The Ouchii Guy

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.