“I’m not where I need to be, but Thank God I’m not where I used to be. “

She comes out crying. Her eyes are bright red. A group of guys who teased me minutes before approach her and ask why she is crying…. She says “Because Danny likes me.”

Every Sunday I was bullied and teased for my weight. Every single Sunday. Church was a place where all were accepted but for me I was constantly judged for my weight.

Since I can remember, I always loved food. I still love food now. Eating lots of food led me to be a chubby kid my whole childhood. I was happy eating whatever I wanted until everyone hit puberty and looks started to matter.

Suddenly, I started to become Santa Claus every Church Christmas play. Bullies would tease me “I can’t breathe around you. You are sucking in all the air.” I asked a kid at my school lunch table if I could have his cookie he wasn’t eating and he yelled out in front of the whole 6th grade “No! Stop eating all my food.” My nickname on the basketball court was Tractor Traylor…the fattest NBA player at the time.

I used to pray and beg God to let a day…one day where I will not be teased about my weight. Just one day…literally one day where I’m skinny. I wanted to know how it felt to not constantly be anxious about what I do and say because there was always a chance someone will make fun of me.

Then I reached my breaking point. One night, I went to my mother and told her what was happening. I told her that every Sunday I was being bullied and that I hated going. I told her I do not know what to do. I was crying my eyes out, looking for words of love and care. Just anything to make me feel better.

She said “Danny….it is your fault that you are fat. You are the one who is eating a lot. Go exercise more. Move.”

I LOVE my mom. I really do. I understand now why she said those words. It is just how Asian moms are. Tough love without much vulnerability.

To be real honest, I knew what she said was true. However, I needed love. I needed LOVE, CARE, and for her to hug me and say everything is going to be okay. At the time, she thought her words were going to help me.

We both went upstairs. I went to my room and cried until there were no more tears. Once my eyes were dry, I went downstairs without making a sound. I went to the kitchen and just stood there. The dishwasher was open. I zoned in, with tunnel vision, and focused on a wooden shafted knife. My mother used to cut everything with that knife: meat, fruits, I mean anything.

I slowly walked toward the knife…as everything else blurred away. I grabbed it and the only reason I am still here, writing this story to you was…I was scared. I was scared of the pain I would feel before I closed my eyes forever. If there was a faster and pain-free way, I don’t know what would have happened.

I wish I could tell you I woke up and felt better. I wish I could tell you I got to live another day so things would change. No…the next day, my mother tells me I am going to church camp. I just told her last night that Sundays were the worst days of my life and she is sending me to hell for a week.

For a whole week, I sat by myself, I rarely spoke a word, and sat in the back of the pews during worship. The worst was at night when I had to go to sleep. I had to share a bunk bed room where all my male peers stayed in. Every single night…they made fun of me. I remember I pretended to be asleep so they would stop. The second to last night, I remember that they started to tease me as usual. They teased me for one whole hour. Even though, they thought I was asleep, they ripped me part. I remember my pillow was drenched and wet the next morning. I didn’t get an ounce of sleep.

On the last day, I attended the final night of worship. The week was finally about to be over. The pastor went up and said his usual statement: “Pray to God. Talk to him. Ask him anything”.

“Fuck you….If you say you love me…If you say that you are there for me….why am I going through this.” I cursed God for all the painful memories, the loneliness, insecurities, everything. I cried and cried. I cursed and cursed.

And when my tears finally stopped, the pastor asked our church youth to pray for each other. For the whole week, not one hand, not one hand was laid upon me. However, that particular night, I felt one hand. I felt another. Another and another.

(Disclaimer: I am not advocating any religions. This is my personal story.)

Hand after hand came upon me…but for me, it felt like one giant hand. God placed his hand on my back and said “Danny, you are a GIFT. There is a reason for what you are going through. The pain and the suffering will be a part of a story you will share to others. To give them hope. To inspire. To give them faith that if you can do it, they can too.”

From that moment on, I never ever had thoughts about giving up the GIFT that God gave me. After camp, I was still fat for a year. I remember I told everyone that summer that I will lose weight and came back fatter when school started.

I started to run every single day. Rain, snow, or shine, I was out there running before the night was over. I used to wear trash bags to sweat more. I remember high school kids throwing 7-eleven slurries while I ran. I can still remember them cursing at me as they drove by.

I stopped eating past 6. Yes, there were days I went to sleep hungry. Yes, there were days I wanted to quit. But I was determined. To take my life into my own hands, have unwavering faith and trust in God, and lose the weight.

One Sunday, my peers and I were waiting to go into worship. I stayed quiet in the corner so I didn’t draw any attention. Suddenly, an older girl (grade above me) come ups to me and said “Danny you lost so much weigh! Wow!” Funny how God works…she was one of the most popular girls at church so when she looked at me, everyone turned their eyes on me. People came up to me and started to compliment me. For the first time, I sat with my peers and not in the back. For the first time, I walked into worship, smiling at the cross.