1.

Third Time Around

This is my third sophomore year. I never thought this would happen, when I applied to
Duke and all those other first string schools - Columbia, Penn, HarvardPrincetonYale.

I was destined for success. And I have succeeded, but at subjects and tests that you
wont find in a textbook or classroom at Duke. I hope you never need any of the advice
Im about to offer, but just in case, here goes.

1. Try not to try to commit suicide. Its just a bad idea, the majority of the time. You
might find yourself sitting on a suspiciously large blood stain on your bed, with no idea
how to get rid of it, or what to do with the large gash in your wrist. I guess you can wear
long sleeves for the rest of the summer. Im sure no one will notice.
2. When you are inevitably admitted to your mental institution of choice for the first
time, try to take things in stride. If youre lucky, they will have a nice selection of books
for you to lose yourself in. There will be the trashy romance novels, some John
Steinbeck, and a memoir by Margaret Cho. In the daily Duke grind, you dont have time
to read, but now that youre stuck in a small room with no sharp corners, without your
cell phone and your shoelaces, whats to stop you from having a little fun?
3. It doesnt matter what you order from their menus. It all tastes the same. For some
reason, theyll give you the option of having soda at night. And if you indulge in coke at 9
pm, youll be awake when they come to check on you every fifteen minutes.
4. The middle A on the electric keyboard doesnt work. It would drive anyone crazy,
but you can work around it.
5. Make friends with the other patients. Its a truism that youll come in thinking that
everyone else is more severe than you are, but if you let yourself open up, you might
meet some pretty cool people.
6. Appreciate the people who come to visit you. Theyll be the ones to talk to you late
into the night, wholl be there for you on the eve of your wedding when youve got cold
feet. Going to a mental hospital isnt the same as going out for brunch, but these are the
people wholl do both, so keep them close.
7. Tell the doctors what they want to hear. Never give anything less than a six when
they ask you to rate your mood on a scale of one to ten. Admit you have a problem.
Admit that you need help. Swallow those chalky tasting pills that make you groggy and
tired, and know that you can stop as soon as you get out. Do whatever it takes to get that
precious discharge slip. Nod and say, Thats a really good point, when your therapists
tell you clichs and platitudes as if they understood anything about you.
8. Write things down, even if its in crayon because no one will give you a pen. Keep
your papers close to you so people dont take it and read it and use your own words
against you. Clear your mind of words and let them fill the pages instead.
9. Remember that you arent crazy. Youre just as sane as the best of them. When you
leave, you will step into the sunlight, like a newborn, feeling the wind on your skin and
the sun in your eyes. And you will see around you all the people who love you, waiting to
take your hand and welcome you back to the outside world.
10. Remember that ultimately, this too will pass.

2. Feed My Libido

I let him fuck me.

Id only slept with one guy before him, and that guy had been my first college boyfriend.
I lost my virginity in the arms of someone I trusted and someone with whom I was very
emotionally connected. But this time, with this new guy, had been entirely different.

First of all, he had pressured the hell out of me the last time Id found myself in his room.
He was really attractive, and as much as I like to believe that wasnt a major factor, it is
the only reason I gave him a second chance. I tried to pretend that last time he had just
been a little too tipsy and unrelenting in trying to get me to have sex. This time, I asked
if he had a condom after he gave his first hint. Sex was where I thought I wanted it to
go eventually, so why not make eventually now?

We were kissing in a way that didnt make sense, like it was just a distraction. Something
to do to keep our minds off what was actually occurring-- in and out, in and out. How
much longer did I have to keep up this act, that this was actually enjoyable for me? Or
was I just stuck here waiting for the climax, for his climax. Please just cum already.

Hadnt this been what I had wanted? Casual sex with a guy I wasnt dating. I had told
myself that this was okay now because I had lost my virginity in the ideal way, to a guy
who wanted all of me and had given himself to me. Now that was over and sex was
allowed to be for the hell of it. Thats what an Empowered Woman was supposed to do
right? Hunt em down and play it like the one of the boys. Command respect, but be in
charge of her sexuality, too. Feed the fire of her powerful libido.

But this didnt feel the way it was supposed to feel. This didnt feel casual or carefreeit
felt like a big fat mistake. I handed my body over to him, and he masturbated with it. I
let him objectify me and I let myself think I wanted it that way. And Im never doing
that again.

3. Who Was There?

I am not alone.

I have friends to go to when I need it and my family is always there for me. They would
be there for me if one of my family members died. They would be there for me is I were
having a mental breakdown.

