Part I:

First year of graduate school-Fall Semester

I was very excited about my first year as a graduate student at Arizona State University. The program director promised me a lot of fun and a lot of learning.

Little did he know that I was more excited about the fact that the school has more than 50,000 students and to me, if "one in ten" is gay, well... do the math. And then I remember my college adventures and how many of my straight friends and fraternity straight friends lost their inhibitions after a few beers. It was heaven!!! So now being back in college after a five-year break, I was in heaven once again.

Except that this time was different. I was no longer the 20 something kid that ran around shirtless at all times in the dorms. I was now much older and less fit. So my heaven was not as bright and as "heavenly" as I expected. I was now older, a little bigger on the sides and the six-pack I was had when I was a go-go dancer had gone away.

Yes, coming back to college gave a new doze of reality. I was getting older. I still had the same spirit, the same energy, the same enthusiasm, which I had carried during undergraduate life. But now, I was older and I was reminded of it when I saw a group of college guys playing in the baseball field--all shirtless, all young, sweaty, and beautiful.

I, on the other hand, was not playing with them; I was jogging by myself. I was trying, like I continue trying, to keep from gaining any more weight. As I passed by them, for the fifth or seventh time, their freezbe landed near by where I was running. I stopped, picked it up and was ready to send it flying back to the group when one of them stood in front of me. I gave him the freezbe and with a very polite smile and sincerity he said, "Thank you, sir."
And that was all I needed. I knew at that moment, exactly about three seconds after he thanked me that I, Carlos, was no longer a young college student, but a graduate college student who was no longer young.

Fast-forward three months ahead. I am living downtown Phoenix while going to ASU. My life as a grad student is a happy one. My life as a man is not. I don't like how I look. I don't like how I feel. I don't like having my family, my friends, and my boyfriend so far away from me. If I am not in school, I am at home, writing. And that is good for my career but bad for my life. I go out once in a while and I ponder about the meaning of my existence as if I was a 25-year old boy. I don't understand it. Is this what they call "middle age crisis?" And what exactly is "middle age?" Is it when I am in my 30s or 40s or 50s? I am not sure. If it is when I'm in my 30s, then it means I will die in my 60s. Isn't it to early to die? I want to die when I'm older, like my great-grandmother. She died at the age of 121 years old. And at that age, she could walk, saw, and tell the most wonderful stories ever. So I don't want to die in my 60s, or my 80s.In October I was told that my play "La Vida Loca" had been chosen for the next year's season of new works festival. That made me happy--very, very happy. By December, I had finished my first full-length play and I was happy with it. I also had the opportunity to work with one of the greatest playwrights in American history: Edward Albee. I had finished my first semester as expected:full of accomplishments. But few were the friends I made. I was still trying to heal my wounded heart.