The Darkness
(NSFW)
Our stories, our memories, truly separate and define us as human beings. Whether it's good or bad, you perceive it a certain way that no one else could at the time. You are your own writer, director, and actor to your own story, and you have the power to change it as it goes. As the story unfolds...
My early life was filled mostly with darkness, a lot of negative... Anguish. Injustice. Despair.
I often tell everyone that is the reason why... I am so positive.
It's because, I would like to balance my life out.
I humbly invite you to read about my early childhood and adolescent life/memories... BUT. Please, be formally aware and advised: This is a real gut-wrencher.
NON-FICTION at its not-so-finest. Black Noir. Gory Word Porn.
Typed out lovingly, by yours truly. This is based on a true motherfucking story. I've had a very rough upbringing, and it wasn't by choice.
Come explore this vividly descriptive, storytelling narrative with me. (I am a new writer and would absolutely love your feedback, so please send me an e-mail.)
Cheers!
CAUTION: NSFW GRAPHIC READING MATERIAL
NOT FOR THE FAINT OF HEART
WARNING: TRAUMA, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK
The Darkness
My childhood was robbed from me. I used to get so fucking frustrated thinking about it, and I still do... just not as much. Not nearly as much.
I tend to overthink and I used to dwell in the past. Writing down these series of small, short stories is an outlet for me to get all of these memories off me, so that it's somewhere else, and not just built up inside me. You are BOLD for wanting to read about this.
The Monster. My childhood was brutally robbed from me by my "step-dad" that I had to deal with aged 5 - 18. At least, I remember most of my life starting at five years old. I do remember previous memories, but not as vividly when I became this age. My exceptional memory is a blessing and a curse. I remember all of the good times... and here is a glimpse of the bad...
Growing up, my family was poor. We all had to "carpool" in one house, one big family in one small house. We often shared beds and rooms amongst each other. There was my Grandma, Grandpa, Mom, Auntie Kay, "Uncle" Mike, Uncle Brian, my Brother, and eventually my sister. Also, my step-dad, that my mother married... his name is Jimmy or Pak. I had to call him "dad," but I've always hated it. He was not cool at all.
He was aggressive at the stupidest reasons, I remember him throwing a small, blue, heavy porcelain bowl (filled with rice and his spit) at my Grandma, and it managed to hit a mirror hanging in the hallway. Breaking the mirror, my Grandma cleaned up the rice and sharp mess on the ground. He was constantly yelling and bickering over the stupidest shit. He was the type of person who would simply yell louder just to win an argument, there was no logic or reason for this kind of madness.
It started at a young age, the punishments, sometimes apparently and obviously for no reason. Sometimes for reason, too, I guess, but it mostly wasn't. I stopped wondering why, anyways. He would always wake me up in the middle of the night, either by punching me in the back of my head with multiple jabs or gripping one of my ears and lifting me completely out of the bed, hanging mid-air just being held by my ear. I was a small kid. Sometimes, he would grab my ear and drag me down to the ground... making me kiss the ground. This is how I would wake up.
When I was five, during the day, while my Mom was at work, I remember him making me listen to his lectures in the bedroom. He liked to talk a lot... about weird, political ranty bullshit that I never really cared about or really listened to. I just had to endure it. He would make me kneel on my knees and hold my hands up while he lectures me. Him, slouched, sitting down... while watching TV. I did this for hours, three to eight hours at a time. Most days. Whenever I would get tired, he would beat me. Whenever I couldn't hold my body up, or my arms would slouch, he would punch me in the face. I don't even know why I was being punished, my eyes were on fire with hatred at this time in my life. He would always make me rub out my own bruises. He would threaten me, saying he would kill me if anybody ever found out about this. I learned this at a young age. I would spend hours rubbing bruises off of me, and I learned to get good at it. He wouldn't let me go unless he did a quick glance to make sure it was OK for me to be looked at.
"Am I good?" Good. Get me the fuck out of here, I've always thought to myself.
(Reflecting now, I can't even imagine what kind of monster would do this to a defenseless, five year-old boy. My earliest memories were seriously suffering silently.)
Jimmy, during phases of my childhood, worked later shifts, often coming back at 11pm to Midnight, and the moment the garage opens... I automatically quiver in fear. Visibly shaking, I hear the garage door open. He's back. ("AH, FUCK")
He was always predictable in ways, whenever he leaves, he would always check the locks, constantly turning them with a strong grip, making sure no one can enter as soon as it's closed. He would always chant something while doing this, it sounded demonic. This mothafucka was crazy.
Growing up during this time, he was very prompt to timings during the day and night. I remember taking the ride back to my Grandma's while listening to NPR at 4:45pm, that jingle it always does. We would always be in the car, at the same place. The same long intersection, taking a left turn. I became familiar to the daily monotony.
