning something," I said with a smile and continued walking. As soon as I said it I realised how it came out and felt bad. I didn't mean to sound so bitchy or did I? To be completely honest, I'm really not sure.

Through the rest of my time at Island School, Mr Galbraith never stopped checking in on me. I continued French in my A-Levels with Ms Church, but at the end of Upper Sixth Form, I was invited to Mr Galbraith's end of year French Party at his house with his students. I went and he welcomed me like I was still one of his own.

When I got to University, I continued French for another 2 years until I had to focus my time on my major, Mass Communications and Advertising. I always reminisced of my time with Ms Church and Mr Galbraith. When I graduated Uni and was trying to figure out my career path, I somehow got a little retrospective of my life of twenty odd years. Somehow Mr Galbraith popped up. I decided that I would contact Island School and tell them I attended that Secondary School and I was hoping to get an email address for a former teacher. I was informed he had left the school but was still teaching at another school in Hong Kong.

I emailed him. It was a very short email with the usual "getting back in touch" script. Hey it's me... yadda yadda... Remember? How are you? Just thought I'd get in touch... yadda yadda.

I got a response from him the next morning. He was twelve hours ahead of me and pretty much responded immediately. It was a long email. So sincere. But that was him. We continued to write each other. Somewhere in the communications we had come out to each other.

A few years later he was travelling to Toronto and stopped through Boston so we could catch up in person. It was like old friends catching up. He insists on calling him James but to this day I still feel weird calling him James rather than Mr Galbraith. Three years ago I attended his wedding to his partner, Alvin, in Toronto. It was so surreal that two men were getting married at the time! Yay! Go gays! It was thrilling and exciting. Many of my old secondary school teachers were there. It was very awkward at first but pretty soon we were all just peers. Many spoke to me in French but I just replied in English. Je suis tres embarrasse parce que j'oublie beaucoup de mon francais. My sad attempt at a response.

Yesterday I received an email from James that was 1,729 words long. He's really good at keeping in touch. Me, not so much. He and Alvin are doing well and still deeply in love. A big smile always surfaces when I read his emails. Now when I think back on how this friendship evolved I get nostalgic and a little dreamy. I think James was like a Guardian Angel. He was always looking out for me. I like to think he always knew I was different as a kid. A closeted gay. When he kicked me out of his classroom, he was just teaching me how to be classy. Smirking is idiotic. Unless I'm now smirking at the fact I didn't let this mentor slip out of my life.