SEND NUDES

Sooo...  We're in the middle of a pandemic. Some of us are lucky enough to be safe at home surfing the net to alleviate our boredom.  What better time to get to know each other a little than locked up in our homes hoping this isn't the beginning of the end? Just kidding. Kind of...

A month ago I turned forty and was fortunate enough to be celebrating my big four-oh! working on a big gay cruise ship with almost a thousand gay men from all over the world and colleagues I've come to think of over the years as friends and family. At forty, It's only now that I'm finally starting to feel more comfortable in my own skin. From the outside looking in, most of you may not have known that.  Like many gay men, I outwardly present a physically confident self to the digital world.  The truth of how I feel about myself, like most of us, is far more complicated than that. I too have negative self image stuff I'm working through and an entirely inconsistent way of showing it. I was a working fashion model, actor and contemporary dancer in my twenties. Despite this, or perhaps because of that, I've a whole smorgasbord of self doubt and validation seeking behaviours wrapped up in a neat bow of sexual racism.  

For many reasons I haven't always felt as though my body was my own. Not unlike the times we find ourselves in now, I was born into a period of great strife. I was conceived and born towards the tail end of the Cambodian genocide.  Malnourished, exhausted and experiencing trauma I cant even begin to imagine my very young parents brought me into the world.  It was not a quiet entrance. It seems i've always had a flare for the dramatic. Frail and skeletal from being worked to death in the notorious fields mum lost my brother in birth minutes before giving birth to me. That might be why I've always been her favourite. There's a lot to unpack there, but that's a story for another time. Growing up a refugee in a Cambodian Chinese family in western Sydney struggling with my sexual identity was no walk in the park. Especially not in the 80's and 90's. Racism was our normal. Without language skills and not much family my folks managed to get work at a sweat shop sewing garments. I have vague memories of falling asleep under the buzzing of sewing machines to be close to mum and dad. Don't get me wrong, this isn't a pity party. It wasn't all doom and gloom. My childhood memories are full of wonder in other ways. I remember adventures on many fishing trips, learning how to find clams in the sand with my toes in the spring and the excitement of waking up early to find mum and dad had been to the Cronulla rock walls to catch crabs with their hands in the low tide.  It meant a delicious feast that night. My mouth still waters thinking about those times. Children are remarkably resilient. How we're raised becomes normal to us. That was my normal. Now that I am a man, I understand that it was their way of putting food on the table in the only ways they knew how. From my refugee parents I learned how to forage and find food in this strange land we found ourselves. From them I learned an appreciation for things and perhaps all too young, the reality that life is fleeting. As the oldest child I carried the weight of some of the stories of how we ran for our lives towards the thai border and managed to escape the Khmmer rouge and their guns.  While I'm thankful for the work ethic, iron willed determination and resilience I was taught, I also learned to mask my feelings, hide my emotions and to be ashamed of my body. I don't think I'm alone in learning these things. The slight difference is that standing out was really frowned on. It was never spoken out loud, but standing out meant mortal danger...  As the eldest I put pressure on myself to over-perform. I had to be the smartest in the room so that mum and dad would never starve ever again. I had to be the best at everything because of all they had been through for me to have the opportunities I enjoyed. Thats how I thought then. It's not like I was the perfect child.  Far from it. Like all kids I had a rebellious streak. I was trying to figure out who I was. And who I wanted to be was a disappointment. Struggling with my sexuality and hormonal, lets face it I was an emotional train-wreck. It can't have been easy for them. I was highly emotional, clever but without an understanding of how I could be who I wanted to be without a real fear of losing everything. I felt like I had to live my life for my family, not for me.  This was suffocating... I know I certainly lashed out in many different ways because of that. 

