Oh yooooooo.

"Oh, my son is strong, she'll get your bags for you."
"Gotcha Dad."

My parents sometimes refer to me as a her. I used to make a huge deal of it as a kid, but as I grew older I didn't care. I was the youngest son preceded by two daughters. They just got used to referring to their children as "her" or "she," and seeing as English isn't even their first language, I didn't mind at all. I know girls that had to retain masculine names, simply because their fathers wanted sons, and by God they're going to get one, whether they have a penis or not.

Growing up, my dad was hardly home. He was a traveling businessman, and I'd see him twice a week, he was so busy; by the time he was around to affect me, my most formative years were long gone. As a kid I had two sisters and a mom, and felt like a lone boy in Amazonian territory. An anthropologist in hereto uncharted territories. And living in that kind of environment, inevitably I would become a product of what was projected on me.

My mother was my primary caregiver so I was privy to the wiles of woman at a tender age. Any question I asked would be answered true to form, more or less. Learning the mechanics of sex at age 10 made it lose its mystical splendor. I knew what a period was, and what a tampon was used for. I even knew how much makeup you could put on before you looked like a common whore (hint: it shouldn't smear on an index card when put up against your face). Instead of running around with skateboards and scooters, I tried to help around the house, making sure chores didn't burden an already exhausted mom. Long hours and three kids will do that to you. Stacks of dishes would be washed while watching Dragon Ball Z. I would fold my sisters' clothing, hold them up and remark to myself, "they shouldn't be wearing something like this." On top of that, I did the chores left to my father: washing the car, tending to the lawns, and taking out the trash. By the time I entered high school, I was well-versed in the ways of domesticity.

I used to think that I was a typical guy growing up, who just knew a couple things about girls, but I thought wrong. I didn't realize how much of an effect that being reared mostly by my mother had on me. When guys started talking about what traits they'd want in a woman, it'd always involve their bodies. Heaving breasts and jutting asses were girlfriend material. Not to get you wrong, because I appreciated those things as well. But first and foremost, all I wanted was a pretty face and an agreeable personality, and that's not exactly what the typical red-blooded male teenager was looking for. It'd be nice to have someone to grow old with, to talk about this and that and what have you, but I was supposed to look for a living sex toy. Following awkward silences and curious stares, I felt my masculinity questioned and probed at (that's... what she said?). But hey, everyone knew I was straight, and girls definitely knew that when I talked to them affectionately, it was with the intention of dating, not being besties. And besides, these punk-ass suburban kids didn't know any better, the hell are they looking at me like that for. Most of my closest friends ended up being girls.

"You're a gay straight guy."

This was a sentiment expressed to me a lot in my first year of college. My sexuality was definitely a gray area to new people. I'm comfortable enough to know what I like and what I want, but it still took me by surprise. It was something that definitely hadn't come up until at that point. I look at old yearbook comments and people wrote me off as "sweet" and "kind" and "quiet" and "nice" and suddenly I have someone telling me that these attributes translate to "homosexual." Seeing as I want to attract women, I freaked out. I tried to dismiss it simply as the brash assumptions of youth, impulses undeveloped, minds constrained. Part of being young is taking everything at face-value. But at my core I was disturbed. I really looked inwardly, and was I that effeminate? Was I secretly attracted to men? Was I a woman trapped in a man's body?

And you know what I found out?

I am at heart, personality-wise, your typical old-ass Asian mother.

Thinking about it, if I inherited from my dad charisma and a penchant for speech, everything else is from my mom. My disdain for ill-behaved suburbanites, my inability to relate with American culture, my almost motherly empathy, my want of someone easy to grow old with, amongst other things. I couldn't just not relate to most guys around me, but most people of my generation. Shoot, man. It's all so clear to me now. My thought processes are 54 years old. And yet, I am not bothered by this. I'm almost proud to emulate my moms. I'm pretty happy with who I am.

So it's reading time, and I should be going to be soon.