The Ouchii Guy

Once I got to 4th and 5th grade, I started to feel the beginnings of being an outcast—not really sure where I belonged. By then, a lot of the boys were in their sports lane. The girls were playing Red Rover, gossiping about boys, doing their thing. While I was still friendly with Kristabel, even she was finding her own way and wasn’t always around.

Kids started making fun of me for being girly or being into “girly” things as we got older. My natural defense was to say something horrible back. I got in trouble a lot. At 9, it felt unfair. As an adult, I still think it was unfair—but I can also admit I did my share of it too. I didn’t start it, but I definitely escalated it.

I remember one time a classmate kept calling me gay—yes, at 9—and I wasn’t even sure of anything yet. I just remember being so upset that I called her a pig. Guess who got in trouble? I’d get phone calls home all the time. The more people picked on me (and honestly, that was usually the angle), the more I felt like I had to hit back twice as hard. At that age, I learned that if people were going to clown on you, you had to clown back. For me, it came from insecurity. And I paid for it every time.

It was during this time that I really started feeling alone. Like I didn’t belong anywhere. Every day, it got harder to try to fit in.

Academically, things weren’t much better. Math, in particular, was a struggle. My parents were both working full-time, and my dad worked graveyard shifts, so he’d be sleeping when I needed help after school. I remember crying in frustration trying to do my homework, crumpling it up and throwing it across the room. I think my dad felt guilty—because the next day, after the teacher probably said something and showed him the work I had destroyed, he sat down and helped me figure things out.

I still remember getting my first “F” in Ms. Olson’s class. I cried instantly. She was nice, but there was no consoling… no nothing. I’m not mad at her for it. If anything, maybe I’m thankful. My skin needed to thicken up.

School was where I felt the most alone. But outside of it, I had something else.

What really kept me going were my cousins.

Outside of my immediate family, I was lucky enough to grow up with a huge group of cousins. My dad’s side has nearly 30 first cousins, and my mom’s side has 6. When I try to explain the kind of relationship we all have, people are always in awe. I’ve come to realize that what we share isn’t necessarily the norm.

My older cousin PX had a big influence on me in my early years. She got me into CK One—I still wear it to this day. She’d talk to me about cool, older-kid stuff. One of my favorite memories is sitting around a tiny red radio, the size of my forearm, listening to 97.7. She’d tell me to call the station and request Janet Jackson’s “That’s the Way Love Goes” at my grandma’s house, while all the adults played mahjong in the background. Eventually, as she became a teenager, we drifted apart. I was still a kid, and she naturally moved into her own world.

Around this time, I became a bit of a ringleader for the younger generation of cousins. We’d have sleepovers with eight of us at a time. We’d play Monopoly or make up dumb games where we’d basically just humiliate each other and laugh until we couldn’t breathe. We’d rewatch The Mummy, Titanic, and Selena over and over again, knowing every line by heart. Holidays were everything. I always looked forward to being with them.

What they may not know—even now—is how much I needed them. While I was miserable at school, I looked forward to seeing them every single weekend. With them, I could be fully myself. I felt needed. I felt appreciated.

At school, I had to hide. With them, I never did.

And I think that’s what got me through those years—having at least one place where I didn’t have to question who I was.

My cousin PX and I. Looks like I am 3 if I have to guess. I wish I remembered more about this photo.