At eighteen I got my way out.  While I was working as an actor and dancer (Who was I kidding?) on the backlot of the then newly renovated fox studios I was spotted by a scout for a modelling agency. Surprised that anyone would want to take pictures of me for anything, let alone for money I went to visit their office and was surprised to find myself represented after a meeting and a few polaroids that were snapped. A few days later I was sent on my first casting. To my utter disbelief I found myself booked for a Nokia mobile phone campaign which paid more money for five hours than my parents would made in half a year.  It felt like magic. A mediocre modelling career opened many doors for me and took me all over the world,  allowing me to travel and then move to London where I would train as a contemporary dancer at the London Contemporary Dance School. Now it felt like I had found my place. London opened up to me. I felt like I belonged there. I was a good dancer. I made work that I was proud of.  Unlike modelling which was a largely superficial scene where as an Asian man I was made to feel like the least desirable of the beautiful people, contemporary dance was wonderfully culturally diverse. I made friendships I have to this very day. I spent my weeks, months and years exploring the nature of life, love and adversity through movement.  This period of being physically embodied was medicine for my soul. This is where I was meant to be. In dance I started to reclaim my body as my own. Training to move gave voice to so much empowerment, so much joy. Dancing gave me courage to be me. It taught me that my individuality was valuable and something worth protecting. Contemporary dance is where I first started the work of shedding the layers of self doubt and stepped into a celebration of who I was. I started to step into owning my body. It was the first time I truly understood that this is the only body I have in which to experience the world.  I celebrated my body for me... And understood that my body is mine. Beautiful just as I was. All bodies are beautiful! Not in the context of euro-centric fashion ideals, not in the context of sexual desirability on apps, not as an extension of my family.  My body is for me.  While that may sound so trite and simple, it really was for me a revelation.  I had spent most of my life for other people. First I lived for my family, then I changed it to conform to euro-centric aesthetics, even dying my hair ash blonde for years because the work kept coming. It was only then in dance that my body belonged to me. 

   

A lot has happened between now and then and time has changed how I look, feel about myself and now have injuries that prevent me for exercising like I used to. Despite being in the worst physical shape of my life, I am now in a hand full of gorgeous, loving relationships. Surrounded by sound friendships, love and appreciated for who I am, I'm still not immune to negative body image. The struggle is daily. So here I am at forty sending you this nude and sharing my story.   

            

 If we can't overshare now among friends, when can we?  Some of you who will read this have known me for more than twenty years and most likely don't know any of this about me. Just so you know, many of you have been an important part of this journey.  Thank you for looking after me. It's not like i've been withholding these stories to make a film about my life.  Though maybe perhaps I should have? The last few weeks of anxiety, uncertainty and fear have reminded me of the power of sharing our stories. It can help us feel not so alone, though physically we may have to be for now.  Despite my outwardly chatty personality I'm actually a secret introvert who has kept the most personal things about myself quite close to a hand full of friendships that I felt could bear the weight of these stories. It feels like that should change. I don't want to be that guy any more. Not right now, and not ever again.  I want to be the guy who has meaningful chats.  I want to have whole hearted interactions. I want us to really know each other. I hope that by sharing these stories we can do the work together of peeling off our layers towards more meaningful connection. While I write this there's a little lump in my throat.  It's a little scary allowing myself to be seen in this way. I was raised to only show the best parts of myself and hide any vulnerability. I'm glad to say that in that department I've made great strides over the years with the help of lovers, friends, family and therapists. Allowing myself to be seen has also led to some of the most beautiful moments of my life so far. It's also rewarded me with the many friendships I'm lucky to have. I invite you to allow yourself to be really seen.  

With great love and much hardship we are brought into the world by our mothers and fathers. Naked as children we play free from shame, the judgement of others and preconceived notions of what we are "meant to look like". Does this have to be the last time our bodies were our own? 

When we "grow up" we are meant to hide our bodies. To show or take joy in our form is shameful, slutty and asking for objectification. I challenge that bullshit- we don't have to accept that. I chose to lean into the discomfort of negative self talk and push through the conservative upbringing I had to be naked in the sun, my body warm, alive and unashamed. This is the only body I have with which to experience the world. This body is my own and I celebrate it.

  

Please send Nudes, but to yourself.    

X  Gatsby

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