Sitting in the exam room at the Los Angeles LGBT Center, I must have been thinking about Korean tofu soup. Not that I’m Korean. I’m Taiwanese, but I don’t discriminate against any Asian food. All Asian food’s life matters! Just moments before, I had been drained of six tubes of my blood drawn and I needed to replenish it, better with some hot, Asian, brothy soup. Then, the doctor came in. I thought, “That’s new.” It was always just a nurse with soggy eye bags, big enough to carry a baby kangaroo. Then, bam, “Your HIV result came back positive.” Oh. Now, let’s not worry about Asian food’s life, but MY life.

That day was Feb 4th, 2021. While everyone was catching COVID left and right, I, ever the nonconformist, snagged HIV instead. It was like choosing the road less traveled by viruses.

I blurted out, “Am I gonna die?” I wasn’t ignorant. I knew HIV wasn’t a death sentence with today’s meds, but I needed that verbal reassurance. I needed to double check. It’s like double-checking with your date by asking, “So…we are for sure not having a threesome with your husband that funds your lifestyle and buys the Gucci underwear you’re wearing? I just want to double check!”

The doctor’s blunt “Yeah. You’re gonna die.” The doctor continued, “You are not Captain America. You are gonna die. Just not from HIV, as long as you take one pill every single day.” Every single day? I can’t even keep up with my daily journal! Getting told you have HIV is like having a piece of chicken bone wrapped with plastic straws, seasoned with bleach, shoved down your throat.

So, cut to me crying in my beat-up Toyota Yaris from 2011, because I was Asian and poor. It was like a low-budget indie movie scene, especially the moment I called my ex (whom I haven’t talked to for a year), asking for emotional support. Before I hung up, I asked him, “Would you give me one more kiss before I die?” Alright, if you believe I actually said that, then you are a hopeless romantic.

I immediately got on HIV medication. Within two months, by April 2021, my HIV viral load had dropped to the undetectable level. What does that mean? So, when you reach the undetectable level, the HIV virus is still in your body but it has been controlled, and the good news is when it’s undetectable, it’s untransmittable. Yes, it rhymes. I feel like a rapper. Undetectable = untransmittable. That’s a table. You guys are people. I am a homosexual. When the virus in your body becomes un-transmittable, it means the virus will not pass on to HIV-negative people. Condoms are always encouraged because you can still get other STDs. Like chlamydia, gonorrhea, or diarrhea. I told you I am a rapper.

So, telling people I’m HIV positive is like coming out of the closet all over again. Are people gonna judge me? Are they gonna unfollow me on Instagram? You can judge me, but please don’t unfollow me! I want the attention!

In the world of gay sex, there is this phrase, “Are you clean?” Gay people ask this question a lot before having sex. “Are you clean?”– which means “Do you have any STDs?” So, now, I’m considered “Dirty” by the gay standard, although I look like I can be in a Neutrogena commercial. People with HIV are not dirty. People who wear the same underwear for a week are dirty.

Three months after my HIV diagnosis, I started to spill my guts about living with HIV in my stand-up comedy. I was scared to share such intimate details, often considered taboo, but the response I’ve gotten from the audience has been overwhelmingly positive. Well, I guess people love vulnerability. So, I thank HIV for giving me comedy materials. Now I wonder what other disease I should get to have more comedy materials. I’m just joking! But, remember, kids, comedy aside, take your meds. Every. Single. Day.