Category: Life Milestones

Countdown to 40: Love, Actually.

Posted on by alvin

Jey and I at the airport en route to Arnold and Thuy’s wedding… I think in 2013-2014?

Jey came into my life at an interesting time.

In my early 20s, after I had lost all the weight, I was busy trying to find a partner. This newfound confidence after losing weight suddenly brought several prospects into my life. Of course, almost all of them would inevitably fizzle out within a few weeks at best. Most of the guys who showed interest were around my age or a little younger.

While finishing up my credential program, I started dating a really nice guy who was older. He was 31, which at the time felt way older to me. It was refreshing. He was mature, well-traveled, handsome, and studying for the bar exam. We dated casually for about a year.

Ultimately, things fell apart because I felt the gap between us was just too wide. I was barely entering the workforce and couldn’t really afford the lifestyle he already had established for himself. Meanwhile, he was preparing to move to Los Angeles and begin his next chapter. I remember us both crying at the realization that it just wasn’t going to work.

After sitting with that for a while, I decided I was going to approach dating more casually, kind of like my friend Marlon did. Just have fun and see where things go. No need to lock things down immediately like a lot of my straight friends were doing.

…And then, of course, I met Jey.

On paper, he honestly was not my “type,” but I figured I should at least give it a couple of dates.

When we first met, I actually wasn’t feeling his vibe at all. We grabbed sushi, then followed up with a few more dates. At one point, we even took a trip to Miami together.

Let me tell you — some of those early arguments were intense.

At one point during that Miami trip, I told him that once we got back to the Bay Area, we were done. Growing up, I thought I had a temper because of all the personal things I had gone through in my youth. Jey, when pushed, made me look calm.

By then, I was already working during my first year at Overfelt High School. He would constantly blow up my phone asking for another chance. When I’d say “never,” he’d come up with random excuses to see me again. He’d say I still had some of his stuff and he wanted it back. I’d tell him I’d leave it outside the door. He’d say no because it might get stolen. He was determined to see me again.

He simply was not going to give up.

At some point, I finally caved and gave him another chance. Despite all the ways we didn’t seem to work on paper, the one thing he had going for him in my eyes was persistence. He fought for me in a way no one else ever really had before.

He also makes me laugh constantly.

And honestly, that’s probably the real secret to our relationship.

Through all the ups and downs we’ve had over the years, there have been far more highs than lows. Where I lack, he fills in the gaps. And as we’ve gotten older, I still see him actively trying to grow and make changes when he hurts or upsets me. Those things never go unnoticed by me.

I realized then — and even more so now — that if you walk around with an endless checklist of what your “perfect” spouse is supposed to be, you may spend your entire life searching for someone who doesn’t exist.

While Jey may not have checked every superficial box I thought I wanted at the time, he checked the ones that ultimately mattered the most.

The biggest one being this:

No matter what happens, he has my back.

Me and Jey in Barcelona, Spain in July 2025. One of our favorite vacations.

Countdown to 40: Teacher in Progress

Posted on by alvin

Me with some of my favorite co-workers of all time. Overfelt Prom – I forget which year. Maybe 2011.

My going into teaching was kind of a no-brainer.

High school taught me that I actually have great people skills and am highly adaptable. I also learned that I was good at art and a pretty good leader. College taught me that I was a hard worker, but also that I genuinely enjoyed being around people and did not like the idea of desk work in a cubicle all day.

Being an art teacher allowed me to combine all of that while hopefully making some kind of impact on kids’ lives.

During my teaching credential program at National University, I was told that I would likely struggle to find a job because the state was going through severe budget cuts. When they found out I was also going to be an art teacher, they basically said, “Oh… then multiply that times two.”

I actually got really lucky.

As luck would have it, my high school art teacher had gotten pregnant and decided to relocate to New York at the end of the school year. The current principal also happened to be my former leadership teacher. Everything kind of just fell into place for me.

When I started teaching at Overfelt High School, I genuinely thought I was going to retire there. I was 100% all in. I advised a ton of clubs, sat in leadership meetings, became department chair… I fully immersed myself into the school community.

After wrapping up year three, I was preparing for year four when I was presented with an opportunity at Calero High School to help launch the school. I would get the opportunity to order the furniture and help build the art program from scratch. I remember going back and forth trying to decide what to do.

Overfelt felt comfortable and safe. I loved the students. I loved the staff. Simultaneously, I didn’t want to live life with regrets. I had graduated from there and immediately returned to work there right after college. No “what ifs.” I had one week to decide.

And then I decided.

I was going to leave.

I felt guilty about it for a long time.

Ultimately, Calero High School ended up not being the right fit for me, and after a short year there, I found myself at Silver Creek High School for over a decade. I am now currently at Piedmont Hills High School.