I have a little Brother that went through this with me, but not nearly as much as me. Reflecting now, I'm glad it worked that way. I would always get punished for my siblings. I am the eldest of three. I dearly love my little brother and my little sister. I like to think I am their protector. I've had it way worse compared to them. I managed to build a tolerance for pain, it was necessary.
My little sister has seen some shit because of her Father. She has helped me in so many ways. She would scream at him, yelling at him to stop fighting us, literal kids. It took a brave little girl to witness what we had to go through, and not be a bystander. She was never treated poorly from her Father, or got beat like me and my brother. It was always tried to be hidden from her. She will be coming to the rescue sometimes. All it took was her to wake up and ask what's going on. My Stepdad wouldn't want his daughter to see the violence he inflicts on her brothers. Our dearest sister was our saving grace sometimes.
The Playstation beating.
I'll never forget one of my first memorable beatings, I got beat so hard. My step-dad bought a Playstation One right when it came out, back in 1995. We all loved playing games on it. We had it for some time before the console stopped reading the CD's. I remember trying to fix it, to see what was wrong with it... My young age with a troubleshooting kind-of-mind, ready to fix this thing. I tried my best, but it wouldn't work. I got blamed for breaking the Playstation, when it went out on its own, and I was just trying to fix it. My Brother got a beating alongside me as well. We were both blamed since we both were trying to play on it together. Guilty by association. I am so sorry, Brother...
I remember when Jimmy discovered the Playstation being broken, he made us go into the basement one day. We were in the basement for hours, getting beat with fists, belts, and slippers, or whatever was convenient at the time. A metal hanger being used like a whip since the wire snapped. I remember hearing my Brother getting beat, but I wouldn't look. I would only hear. I would close my eyes, thinking how glad I am it's not me right now. We were taking turns. We were both crying our eyes out. Shit... we were young. Imagine a grown late 30-something-year-old, 5'10" - 5'11", 200-pound man, just wailing on two young kids. If he would've setup a tripod, a camera, and had better lighting, this movie would've been sold for top dollar in the black market (to sadistic, demented fucks. It got gory in this scene). My nose bled, but he didn't care. I felt like... I was bleeding from my eyes. The beating felt like days, it dragged out, and then he finally left us there in the dark to cry it out. He turned off the lights and went back upstairs. I will never forget how black and blue we were. It was dark. We took a fierce beating. Then, we collectively cleaned up the blood, and deep massaged the bruises out together. We had to walk back upstairs.
I remember I got into a fight with my Brother at a very young age, inside the backseats of our white, 1990 Nissan Maxima. Long story, short... I hit my brother in the head with the middle seat's belt buckle and he was bleeding from his head. After that happened... I felt so futile. I remember the rushing of emotions after my actions right after it happened. We were left alone in the backseat while my step-dad was running errands, for far too long and we were getting fucking irate. It started off as a fist fight in the back of the car. I didn't mean to hurt my Brother like that.
We had to take a detour to the hospital after that happened. After Jimmy drops my Brother off to the doctor, he went back to the car to beat me up. I was punished hard, getting strong punches while he sat in the front seat, and I was in the back. I deserved it, I didn't even defend myself. I took every single punch he had that day, and it was a good hour. He left me beat, bloodied, and bruised, crying in the car. He went back inside to pick him up. I remember seeing my Brother coming out and he had a thick, clear gel over his head to stop the bleeding. He must've noticed how wrecked I got after that, we didn't say much to each other on the ride back. I was just so glad he was OK.
My Very First Addiction: Runescape
If you've ever met me in real life, you probably know I grew up with Runescape.
A PC game, I started back in 2002 back when my Mother would take me and my Brother to the salon where she worked at. Modern Salon Tu, which was owned by my Uncle Thanh, he was the best Uncle ever. I've had a slice of the good life because of him and his wife, Ann. It was an Asian couple who owned a successful and thriving small business that lasted for decades in South Plaza, before it became a Community America Bank. I was 11, and during the summer, we would go to "the shop" everyday. We were a nuisance, we eventually got bored of the shop. Me and my Brother would walk to the Kansas City Public Library, that is now a Whole Foods/Loft Complex right by UMKC. Back in the day, that was the KC public library... with computers!
That's all we did... was play on the computers. I remember one time running into a guy playing Runescape (which is "Runescape Classic" nowadays, it was very simple in aesthetics) I thought he was playing a golf flash mini game. I asked him what it was, and he introduced me to this role-playing game, my Brother was with me at the time. I was 11, and he was nine.
