Break from blogging.

Unearthing some of these memories, both joyful and saddening, have gotten too painful to bear.

I will still visit my follower's blogs, but I'm afraid a update may be some time away.

Do not get a misconception. This blog will go on.

7th Grade.

I was bullied. I will say no more.

I Want Free!

Our 6th Grade teacher was a woman. A woman who resembled a man.

Eeegh.

6th Grade was where I met the two of my closest friends. This was the time I began drifting away from my 5th Grade friends, but not so much that I stopped going over to their houses and hanging out with them. I simply felt like we were growing too differently for our friendships’ own good.

6th Grade was also where some problems with my self confidence arose. Mostly thanks to my parents.

Around this time, I began going over to my friends’ houses. And when I was there, I realized something.



Their lives were amazing. It was like something out of a dream.



And I don’t mean toys or material possessions.

I knew the difference in our income statuses and housing and accepted that my parents were very incompetent at everything they gave their hand at.

The “something” that separated my friend’s life and me was freedom.

It really was.

When they wanted to play pokemon, eat, go out of the house, even watch their TV or browse the internet, they did it. They had complete freedom in their actions and their parents only stopped them from doing dangerous or stupid things. They could honestly do anything they wanted.

I did not have that.

I needed absolute permission from both my parents for anything. I couldn’t play Pokemon as much as I wanted, I couldn’t even watch TV without their say so. It was amazing how they had complete control over me. Mostly through fear, but it was an effective way.

I tried to get them to understand what I wanted. I mustered up courage I never knew I had, just so I could have what my friends had. They thought it was a stupid idea and my friend’s parents were abnormal.

Obviously, it was the other way around.

Yet, no matter how many times I proved their words wrong and told them how ours was the only family to require so much permission, they constantly threw the same thing back at me, claiming I didn’t know enough Korean to understand them and I was still a baby incapable of thinking for myself.

That was completely absurd!

I understood them just fine, they were simply too stubborn to leave their Korean values behind when they left Korea. Many of our “discussions” ended up into yelling matches where my courage failed me and I took their lecture and punishment.

I knew that my life was worse than my friends. As my depression continued, I started to believe that I was worse off than my friends. That my friends were better than me in every way. That I was a loser.

Pokemon Johto!

"It's a whole new place, with a brand new attitude,
But you still 'Gotta catch 'em all!'
And be the best that you can be!"

Sweet! A new pokemon game for celebrating me getting into the fifth Grade!

I almost forgot my parents were human beings after elementary school. Maybe they decided to change themselves for the good!

...

Nope.

Fifth Grade was, like Pokemon Johto, a brand new place. Definitely with brand new people and new personalities.

My friends from the olden days, AKA elementary school, were extremely different from what I remembered. I wasn't too keen on change, so I essentially ditched them for new ones. I did meet some people I would be extremely close friends with, but that's for a later time.

Now, around that same time, my Dad began his attempts to make me a musclebound blockhead like himself. I resisted like hell, but every Sunday, he LITERALLY dragged me to the car and made me play sports with him.

I hated it, and he hated me hating it.

Course, I hated him too, along with the rest of my family.

Ms.Daffy Duck.

You know those teachers with funny names? My 4th Grade Teacher's name was similar to Daffy Duck. It was pretty amusing.

4th Grade was pretty awesome. Although my best friend ATM moved to a different school, I made new ones. Ones I kept for several years!

Back to my teacher, she was as nice as you could imagine. The only thing that kept her from being perfect, was that when she got mad, oh shit. She. Got. Mad.

Usually, she would make the next class a silent day, a day where if we talk, we get sent outside. On rare cases, she would take the kids she was mad at and give them a long lecture - following it up with a call to their parents. The thing is, I actually had fun on Silent Days, it was like a game to see who could hold out the longest without talking.

I really enjoyed 4th Grade. Thought it was the best thing in the world. Too bad one of the worst days of my life was in the 4th Grade. Otherwise, I would have said 4th Grade was the best time of my life. (So far)

One day, in class, I really needed to take a piss. I REALLY REALLY NEEDED TO. Piss was practically gushing out and I could barely hold it in. It was that gross and serious. Now, I bet you all expect me to just piss my pants and go home like that.

But um. No.

Things did end up that way, but it wasn't so simple.

I wanted to ask the teacher to go out to the bathroom, but the teacher was nowhere to be fucking found. Because my parents beat into me -literally - the respect I should have for adults, I couldn't even think of running out without the teachers permission. So I had to wait. Keep it all locked in, then once school ended, rush out to a bathroom.

First one, locked.

Second one, locked.

Third one, open! But its a girls bathroom ...