Some of my favorite students to have ever walked into my classroom at Silver Creek. It’s hard to remember names of every single student, but I definitely remember these three. Lily, Jacklyn and Rose. This photo was taken a year or two after gradation and they came to visit.

My biggest takeaway from all of this is that I can’t sit too comfortably for too long.

While things did not work out the way I imagined at Calero, they ultimately worked out wonderfully at Silver Creek. Ironically, my unhappiness during that time also pushed me to launch a side business called Ouchii, which later shaped a huge part of my identity for over a decade.

I remember talking to a wise coworker at Overfelt while trying to decide whether I should leave. We weren’t even particularly close, which is honestly why I reached out to him specifically. I wanted unbiased advice.

I asked him what he thought the right thing to do was, and he said something that has stuck with me ever since:

“If you are staying because you think the kids need you or the school needs you, that is not a good enough reason to stay. No matter where you go, kids will need you and the school will benefit from having you.”

He was right.

And now here I am wrapping up year 15, currently at Piedmont Hills High School.

While I am still finding my footing and adjusting, I am happy to report that I am still doing what I do best — helping kids develop their art skills while also being a safe adult they can talk to while navigating the craziness that is high school.

I can never get enough of these letters. And these always seem to come at the times I need them the most.

Countdown to 40: The New Jan Brady – Middle Child Syndrome is Real

Posted on by alvin

Me and the lovely Normita Floro during her 70th birthday last year, July 2025. My sister threw the nicest party for her. I almost cried, as I do when I talk about mom or family.

When I graduated college, it was kind of uneventful. I wasn’t close to anyone in my graduating class. Because I was always running back to San Jose on the weekends and working all week, I didn’t really explore the city and make the kind of friends I thought I would. In fact, that is one of my regrets about my time in college — I was in one of the coolest cities in the world, and I didn’t bother to really live it up and immerse myself in it.

The ceremony itself was just as uneventful. I didn’t even really want to go. By then, I was already back in school going for my teaching credential, and the lack of connection I felt to the program and my peers certainly did not help. But of course, it’s one of those lifetime achievements that possibly only happens once, and I knew it would be important to my parents, so I did it.

At my graduation lunch, it was my parents, one of my dad’s aunts, and my mom’s sister in law. None of my uncles or aunts came, no cousins, no friends… nothing. We went to a Filipino restaurant I no longer remember. I remember thinking the lunch was oddly appropriate considering how I felt about the graduation in general.

When my brother AJ graduated middle school — phat party. When he graduated college — phat party. His birthdays… always the same case. My sister… same thing.

In elementary school I didn’t notice it much. As I got to middle school, I noticed. My middle school graduation was hardly attended. Same for my high school graduation and the dinner I got. Yes, I got a small dinner “only.” I also remember not even being able to order what I wanted. I shook it off.

Growing up, my parents also supported my siblings financially in various ways when they needed help. I never really got that growing up. Again, not something that went unnoticed by me.

At some point during late high school and into college, I started bringing it up, and my parents were always defensive about it… saying it wasn’t true and that it was all in my head.

“Sure, Jan” – from the brilliant Brady Bunch 90s parody film. Went this went viral a few years ago to send people whose stories you doubted, I died.

When my sister was having her phat cotillion, I was tasked with a lot of the graphic design work, including the programs and notably, the slideshow. I was doing everything nicely and with taste, of course. By then, I was already working, and one day I came home from work while my mom was stressed out with all the planning. She asked me about the slideshow and I said I wasn’t done yet, and she blew a gasket. I raised my voice and said I was working on it, and she replied with, “You’re just jealous you don’t have a cotillion.”

That one definitely stung.

Again, I shook it off.

At some point in my early 20s, I just stopped bringing it up. I’ll say it was a result of growing up and moving on. I was an adult now anyway, and had my own things to worry about — namely hustling for cash to fight the predatory student loans.

My mom and I were (are actually) really close. While I was working at Overfelt High School, I’d stop by the house for lunch with her from time to time. Sitting around the table one day eating good Filipino food, my mom suddenly started crying.

She said after thinking about it for the longest time, she realized my perception of things was actually correct.

She explained, however, that the lack of attention or financial assistance was never intentional. She shared that in many cases, it simply appeared my siblings needed more immediate help or attention while I always seemed okay. She also explained that whenever it was my turn for some major milestone or event, they’d suddenly be in a financial bind — maybe someone lost a job, or something in the house needed fixing.

She also brought up that she had no idea why less people attended my birthdays, but admitted it was very noticeable.

To that point, I’ve come to realize May is honestly just a busy month. Aside from sharing it with a ton of other birthdays, it’s also graduation season and a big travel month.