They were there for me when I got pregnant.

My friend was there for me when she bought both those pregnancy tests for me. When I
walked into the library bathroom with her in the middle of reading period and wanted
her to check to make sure the tests were positive.
When I told her I had to keep the baby.
When we walked back from the library, discussing the new life inside me.

My mom was there for me when I called her on the phone and told her I was pregnant.
When I told her I had to keep the baby.
When I reminded her I had stood outside of Planned Parenthoods and attended the
March for Life as a leader of the Fighting for Life club all four years of high school.

My friend was there for me when I had to tell the father.
As we walked into the fathers room, only to know I was about to shatter his entire world
and I didnt know how to tell him.
When the father asked me if I was pregnant and I said yes, but then thought I was
kidding.
When the father asked me if I thought the baby was actually his.
When I walked down the stairs and told my friend all I wanted to do was to fall down
them but knew I couldnt.

My mom was there for me when, after talking to the father of the baby, I decided to take
the abortion pill.
When she made the call and forced the doctor to come in on her day off.
When I struggled with a decision that went against everything I believed and had fought
against for the past six years.
As I sat in my TV room watching a Duke basketball game, pretending nothing was
wrong.
As I held the four abortion pills in my mouth, waiting to be dissolved so the abortion
could begin.

My mom was there for me when the pain started and the cramps were worse than
anything I had ever felt.
When I cried for the pain pills.
When I tried to take a pain pill but ended up throwing up instead.
When I had a box of pads by my bed.
As I tried to sleep but couldnt stop crying.

When I truly believed I saw a small little something being flushed down the toilet.

She was there for me the next morning when it was all over.
When I had to make up a lie when my sister asked why I was sick the night before.
When I had to get the second ultrasound to make sure my uterus was healing correctly.
And as I went back to school with a black hole in my heart.

But who was there when I knew I was going to do the wrong thing but decided to do it
anyway?
Who was there to tell me I could take care of a baby?
Who was there to tell me they would support me no matter what?
Who was there when I missed my baby?
Or who was there when I tried to hold back tears as I sat in church and watched little
kids with their mothers?

And who was there to tell me it was okay to cry?
Who was there for me when I wanted to drown my sorrows in alcohol?
Who was there when I wanted to hurt myself?

Who was there when I recounted the moment I got pregnant?
Who was there when I was too afraid to ask the father if he had cummed in me?
Who was there to comfort me when I asked one of my best friends how my babys
fathers girlfriend was. And when he answered Not pregnant?

I am alone.

4. Please Dont Touch Me

Dont even think about looking at girls.
turned into
Where the fuck are my grandchildren?
when I entered college.
While my very Chinese parents have never outwardly expressed those phrases exactly,
they definitely developed this sudden, vehement desire for me to impregnate the first
willing female I meet. Is this why China is so massively overpopulated? I think this is
why China is so massively overpopulated.

Well, unfortunately for them, I actually have no intention of ever settling down. At all.
Ever. If Ive gained anything else from my parents other than the surname Dong, it is
an aversion to most modes of physical touch. Obviously its not a problem for almost
everyone else at college there are a lot of sexy people out there having sexy sex,
sexily. I know this because the walls are old and thin, and the students are young and
loud and tend to overshare. And here I am, trying not to blush when I see the condoms
in my dorm vending machines disappear and restock at alarming rates. Because sex is a
lot of touching. Just, so much touching.
Is this culture shock? But how could it be? I was born in America, raised in America, will
probably die in America, so how Asian am I really? I am nothing like my parents.
I dont watch Chinese television.
I dont hand-wash dishes and store them in the dishwasher.
I wear jeans, and talk without an accent, and am not going to be a doctor.
I eat at Panda Express!
I how many times did I just say I?
God, Im so selfish.

I didnt find myself married, with a child on the way when I was 19.
I didnt leave my home for a foreign country because I wanted my child to grow up
somewhere with paved streets.
I didnt have to learn a new language because my life depended on it.
I didnt cry when we visited Beijing. But you did, because you saw your home and
recognized nothing.
Were so different. But thats what any family is, isnt it? A handful of people who have
no business even being in the same room together, but who still try to make it work,
regardless. And I wish I could tell you all of this to your faces, but you dont always
understand what Im trying to say, and I get that. I really do.
In the end, despite the lack of physical contact, a part of you rubbed off on me anyway.
Because I can recognize Chinese celebrities.
I leave my dishes in the dishwasher sometimes.
I eat at Graces. And the lady behind the counter tells me she can hear your regional
accent in my Chinese.
I dont need a hug to be touched by someone because while actions speak louder than
words, I prefer the words.