What the hell...

Fortunately for me, I remembered a hidden one in one of the class rooms. I run in there, open the only stall there, and I see...

a old lady taking a dump.

I ran out as fast as I could.

Unable to find a bathroom, I walked home with soggy pants.

And did I mention my mom's friend was walking me home?

Encountered Wild Racism!

3rd Grade. Cool, I leveled up. I made my first asian friend here. Forgot his name though.

Got a new teacher, Ms.XXXXXX. Kinda fat with a round head. Anyways, she had a punishment where students would get notes to their parents. The notes signified that the student was a bother to the class.

On the second week of school, I was just talking to my friends and buds for lols.

All of a sudden, she gives me a note. For Talking.

I was surprised.
 "Wut? But I was talking to my friends in group study time!"
"Nope. Take this note and get it signed by your parents."

And when I gave it to my parents, I got hit.

The next day, week, month, trimester, I constantly got notes. Every single one of them, for "talking". No matter how I pleaded to my parents I didn't deserve it, they didn't listen. Ms.XXXXXX even sent some over the mail. I brought back every one of them with my parents signature, and you know what that meant for me.

Around Febuary of my 3rd grade year, Ms.XXXXXX overheard me talking about being hit. But, for some reason, she decided to step in there and call the school about it. My parents didn't hit me anymore. But instead, I got yelled at and threatened. This didn't stop her from giving me more notes though.

My parents' threats included:
-Im going to break your gameboy with a hammer
-Im going to throw you out of the house
-How stupid are you you must not be my son, I'm going to disown you
-etc..

You can imagine the rest. Keep in mind I was, oh, 8 years old at the time.

In March, my parents realized something. Yelling wasn't enough! So to punish me even more, they decided to take away the only thing that kept me sane. My Pokemon game. I simply broke apart there.

At school, I kept quiet for a few days, giving her no reason to give me a note.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Quiet.

Several days later, our class had a special day, where we would pick someone from our class to participate in a certain game. I cheered along with the rest of the class and lo' and behold, I got a note for shouting. Not having pokemon for several days, my mind was brittle and easy to shatter. So I cried. It was unfair. It was simply unfair. Why did she hate me so much? Why only me?

At home, my parents told me to get out of the house. They held the door open and demanded I leave. I was so miserable, wanted to die.

At 8 years old, I wanted to die.

The notes continued, and my life was growing worse. All I could do was live.

Finally, third grade ended. And I cried tears of joy.

For throughout the year, I had received 71 notes.

Level 2

In Korea, everyone is a year younger, so the me who was in the middle of first grade got dropped into second. Who knew?

Second Grade was decent. Nothing spectacular here. Because everyone was a ignorant kid who knew nothing of racism and stereotyping, I never really got made fun of for not talking. You see, I never spoke in public until I was sure I didn't sound like a fob with my english. Being accepted was crucial and all that, y'know?

Life was good. I made friends, from Mexican to indian, got in, uh, one fight where I got beaten up by some random fifth Grader with a buckteeth for no reason. So all the bad and all the good happened at school.

On one random ass day, my mom said, avoid the question if someone asks if we have a Green Card!

I didn't really give a shit, so I said, okay. Didn't even know what was going on here. It seemed like it really didn't matter, because my life had never changed from it. My Dad was still acting like a bigshot around the house yelling at the drop of the hat, yelled more if I cried too. Then I got hit occasionally if I was doing "bad" things, which were completely random and dependent on my Parent's opinions.

Yup.

That's the gist of things at home back then. I swear, playing pokemon  blue was the only thing keeping me sane, but Summer was rapidly approaching, and it would be a whole two months of staying at home. I cringed.

When I was born.

I was born in the Capital of North, err SOUTH korea. Seoul. Like any kind of kid, I had friends and went to school. First Grade and all the glory that came along was in my the palm of my hand, ready to be played with.

Sadly, my parent's buisness failed due to a current recession and we lost lots of money.

Not that I knew this back then, mind you.

Their great idea to fix everything? Start off anew in America. The land where they can't even buy a pack of gum without using a dictionary, but they were lenient. They gave me a choice. Lol. They said I would have the choice, me - the little 7 year old kid, to move our entire family to the United States.

My choice? Well, I said yes, because I thought it was like a visit to the zoo! What did I even know about America at the age of 7?!

I left my friends crying, and we took off for California, where I would spend a good portion of my life.

I realize now, I should never have said yes.

The beginning.

I recently moved away from everything I knew and cared about. My dickweed parents LITERALLY ruined my life and won't give a shit.

Hello. My name is Andrew, and I will be posting my story on this blog.