Similarly to my dad in my last blog, that acknowledgement from my mom was all I needed. I never brought it up again. I believed her.

In a lot of ways, I believe I am secretly my mom’s favorite. Not favorite in the sense that she loves me more than my siblings — I think we are all equal in that regard. I mean favorite in the sense that I genuinely think she enjoys talking to me the most.

I am with Jan Brady on this one — middle child syndrome absolutely exists.

And I also think that, in many cases, similarly to my own, parents are not always aware of it. In all the excitement of celebrating the firstborn, by the time the second child rolls around, it can become a bit of a “been there, done that” situation. Maybe a slightly less flashy first birthday party this time around. Maybe a hand-me-down.

Whatever the case, open lines of communication about needs are important. I also wish I had been a little more proactive in expressing mine because, for all I know, maybe they would have paid more attention.

Yesterday was Mother’s Day. My mom rode in my car as we drove to Westfield Valley Fair after lunch with the family so we could pick out a nice dress for her to wear to my birthday. We had a really nice conversation, just like we used to in my early 20s.

Being able to talk to her freely and openly about all things now is one of the best feelings in the world.

This version of Jan Brady lives rent free in my head. She was the most hilarious character in those 90s films. Shout out to all the Jan Brady’s.

Countdown to 40: Body Dysmorphia, Leaving the Closet Behind – Academy of Art University, Pt. 2

Posted on by alvin

Me and my mom, Normita “Normie” Floro. This was Christmas my first year of college.

I remember driving to San Francisco with my mom and my little cousins, Christine, Chrizia and Athena. We were going to look at the 3-bedroom “apartment” that me, Chris and Annalisa were going to rent out for freshman year of college.

Upon arrival, I don’t even remember how we got into an argument, but my mom and I instantly got into a very heated one. I think perhaps my mom was already feeling some kind of way about me leaving the nest and being out on my own and needed a reason to lash out and get her emotions out. My brother went to college in San Jose, so this was really the first time she’d experience one of her kids leaving. I knew I had to leave the house though.

This wasn’t because I did not love my childhood home, or my family. I just needed to grow and be able to express myself—all parts of myself—freely, without conflict or fear. And so I did.

The first two years of college, living in the apartment was mostly just Chris and I. Chris was dating a long-time girlfriend, and I, of course, was single. I came out casually in passing to Chris. He had already known since we had been friends since sophomore year. With that out of the way, I was ready to date.

I had put on a lot of weight from excess food and sugary beverages. I also did not lift or exercise, so it was all fat. Kaiser told me I was obese. I weighed in at 164 lbs, and was only 5’4. Additionally, I was balding rapidly. Between being short, overweight, and balding, in my mind at the time that felt like three strikes in the gay community. At least that’s how it felt to me back then. I had a hard time meeting gay kids my age who were interested in me, and the ones who showed interest would almost immediately lose interest once we met.

The shirt was off, but I was mega self conscious – I just refused to show it as I had learned from 8th grade and under that if you show you are insecure, the more people will hate. 19 years old.

So I decided to take care of the first thing I could actually control—my hair. I gave it a buzz cut. Thankfully, at the time, pop stars like Justin Timberlake were all shaving their heads. It made it less of a shock. After a year of that, it was just getting worse so I had to take it a level further and shave my head skin bald.

The buzz cut. Losing your hair is tough. 20 years old with Regina and Lorraine.

I remember standing in the shower with the razor, taking a deep breath and making the first shave. I touched my head and felt the bare skin and immediately wondered if I had made a mistake. I took another breath and just pushed forward. There was no going back.

Back then, there was no social media. I remember driving back to San Jose that weekend and my high school friends were going to come over. I opened the door and there was an immediate gasp, and of course they had question after question. I was really sensitive about it though so I gave a quick, dismissive one-sentence response and moved on to the next subject.

My 21st birthday party with some of my closest friends. One of the most fun nights I ever had at Glen Dundee. Fully bald, still carrying the weight. By then, I was fully out again with all of them.

I remember I went on a date with a guy around my age during that time. He was supposedly into me, but the feeling wasn’t reciprocated in this case and I had let him know that kindly. He told me I looked like a bald rat. Ouch. Yes, you read that right.

The next thing I decided to do was shed the weight. And so, I did two things—both horrible. I ate very little—just one meal a day, and it was a tiny meal. No tracking calories or anything. I remember starving through the day into the evening. Once school was over, I would go to the 24 Hour Fitness on Montgomery Street in the Financial District and do cardio for two hours. One hour on the elliptical, and then one hour of walking. I’d leave the gym burning over 1,000 calories a day. Between the lack of food and over-exercising, I was dropping .2–.3 lbs a day, and losing 2–3 lbs a week.

