You are smart. You can be resourceful. You can surprise yourself if you really want to. Have no shame or fear in who you are, and carry that mission out with as much integrity and humility as possible. Goodness is within you, believe in that. 

It takes practice. 

You grow up. You try to define yourself and you try to find yourself. If you’re lucky, if you’re one of the ones who don’t fall through the cracks, you end up spending a large amount of your early years studying. You theorize, you get criticized and you build a thick skin. There are days you want to die and there are days you can’t stand life because it’s such a mind-fuck of beautiful things all around you. 

But then you get older. 

Some of your friends do die and some of them fall through the cracks, but there you are, still standing, a tiny fleck on this planet mourning another tiny fleck. You turn to a God. You wish you could have helped, you wish you could have done something different. But time moves forward and now, the most difficult task of your day is trying to drag your anchored-heart along the messy blue bottomed floor, hoping it doesn’t snag, praying that you can find the strength to heave it up and out, and into the daylight. 

You meet other people and they’re wonderful. You shake a hand, smile at a friend of a friend of a friend and you wish you were them, dating them, talking to them and laughing with them. And then you snap out of it and you’re still standing there, staring at them from across the room, so you take your drink and walk away looking for someone real to laugh with. 

And then there is that period of your life where you wake up every afternoon and spend twenty minutes criticizing yourself in the mirror. You don’t meet your own expectations and no one can ever seem to meet yours. Even thought you ended it, you wish they’d call back, tell you that you were wrong, that you’re worth fighting for and that they’re going to do it. But they don’t, and every time you see their name your heart aches a little because a part of you knew that if everything worked out, you could have become such a better person. Worked harder, played harder, and loved yourself more. But there you are, standing in front of the mirror, staring at the body that’s had too much drinking, partying, smoking, drug use, sex, freedom and other things that eventually get a hold of you in your mid-twenties. And you realize it’s all getting a little too much.

But then it happens. 

Because all it takes is a walk to the convenience store to buy another pack of cigarettes, and because chain smoking on your balcony in the freezing cold is more romantic than sitting inside and doing what you love to do on your day off from pushing coffee, beer, technology, jeans and makeup. 

You bump into them. 

They’re in a fancy coat (of course they’re in a fancy coat) with a hat and leather gloves (those leather gloves you bought for them a little too early on), while you’re in your sweats, a ball cap and a mustard stain from two days ago when you ate a hotdog without the bun because you had no bread and were too lazy to go out and buy a real breakfast.

So they ask you how you are, and you struggle to cough up something interesting, something different from one year ago and they can see you choke. So they cut it short for your sake, half-heartedly hug you, tell you it’s great to see you, and as they walk away, you: you with that familiar shame you’ve tried to get rid of, you step above it and find the courage to thank them secretly because you’re just not ready for anyone to know. 

And it’s enough to turn you back around to your bedroom, and it’s enough to inspire you to quit your job, push you to take the risks you’ve avoided all your life and finally try to become the person you’ve always wanted to be instead of the person you currently are. 

Two years ago I got braces.

I started this blog to catalog the entire experience, because getting braces in my mid-twenties was pretty much the only interesting thing happening to me at the time. I was two months from graduating and I craved for my next adventure. I half jokingly labeled the next chapter of my life as “Social Suicide” (thank you, Tina Fey). I wanted to use comedy as a way to hide the fact that I was actually quite nervous about the entire situation. My smile had always held me back. I was shy because of my teeth, and I never liked being in photos, and whenever I did get photographed I always smiled with a closed mouth. It was a huge insecurity of mine and I wanted to get rid of it.

But the thing about changing yourself is that everyone will eventually find out that you’re trying to change yourself. People begin to look at you more closely, trying to figure out exactly what’s going on and what about you started it all. When I told my friends, some of them were pretty excited for me, and then there were those that never noticed my teeth at all. But I did. I noticed them, and other people noticed them, just like they noticed my skin and my eyes and my body shape. 

And when it comes to changing our bodies, in this world of “self-love” and acceptance, it almost feels like you’re betraying your kin by conforming to the corporate culture of a singular definition of “beauty.” Straight teeth, slim body, perfect hair… I found myself trapped in this pit of narcissism, and it sucked. I needed a way out, I need some sort of direction to calm the frustration that lived under my skin.  

