Category: Life Milestones

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.

Countdown to 40: Who Needs Pre-School?

Posted on by alvin

Ms. Hagino’s First Grade Class. My best friend, Kristabel in the first row 2nd from left. I am on the far right. My good friends Arnold and Kristian are in the fourth row 3rd and 4th from the left. Richard is first row, fourth from left. We are all friends to this day.

These days, the norm is to put your kids in preschool (at least from what I can see within my own family), but growing up, it was something not everyone did. My parents tried to put me in, and I didn’t last a week. Maybe it was even a day…

I had been so used to the way I lived at home—our customs, which were wonderfully Filipino—that when I was exposed to other ways of doing things, I just couldn’t do it. The one memory I recall (loosely now) is having a complete meltdown because the preschool teacher was serving us lunch, and it was mac and cheese. I looked at the cheesy slop and immediately refused to eat it. When they tried to make me eat it, I slammed it on the ground. Lol—definitely not acceptable. They called Bob Floro immediately, who had to pick me up. These days, they laugh about it.

The idea of cheese was so foreign to me. Nothing I ate at home had cheese on it. The smell, the color—everything about it, I just couldn’t. And it took me the longest time to get over it. To this day, I hardly eat cheese.

Now that I was no longer going to preschool, I was back to sipping on my Hi-C orange juice boxes (with Slimer from Ghostbusters on it) and sitting on top of a kids’ hamper in my room. I also had a yellow baby blanket with one large rainbow on it that I absolutely adored.

Eventually, my parents bought a new home in the Glens, just in time for me to start kindergarten. The macaroni and cheese story was really some good foreshadowing for what my experiences at Evergreen Elementary would be like.

In kindergarten, I had Ms. Schuester (sp?)—and I met some friends who I still have to this day. Arnold was one of my first friends, and he lived in the same neighborhood. I remember him wearing a Ninja Turtles shirt that was slightly off-colored. My favorite memory from kindergarten was when our teacher asked us to bring in a stuffed animal. I brought in a small green teddy bear my dad had won for me playing games in Reno. We left them at school, and the next morning, we arrived to see the teddy bears all over the room, set up to look like we had been walked in on them playing games together. Kindergarten felt good—and safe.

On TV, I was watching Power Rangers and Tiny Toon Adventures, slowly assimilating into American culture. At the same time, at home, I was in a Filipino household. Those two worlds would sometimes clash. I stopped bringing food from home because some of my classmates would make faces at the smell or grimace.

By first grade, I met Kristabel. She was also Filipino, and we connected strongly over that. Lucky for me, she lived in my neighborhood. Her friendship was so valuable to me, and we spent a lot of time together. Eventually, her mom became my piano teacher. Kristabel became my first best friend, and I always looked forward to going to her house. She introduced instant noodles to me, and she and her brother were extraordinary artists. Her mom even told me in our 20s that she once dreamed we would get married someday (lol).

Looking back, that mac and cheese moment feels like the beginning of something bigger. It was the first time I felt that disconnect between home and the outside world.

As I got older, I started learning how to navigate both—figuring out when to adapt and when to hold on to what felt like me.

And in the middle of that, finding someone like Kristabel—someone who just got it—made all the difference.

Kristabel “Kristi” and I in 2011.

Countdown to 40: Just the 3 of Us

Posted on by alvin


One thing I’ve always had—before friends, before anything else—is my siblings. My mom, having grown up in a “broken” family in the Philippines, did not want that for us. She made it a priority—if not the top priority—to make sure that we, as siblings, stayed close.

“Friends will come and go, but you will always have your brother and sister.”
“When we die, you are all each other will have.”

I’m happy to report that, to this day, we are still very close.

We fought all the time as kids (as kids do), but the good times always outnumbered the bad. And despite whatever real conflicts we may have had, I can’t really recall specific instances—which, honestly, is a testament to the love we have.