At the time, I convinced myself it was discipline. Looking back now, it was clearly unhealthy.

131 lbs in this photo and I think I am 22. This was with a youth group for Asian LGBT youth in the city.

Looking at photos from this time frame still makes me sad. I looked ill. At the time, I was addicted. If you had asked me, I would have said I still had more weight to lose. I remember wanting to aim for 125 lbs.

Once I got thinner, I was in my junior year of college. I moved into a tiny studio in downtown San Francisco the size of a 10×10 room, but with a small kitchenette and bathroom. It only had room for a bed and one of those tiny portable closets. It was very lonely.

Chris and Annalisa both decided to move back to San Jose. Suddenly, I was alone in that small studio apartment. Not wanting to sit in that loneliness, I drove back to San Jose almost every weekend I could just to be around my friends.

We’d go clubbing every weekend. I finally felt confident. Guys showed interest now that I was thinner. I’d still get asked bald questions all the time though. I suppose being 22 is kind of young to be skin bald—I get it. Those were some of my most favorite times. All of us turning 21 and going out.

Years later, someone I had gone on a few dates with who lost interest had complimented a photo I posted. I gave him a hard time that he wasn’t interested when I was larger, and many of the other guys weren’t either, and now people suddenly care. He said it could be that—or maybe it’s just the confidence I’m presenting now. I suppose we’ll never know.

What’s interesting about this whole segment of my life was how much my physical appearance mattered to everyone else. I had made my peace with being bald when I decided to shave it all off, but it was a big deal to everyone else. Same for the weight. In some ways, I am glad it pushed me to take care of myself and I am in the best shape of my life now. In other ways, I think it’s completely jacked up. I am happy now though knowing that anything I do to my body is 100% a choice for myself and no one else.

While it is difficult for me to reflect on the body dysmorphia from this time, it is a pivotal time of growth for me. Every person I met there, I was Alvin—out and not hiding. While I loved my parents, I needed that time away to grow up and be my authentic self. Conversely, it made it easier when I returned home from college. When I came back, I didn’t have to “come out” again. We all just treated it like it was common knowledge at that point, and my folks—most notably my mom—were completely fine. We’ve only gotten closer and tighter since.

Quick Notes:
• Music from 2004–2008 still brings me so much joy. It reminds me of all the parties. Timbaland, Nelly Furtado, The Pussycat Dolls, Destiny’s Child, Chris Brown, Akon, Gwen Stefani… I could go on forever.
• The insecurities I had during this time never really resurfaced in the same way. While I would eventually gain weight back years later, I never felt as low as I did here.
• The Spice Girls reunited in 2007, including Geri Halliwell. Going to that show with my girlfriends still stands as one of my favorite memories.
• The road trips I took during this time with my friends to Southern California — especially the ones to Disneyland — are incredibly special to me.
• Even though my cousins and I didn’t see each other as often by this point, we still had amazing parties during holidays and major family events. Some of the funniest photos and video footage from my life came out of this era.

Countdown to 40: Lessons in Art (And Money) – Academy of Art University, Pt. 1

Posted on by alvin

Me and Roberto “Bob” Floro. I think I am 3 years old here. I don’t remember much about my life before we lived in Hidden Glen. Our house over by Montgomery Elementary/Silver Creek I only vaguely recall. What I do remember is loving to hug my dad because I liked the way his cologne smelled.

Growing up, I always enjoyed drawing as a hobby but fully acknowledged that there were kids that were far more technically talented than I was. Because of that awareness, it never really occurred to me to even consider a career as an artist. I had this fantasy that perhaps I could be a writer of some kind like Carrie Bradshaw or even a lawyer, since I loved debate and watching true crime documentaries and news magazine programs like 20/20.

All that fell by the wayside once I took Art-1 with Ms. Miller my sophomore year of high school. She recognized I had some decent skills and got me into Prismacolor pencils. Those pencils, in so many ways, really made me believe I had the talent to perhaps do something in the art world.

And so, by the time I was a senior, I decided art school and majoring in Animation & Visual Effects was the way to go. I had always been into Disney and anime growing up and it really shaped a big part of who I am. I told my parents about it, and they were more or less supportive. They didn’t ask many questions. I think in their minds, I had everything together and didn’t need much guidance.

I do wish, however, I had more direction from them — in particular my dad — and that I had done more research into what a career like that would actually look like. Or even what specific area within that field I should specialize in. How much would it pay? How would I finance it? How does interest work? Those things matter, obviously.

I may be a decent writer and artist who loves history… but I was always terrible at math. Ask my elementary teachers.

But it happened the way it did, and it was full steam ahead. I was going to the Academy of Art University in San Francisco come fall 2004.