5. Lifted? Nah.
When I came back home for fall break my first semester at Duke, I was talking to my
high school English teacher. How is college? she said. How are you finding the other
students? It was tough at first, I said. but I found a really good group of friends.

Good, because the people at Duke dont really seem like you. I raise an eyebrow. I
dated a grad student from Duke once, and walking around the campus, its like all the
guys are jocks and all the girls spend all their time on the treadmill. Its really sad. The
girls are so skinny, theyre like fragile little deer.

Thats our reputation, people! And I wanted to tell her, No, thats not right. Its
different now. But I felt like she was spot on. Thats what I see walking around the
campus. And my teacher was right about me as well. I didnt fit the mold of the
stereotypical Duke guy. When I got here, I felt like I was the only one without muscles.
It seems like everyone works out. And guys are always showing it off. It was hard not to
feel inadequate. I just wanted to run up to the guys on DSig bench and be like, put some
clothes on! So I started going to Brody. Time I would have spent talking to people or
reading now went to lifting weights and trying to get some muscle mass.

And life at Brody and Wilson is just ridiculous. It seems like guys spend half the time
working out and the other half looking in the mirror. Chill, brah. Its okay. In the thirty
seconds that youre not glancing at the mirror, youre not going to have turned into
Arnold Schwarzenegger. Yes, I understand youre trying to impress girls (or guys (or
gender non-conforming people)), but there are other ways to do that. Pull out the big
guns. Impress them with your emotional intelligence and your self-awareness. Impress
them with the strength of your character. But I was there in Wilson. Right along with
them. And I always left the gym feeling more insecure than when I went in.

So, a month ago, I quit. I said to myself, I dont need Wilson in my life. Why fuel my own
insecurity? Now, I have all this extra time to do things that I actually enjoy. I can do
things that keep me healthy and not worry about looking like Vin Diesel. So, not Im not
gonna lift weights. Imma do yoga. And run. And dance. And do menial labor! Without the
gym, Ive been so much happier. I dont need to be your typical, buff Duke guy my
English teacher talked about. I will define myself.

So go ahead. Ask me. Bro, do you even lift? My answer: Nah, bro, Im over that.

6. Surprised
Im making out with a woman. Maybe Im at a party on central, or maybe Im even at
Shooters. Regardless, all is more than well, and Im vaguely aware of Selena Gomez in
the background. An out of shape male in an untucked polo walks up. Are you bi?
Because I would be down with this

Guys, boys, men, heres a quick word of advice for when you see two women kissing:
WE DONT NEED YOU in the bedroom to have an orgasm. To be honest, well probably
have one easier without you. Actually we may even have a few because we dont have to
wait two hours for you to pull it together again.

Let me back it up a sec. I came to Duke beyond confused about what I wanted. Initially,
I decided that I should probably find a guy, given that thats what everyone else seemed
to be doing. So, I met like twenty of them by making out with them. It was kind of fun in
my crat-created haze, just like the other foggy parts of my completely misguided
freshman year. Fun aside, I could never seem to find any footing at all. In January, my
friends and I rushed, and landed in sororities that we love, and still do to this day. But,
while they thrived at their date functions and mixers, I felt empty. I felt like I didnt
belong.

It took me two more years and a drunken makeout with a woman to realize exactly what
Id been missing.

Did I have a reaction filled with clarity and self-acceptance? No. Absolutely not. I
continued to live at Duke, be at Duke, completely closeted. I was afraid of being put into
a box, of being defined. I hated Duke. I hated myself. Stories of spray painted slurs and
vandalized pride flags left me feeling completely and totally alone.

So for a while, I said nothing. I had nothing to gain from opening up like that and it was
hard for me to convince myself otherwise. It took a lot of wine and a lot of crying for me
to realize that hiding felt worse than trusting my friends with the truth. But people can
surprise you. They surprised me. More than one of my friends cried with me when I
told them, hugging me and telling me they just wanted me to be happy.

Im one of the lucky ones. Many other queer men and women at Duke have stories
similar to mine, some with an ending not nearly as peaceful. I feel safe enough outside of
my apartment to show that I like women. I realize now that I am not alone. I can be who
I want to be- and my sexuality is only just a part of me. All I had to do was look around,
trust my friends, and have some faith. People surprised me. They will surprise you too.