My brother introduced me to radio and video games. He listened to some of the best ‘90s R&B and hip-hop. Some of my favorite memories with him are playing Mortal Kombat in the garage. He’d pick Scorpion, and I’d choose Sonya Blade (of course). My mom would be nearby, reading her prayer cards, laughing and saying, “Go Sonya!”

A random core memory I have is him asking my parents if he could buy the “One Sweet Day” CD single from Blockbuster Video. I know—so random. But yes, they had it sitting there as an impulse buy while we were checking out VHS rentals.

I really looked up to my brother. I watched him to figure out what was cool. My love for Mariah Carey, the Spice Girls, X-Men, and Sailor Moon all stemmed from him. I obviously took it to an entirely different level of obsession—but he introduced me to all of it. He’s also the one who bought the “Wannabe” single that I eventually stole and added to my inevitable Spice Girls shrine.

In a lot of ways, he shaped what I liked—and I think I became that same kind of influence for my younger sister. A lot of the things I was into, she took a liking to as well. To this day, I still blame her for destroying my eraser collection. She thought it would be a good idea to turn them into stamps.

With my siblings, I felt safe. And even now, I still do. My parents did a really good job.

And while I’m lucky to have some amazing friends in my life now, before any of them, I had my siblings—and I never had to wonder if I belonged.

Countdown to 40: Strong Foundations

Posted on by alvin


Today is May 1st. In 20 days, I will turn 40. In celebration of that milestone, I thought it would be nice to take a walk down memory lane and reflect on some key moments—dare I say, eras—in my life.

I don’t have perfect records of my life—just fragments, photos, and whatever I can still remember. But the funny thing is, the older I get, the clearer some of my earliest memories feel. So I’m starting there.

—

My parents, Bob and Normita, had me 40 years ago (lol)—May 20th, 1986. Growing up, my mom says now, in retrospect, that she knew I was going to be gay. She often shares stories of me as a child wearing her high heels and running around the house. I don’t recall that, but why would she lie?

What I can say is that even at a young age, I knew I was different than a lot of the boys around me. My sexuality wasn’t even a thought at age 4 or 5 (at least not for me), but I did notice that I didn’t gravitate toward the same things a lot of my peers did—sports, crushes on our female classmates, typical “boys’ toys” like cars and dinosaurs.

I wouldn’t say I fully leaned into “girl toys,” but I definitely loved things that were cute. Things like Sanrio—and to a lesser extent, Care Bears—really drew me in.

While other kids gravitated toward toys, I appreciated things like stationery, stickers, and erasers. I loved collecting that stuff. I was also really particular—most of these items were never meant to be used, only collected and displayed.

My parents were supportive of that. I have two favorite memories.

The first is taking trips to Eastridge Mall with them. I remember going with each of them at different times. The Sanrio store felt so special to me. It was huge. At the time, it was the first one in the United States. I can still remember the smell of the store. I can still remember how that gum tasted. They’d let me pick out little knickknacks, and I’d leave the happiest kid.

My second memory is more specific. My dad noticed how much I liked things organized and neat, so he bought me a tackle box—the kind meant for fishing hooks—so I could store and organize all my erasers.

He also had a serious sweet tooth. To this day, he still loves ice cream and chocolate. Some of my favorite memories with him were our trips to Baskin-Robbins. I would always order a kid’s scoop of chocolate chip ice cream with rainbow sprinkles. Even now, whenever I walk into a Baskin-Robbins, I think of those moments—and more often than not, I leave with that same order. Just… a regular size now. I’m grown, after all.

Looking back, I didn’t have the language for it then, but I knew I was different. Not wrong—just not like a lot of the boys around me. And what stands out to me now isn’t just what I liked, but that my parents let me like it. They didn’t correct me or try to change me. They just let me be.

In those early years, I felt supported and safe to be the kid I wanted to be—and I don’t think I realized until much later how rare and important that was.