The first two years of college I thoroughly enjoyed the classes. Most of them were geared toward sharpening skills — figure drawing (nude and clothed), anatomy, color and design (I loved classes like this), still life painting… those were amazing. I felt confident in my work, but I really had to try hard.

Going straight into art school as an 18-year-old with no real art experience or training aside from Art-1 was quite the choice. I was humbled quickly. A lot of my classmates were adults with lived experience — many already working in art-related fields, well into their 20s and 30s, or had been taking private lessons for years.

I averaged As and Bs. I did well in those classes. Grown adults would cry or get into arguments with professors during critiques. It was brutal. I’d receive some decent feedback here and there, but I was never on the receiving end of scathing critiques or glowing praise. To be fair, I also didn’t try as hard as I could have.

By the time a lot of the animation classes kicked in, I knew immediately that animation wasn’t for me. The idea of sitting in a cubicle in dim lighting with a glowing screen in front of me in silence did not sit well with me.

Problem was, I had already made the commitment — two years of general art classes completed. So I decided to pivot.

I was always good at working with people. In high school, I learned I was more sociable than I thought. I also had years of experience working with kids already. That’s when the light bulb turned on — what if I became an art teacher?

I explained the situation to my counselor and we agreed to structure my remaining classes to be more well-rounded so I could become a more prepared art teacher. I finished school, got my teaching credential, and went on my way.

The aftermath of that decision in terms of career has been great. The financial part of it, however, placed a tremendous amount of stress on me during my 20s. I had over 200k in student loans, 120k of which had a 16% variable interest rate like a damn credit card. I struggled with that for the longest time.

There was a moment years later during the pandemic in 2020 when my dad came to my apartment to help me fix our garage door. By then, I had been living in Campbell with Jey for almost 10 years and not once had my family been over. I ordered food and we sat down to have lunch.

The subject of those loans came up.

My intention was not to invite my dad over and ambush him. The topic came up, it was a sensitive topic for me, and for the first time I finally expressed frustrations I had been carrying for years.

He told me he didn’t force me to go to art school and that ultimately it had been my choice. It got silent for a second and then I followed up with, “it was my choice, but it was your job to help me figure out how to make that happen — you’re my dad. Why didn’t you sit me down and explain how the private loans work? Why didn’t you explain how a 16% interest loan would be hard to pay off?”

Now he was silent.

I then followed up with some harder questions. I was confused how we were living so comfortably with two parents working, and I had to pay for college entirely on my own with no financial assistance, when I know others with far less whose parents were able to finance most, if not all, of their tuition.

After swallowing his food, he said something I will never forget to this day, and in many ways it was all I needed to hear from him:

“Your mom and I made a lot of mistakes.”

My intention was never to hurt my dad or make him feel bad. I appreciated him being vulnerable and owning up to falling short in that regard. That was all I needed from him — and the topic has never come up again.

I think parents always want to do right by their kids. As a middle child, my parents often thought I had things together because I appeared on top of things. But in my view, guidance is ongoing — and I hope for youth growing up, they have parents who continue to do so well into their kids’ adult lives. And as a parent, it is okay to continue checking in.

As a teacher today, you’d be surprised how often the topic of money, school, loans, and debt comes up in my classroom — especially with seniors. And I will always take the time to sit, pick up a paint brush with them, and talk about it.

If I can save even one student from decades of stress because of financial choices they do not yet fully understand, it will bring me great joy in knowing that.

Quick Notes:

  • I do not regret art school — quite the contrary, it was amazing.
  • I sometimes fantasize about going back as a fully realized adult and taking those classes even more seriously. Maybe in chapter 2 of my life.
  • A lot was happening socially during this time, and I will revisit that in my next blog.
  • My dad is one of the nicest men you will ever meet. He is calm, highly intelligent at math (go figure), and full of dad jokes.

Countdown to 40: Prom & Graduation, Overfelt High School, Pt. 3

Posted on by alvin

Very appropriate that if I was going to run into anyone in the craziness after walking the stage, it would be her.

To outsiders looking in, it would appear that everything in my life was great. My grades were good. I was highly sociable. And get this—I was senior class president.

I somehow was able to convince enough of my peers to vote for me. I’d like to think it was purely confidence in my ability to lead the class into glory. The pessimistic side of me says it’s because the alternative would have been a complete train wreck.

Senior year was full of late nights preparing for rallies, dances, hanging out with friends, trips to the beach, and movies at Great Mall. There were some genuinely great memories made that year.

My senior prom, however, I did not enjoy.

I was exhausted from helping with all the setup that morning. Leading up to prom, I was also stressing about what to do about a date. All my friends had significant others. There was absolutely nothing wrong with going to prom alone, but I wasn’t sure if that was something I wanted to do. I was back in the closet, so asking a guy was out of the question.