So in hopes of finding a positive, metal-mouthed role model for my life, turned to the one and only, Ugly Betty. Every time Betty Suarez learned a lesson, I learned a lesson. I watched her life unfold before my eyes, hour after hour, and cringed at her optimism; the type that gets you into the most horrible positions, but when it pays off, it pays off. And I loved that about her! I loved how hard she worked and how challenged she was by the world around her! And most importantly I loved how she always failed before she could succeed. 

In one week I will be getting my braces off. 

Looking back to when I started this blog, I remember telling myself, “Kai, you better start doing interesting things.” I needed to find excuses to write because I wanted to be a writer. I wanted to live a life worthy of a blog. I also secretly wanted my biggest insecurity to churn out the best time of my life, to eventually be turned into a mini-series of maybe even a wonderful gay-cult-comedy for Gaysians. I wanted Betty Suarez hilarity with Buffy/Angel angst with a handful of Gossip Girl glam! 

And did that happen? Not so much. 

Because I am not a gritty/glam kindda guy. I do not wake up in random beds every Sunday morning, I do not find myself caught in out-of-context-drag, and I most certainly do not immolate myself with alcohol for shits and giggles and #nothingelsetodo. And so instead, I focused in on the sex and the drama that occurred in my life because I thought it would make me more interesting. I swept away the vulnerability and the vicious cycle of self-pity because I didn’t want to bother with them. I didn’t want to be sad anymore, so I continually sold myself short because I wanted to be sexy and wild. 

But what was most strange was the anxiety I carried around with me whenever I posted an entry. I was scared of having the people in my day-to-day life (the old friends, the new friends, the work friends, the forgotten friends) read about the stories I casually shared with the Interweb. I fretted over whether or not the Kai on paper properly reflect the Kai in real-life. I wondered if friendships changed when consumed through a different medium, and if so, was there a version of Kai that felt more real and honest than the other? At the end of the day, between Facebook, Twitter and Tumblr, it all just seems like one big experiment in narcissism.

Despite all this, I still want to find ways to stop hating myself for being all the things I am and I also want to finally  be able to smile with my teeth. I’m part-way there on the former and I’m almost there on the latter. I’ve learned to give myself some credit by walking away and letting go when I needed to, and I’ve recognized that the only way to be good is to do good, no matter how uncomfortable the choice, act, and fallout may be. Narcissism is a dangerous game. Too many photos of yourself and you begin to loose yourself. 

And now that I’m reflecting on these past two years, I realize now that my story really is changing. It hasn’t been dramatic or epic or climactic, but it has been quiet, thoughtful and full of surprises. Choosing what to let happen and what to force forward, learning when to step back and when to stand down, thinking critically about all the different lines to cross in face of greater and more challenging adversity, all of these tiny little stories make up the narrative of a life I am now beginning to really feel like I can call my own, and that’s a story worth holding onto. 

v) those first few days of wonder. the getting to know you’s, the hands that rested comfortable on the small of our backs, all those tiny touches, smiles and secrets we shared. 

vi) summer driving with the windows down. warm golden rays stretching across the city, through the cold glass buildings, directly into my tired eyes.

vii) remembering that it was once good. 

viii) waking up and looking into the mirror, only to find my naked torso covered in your tiny scratches from the night before. 

Romance frightens me and thrills me at the same time. I ere on the side of caution when it comes to matters of the heart, because if you’re not careful enough, you might just slip and fall into the raging waters of the sea.

there was that one time where we dangled between the evening hours, where your hands slipped around my waist and your face nuzzled against mine. slowly, spinning, we danced to the hum of your voice, a familiar tune i couldn’t place. my hands, covered in suds; our bellies, full with dinner. you stole me for a minute with a smile on your face, our first slow dance.

tonight, the moon hovers, full and bright above me against the deep navy of the night sky. autumn’s breath of cool, crisp air creeps over the edge of the open window, and like a fox, slips by these last few days of summer, impatient for september’s slow beginning. i take a breath and listen to you breathe. beneath the covers, your legs search for mine, our arches sliding into place. sleep hangs heavy on the eyelids, but i have a few more thoughts to make before i slip away myself.

my eyes wander outside, counting constellations, searching for direction like so many before me… i breathe in autumn, and sigh for spring. we lasted through the summer, i tell myself, and with a whisper i ask the moon to guide use through winter.