Sarah, a casual friend of mine who wasn’t part of our main friend group, also didn’t have a prom date, so I asked her. Thankfully, she said yes.

One of the harder parts for me was seeing my former gay best friend bring his boyfriend to prom. I was incredibly envious of him in that way. In my eyes, Marlon got to experience the high school life I wished I had. He was good at tennis, open about who he was, got to explore his sexuality freely, was a decent student, and people genuinely liked him.

Ironically, years later, we drifted apart and I eventually heard through other people that he had been resentful of me for things outside my control. He felt like people naturally gravitated toward me and that I “had everything” at school.

Little did he know, I was envious of him the entire time.

I suppose we’ll never really know each other’s full perspective. Sometimes I think about reaching out and clearing the air.

I am thankful for all the meaningful relationships I have in my life today, but there is definitely something to be said about having a gay best friend—or honestly, any close gay friend at all—who isn’t your husband.

Graduation day came, and I gave my senior class speech. Ms. Mello, my drama teacher, had read it in advance and told me it was very well written. Once we officially walked, everything became chaotic. People were everywhere. Families were flooding in. Everyone was trying to find each other.

I remember seeing Kristabel and immediately feeling relieved and happy. We took a photo together.

But outside of that, I honestly don’t remember finding many other people.

For a while, I couldn’t even find my own family in the chaos. I remember standing there feeling strangely alone despite being surrounded by hundreds of people. Eventually, my immediate family found me, we took photos, and then we all went to dinner together.

I use this phrase all the time now, but “two things can be true at once.” Senior year, I experienced some of the highest highs. Simultaneously, some of my own internal struggles resulted in the lowest lows.

Today I come across articles, memes and reels discussing how being gay can sometimes feel incredibly lonely. I can see it. Graduation and prom were probably the beginnings of that realization for me.

From the outside, everything in my life looked great. But internally, I still felt very alone sometimes.

At the same time, high school also taught me that I could be successful and that I had a strong network of friends behind me.

I was ready to go into college and once again, start over.

This time, with confidence.

Me and Honey Gubuan in 2004. Advisor for FASA club at the time.

Quick notes:
• Monica, Mon and Gaby I appreciated a lot during this time. They kept me company while a lot of my friends were busy chasing love.
• Our last song of the evening for prom was “Burn” by Usher.
• Overfelt had a wonderful staff. Most of my teachers I found to be personable and good at what they did. Above all, patient.
• Some of the best Hip-Hop and R&B tracks came out during this 2003-2004 window of time that are still spun at bars and clubs to this day. Petey Pablo, Too $hort, 50 Cent and Beyonce are just a few off the top of my head.

Countdown to 40: The Closet is Easier. Overfelt High School, Pt. 2

Posted on by alvin

I know I am not the only one who took photos like these. Cringe!

It’s interesting how life works sometimes. I’d say grades 3 through 8, all I really yearned for was a good set of friends. At home, nothing additional was needed. My relationship with my parents, siblings and cousins was amazing.

By the time high school rolled around, I was seeing my cousins less and less as we all became busy and absorbed into school. Now that I had friends, I placed a bigger emphasis on maintaining those friendships.

Junior year and Senior year were interesting in that regard.

During this time, all my girlfriends were dating and I was being introduced to all these new boyfriends. Understandably, a lot of the time they’d want time to themselves… and I also wasn’t interested in being the third wheel. So when one would be “boo’ed up”, I would get closer to the one that wasn’t. Having had a taste of what friendship looked like, the idea of suddenly losing them was a daunting feeling. But even at that age, I figured at some point when we all got older, straight couples would marry and I would inevitably be alone.

So I went on a desperate search for love honestly… and of course failed.

Where things really went south was at home. My uncles, who were living with us at the time, would narc on everything I’d try to do when it came to dating. My mom and I were fighting relentlessly during this time—the kind of fighting where we’d both be screaming at the top of our lungs, eyes watery. She’d look me dead in the eye and ask me, “ARE YOU GAY?” And I don’t know what she expected from me in those moments. If she wanted the truth out of me, that was definitely not the way to go about it.

I was tired. Tired of fighting with my mom. Tired of trying to do well in school while also trying to figure out how to not end up alone.

So I did something I regret to this day: I decided to go back into the closet. Cold turkey.

I did not suddenly decide I was straight. I knew that part of me would never go away. I just made the conscious choice to not date, not talk about my sexuality, and pretend that everything that happened sophomore year simply didn’t happen.

And boy, did I commit.

Not one date. Not one mention of it to anyone—not even my closest friends. They were so confused. This lasted for the remainder of high school.

I reflect on that time and think about how it solved an immediate problem, but also how much time I lost. All the experiences taken away. All the potential happiness that could have been. I wish I had felt safe enough to come to the table and have a conversation, but that just wasn’t in the cards.

My mom is a passionate, hard loving woman. She was then, she is now. As an adult I see that her delivery was not meant to inflict pain or harm. Her anger and frustration was a direct result of her love for me and her concern for my well being.

And honestly, now that I am older, I understand that more than I did back then.

What makes me sad looking back is not that my parents cared. It’s that I felt like I had to disappear a part of myself in order to keep the peace at home.

And for a while, I did.

Quick Notes

• Will & Grace airing on tv weekly was nice escapism. It helped me realize that things would get better.
• Even though I felt safe with my siblings and cousins, I actually wasn’t out to any of them during this time frame.
• “Stripped”, Christina Aguilera’s second album was the definitive album for me during this time. I connected heavily to several songs on the album that described all the teenage angst I was feeling. Her video for “Beautiful” was also huge for me. She was brave to feature two men kissing openly in the video. I still feel that album is her best.

Countdown to 40: Finding My Tribe: Overfelt High School, Pt. 1

Posted on by alvin

Me with Lorraine (and Chris, my future college roommate and buddy), 15 years old, 2002. I forget what movie we were waiting for. Based on the year, it was likely a Harry Potter film.

My brother, AJ, is three years older than me and was about to start his senior year at Silver Creek. Originally, I wanted to go there too because that’s where everyone else was going. But the district blocked it because Overfelt was our home school. I think we could have fought it if I really wanted to, but in hindsight, that probably would have been awful for me.

Going into high school, I was once again presented with the same opportunity: a fresh start. What I knew going into freshman year at Overfelt was that I was not going to let middle school happen again. There was already a narrative I felt people had created about me among my peers, and I refused to let that follow me into high school.

At freshman orientation, I was greeted by friendly administration. Two out of three, at least. Tim McDonough and Lynne Murray did a great job making me feel welcome. I still remember Lynne’s “Freshmen, freshmen, freshmen!” chant. It was ridiculously stupid, and we were a tough audience—but clearly it struck a chord because I still remember it like it was yesterday.

Thanks to the foundation built by Ms. Weaver and my parents, I managed to maintain a 4.0. I joined a bunch of clubs. I took drama with Ms. Mello. Eventually, I found a group of fellow misfits who didn’t really belong here nor there. Looking back, I’m not even sure what we all had in common aside from being Asian. Andrew “Tank Man” became one of my steady friends, along with Richard, who I had known since kindergarten but never really connected with until then.

Sophomore year completely changed the trajectory of my high school experience.

Kristabel and I were still close, of course, but by then she had really gotten into tennis and had her own circle of friends. Through her, FASA (the Filipino club), and leadership activities, I slowly started finding my people. Lorraine especially became one of my closest friends. Through that group, I also met one of my first openly gay friends, Marlon. And of course, not forgetting where I came from, I brought Andrew into the fold too.

Around this time, dial-up internet was fading out and DSL was becoming the norm. Xanga blogs were huge. There was also this absolutely jacked-up website called FindAPix.com where people uploaded photos of themselves and strangers rated them from 1–10. Naturally, we were all on it. Through that site, I started connecting with other gay youth around the Bay Area.

Lorraine and I became especially close during this time. She was one of the first people I fully came out to, and it felt good to finally confide in someone. We had a notebook we’d pass back and forth where we basically wrote journal entries and letters to each other. God, I would love to find that notebook again someday.

One of my favorite memories with her was when we snuck off to Oakland as 15-year-olds. I honestly cannot believe we did that. I had been chatting online with a guy my age through FindAPix, and Lorraine and I decided to take BART to meet him. I took advantage of my parents sleeping in on a Saturday morning, casually told them I was going to Lorraine’s house while they were half asleep, and quietly slipped out.

We obviously couldn’t drive, so I asked an older friend to drop us off at the station.

Thankfully, the person we met turned out to actually be who he said he was—and kind. We watched The Ring, and I even met his family. I still remember his dad singing karaoke in the apartment. Total Filipino.

Looking back now, the whole thing was unbelievably stupid. We had never ridden BART before, had no idea how to navigate Oakland, and this person could have easily been someone completely different and dangerous.

By late afternoon, my mom already knew we were lying. She had been increasingly on guard because she had started realizing I was gay and I was trying hard to hide it. I think she was worried—not just about the lying, but about my safety.

She called my giant brick cell phone with no apps and told me she wanted me home immediately.

Lorraine and I went into full panic mode trying to come up with a story. Our brilliant plan was to say Lorraine’s parents had been drinking and couldn’t drive me home yet. My mom didn’t miss a beat. She immediately said she’d come pick me up herself.

What we didn’t know was that my mom had already gone to Lorraine’s house looking for me. Lorraine’s sister Jessica answered the door and told her we weren’t there.

Busted.

My mom ended up driving all the way to Oakland to pick us up. Man… that was an awkward drive home. I felt terrible for dragging Lorraine into it. I think that one incident alone caused my mom to distrust a lot of my friendships for a long time. In her mind, my friends were leading me into bad situations when, honestly, they had very little influence over my choices.

My parents raised me well. They taught me right from wrong, kindness, respect, and responsibility. Even when friends around me started experimenting with different vices, I never really followed that path. That’s a testament to them.

But what they didn’t fully realize at the time was that as a young gay teenager trying to figure himself out, what I needed most was open and honest communication. Instead, I was scared—of disappointing them, of being found out, of saying too much.

Thank goodness for Lorraine.

She gave me something I desperately needed during those years: someone I could be honest with.

And when you spend so much of your life hiding parts of yourself, having even one person who makes you feel safe enough not to is everything.

Not sure what year this is, but based on our appearances if I had to guess, we were both 21-22 years old. We need another one.

Countdown to 40: LeyVa – Why a Good Teacher Matters

Posted on by alvin


At Evergreen, I was convinced I was mediocre at best. Not athletic. Not the best artist. Not part of a tight friend group. Just… average. My grades hovered between As, Bs, and Cs—nothing that made me stand out.

I was excited at the prospect of starting at a new school. Most of the Evergreen students would go to Chaboya Middle School. The ones in my neighborhood would go to LeyVa Middle School. It felt like a chance at a fresh start.

I thought a new school meant a clean slate. It didn’t take long to realize I was carrying the same insecurities with me.

By the time I entered 6th grade, I was very aware that I was a young, gay kid. I knew I was more interested in cute guys than cute girls. I tried desperately to hide it, not fully closing the door on the idea that maybe I’d develop crushes on girls if I just let it happen. Of course, it didn’t. I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Guys would clown on me relentlessly. Girls too. I’d deny it, of course—and I think that only made it worse. Some of the Filipino guys would call me “bakla,” which essentially means queer with feminine traits. It wasn’t meant as a compliment. If I could go back, I’d tell my younger self to just own it and blow a kiss back. Too bad.

Middle school was easily one of the worst—if not the worst—times of my life.

I really bought into the Spice Girls and their whole ethos. “Girl Power.” More importantly, they said to be yourself. I remember Mel B saying it didn’t matter if you were gay or straight, and as a kid, that stuck with me. I drew a picture of Victoria Beckham (then Adams), and I remember a male classmate saying I must have drawn it for her breasts. I just laughed nervously.

All the friends from my neighborhood found their own groups at LeyVa. I couldn’t. I was still friendly with people in passing, maybe in class—but once the bell rang for lunch, I dreaded it. I’d have to figure out where to go, how to look like I belonged somewhere, how not to stand out as the kid who had nowhere to be.

One key figure who really helped me get through that time was my 6th grade teacher, Ms. Weaver. She saw something in me that I didn’t see in myself. She recognized my artistic ability and encouraged it. She told me I was a good writer. She made me believe that I was smart.

I was so used to getting in trouble at Evergreen and struggling academically that I had already decided who I was. She challenged that.

She chose me for Honor Night as the student she wanted to recognize for English. I still remember the speech she gave—calling me a great writer and an excellent artist. I know I have that photo framed somewhere in storage. That moment meant a lot to me.

During lunch, I genuinely enjoyed talking with her. I’m sure on some level she knew I didn’t have anywhere else to go. For that, I’m incredibly grateful. We’d talk about the sitcom Friends—I remember she was not a fan of Phoebe.

As time went on, I started to feel self-conscious about spending lunch in her classroom. By 7th grade, I stopped. I didn’t want to be the older kid hanging out with the incoming 6th graders. Instead, I found a new routine in the library. Every day.

What’s interesting is that when I talk to people now who went to middle school with me, they’ll say things like, “You could’ve just hung out with us.” But I tried. It just never felt like I fit.

Ms. Weaver’s kindness and support is something I’ll carry with me for the rest of my life.

As a teacher now, I think about my middle school self often—how all it took was one adult to make me feel like I could get through it. That’s what I try to be in my own classroom every day.

If my students forget everything I ever teach them, I hope they remember this: that Mr. Floro saw them, and that they had someone in their corner.

Because I know what it feels like when you don’t.

My 13th birthday. I’m a teenager now!

Countdown to 40: Fitting In + Cousins

Posted on by alvin


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.