We started playing Runescape. We were complete noobs, it's hilarious to think about it now. We added our first friend, "Th 4nk 8r" the guy who introduced us to this game. We called him "Frank." He later told us it was pronounced, "The Fornicator." cause he liked to fuck. Bruh, me and my Brother were young af, but he never did anything too creepy with us (except this, HA). He somehow kept it real with us. He was a chill dude that worked at UPS and we ran into each other a lot hanging out at the library, he was always wearing his brown UPS suit. Long story, short... me and my Brother got addicted to this game, Runescape, at the same exact time.
Growing up with dial-up internet, with one computer in one household, and two kids who needed their daily dose of Runescape... This was a "recipe for disaster."
Anytime anyone had to use the phone, we had to pause our AOL dial-up, thus fucking up our Runescape experience. Anytime anyone calls, fuck me. I'm just trying to play some Runescape.
Well, there was this one day... Me and my Brother got into a conflict. We decided to share the computer EVERY HOUR. One hour play-time, then we switch. Mutual agreement. We took turns, always hogging this one computer no matter what. My brother was not getting off the computer... he had been on it for an hour and twenty minutes, and I kept telling him to get off. He just wouldn't do it. "GET OFF, IT'S NOT YOUR TURN ANYMORE." I was so pissed. It eventually lead to that. I was punching his shoulders while he was sitting down on a wooden chair. I wanted to play Runescape so bad. The itchin'.
My Brother would not get off the computer, and I was pestering him. He decided to pick up the wooden chair he was sitting on, and slam it on me. This thick wooden chair, which used to stay in our kitchen, remains unbroken after it was picked up and used as a weapon against me. I was sitting on a folding metal chair. After that happened, I picked up my chair, folding it simultaneously, and WHACK'D my Brother with it. It broke... the chair, I mean.
We just started a ruckus in the computer room.
I used to think it was funny telling this story... how my little Brother couldn't even break a wooden chair, and I managed to break a metal chair on him. It's ironic because my little Brother is bigger than me in size and stature. He's my little, BIG Brother.
After this conflict happened, my stupid step-dad stormed upstairs without even knowing what was going on, and started a savage whomping on me and my Brother. No lie, my Brother took one hell of a beating for this. I had my share of it too, but incomparable. He dragged him upstairs into the kitchen, it was nearby. An unforgettable memory was when this monster decided to grip my little Brother's neck, and lift him up mid-air. I will never forget this moment. The decision to finally attack this monster, while my Brother was choking for his life. I wanted to punch him so bad. I never did, though. I thought he was going to die. I thought my little Brother was about to die.
I didn't do anything, I just laid there, because I already took a beating and took many punches from this monster, who was unleashing on my little Brother at the same time. I didn't do anything. I cried on the inside, and outside. Seconds were hours in this dire time. It was mental torture... I didn't do... anything. I was freaking the fuck out.
He eventually let go of him, my Brother, probably within the knick of time before murder was the case. I remember seeing my Brother getting dropped, desperately gasping for air. He was beaten (the worst beating in his pre-teen life, I would imagine). It was a strange occasion where he got more than me, so I was grateful. It wasn't me this time. Should've got off the computer, brother.
After this happened, I rushed back to the unoccupied computer to buy law runes for 1k each, sitting cross-legged, on a wooden chair. This chapter is adamantly about addiction, after all.
When I was in 7th grade at Congress Middle School, I had an English teacher named Mrs. Brittain. She was so nice to me, I actually had a crush on her. I thoroughly enjoyed her class, she was great. She was the best. I had her class in the afternoons, right after lunch.
One day, she pulled me to the counselor's office and questioned me about my bruising that was evident on the left side of my body. She personally asked me where I got my bruises. I lied, I said, "I fell off the stairs."
She asked me again.
"No, Calvin... you did not get that from falling off stairs. How did you get your bruises?"
I lied again, with dry tears forming in my eyes. "I fell on the stairs..."
On the third time she asked, it broke me... I started crying. It was almost repressed, I couldn't believe I actually did this in front of people.
"Tell us how you got your bruises..."
I cried my heart out with no physical tears. I told the truth, I just said... "he... hit... me." I was bawling on the inside, but had no physical tears on the outside (I've cried out all of my tears the night before and didn't have any left in me). I spilled the beans for the first time ever, and I was so scared.
I just snitched... he always reminds me if I ever get beat and if anybody finds out... I would die. It was always a death threat that kept me from living a safe life.
I remember getting beat the night before, but I don't remember why. As a friendly reminder, this was when I was in 7th grade, which was 2004 timeframe. Making me 13 - 14 years old. I probably weighed maybe 90 lbs.
The beating was brutal, though. My neck, and left side of the face was fucked. He was right handed. He mostly threw right hands. Choked, scratched, brutalized marks left on me. He told me I shouldn't go to school the next day, it hurt that bad.
I went to school anyways, and it took a brave teacher to see me and try to help. She helped me spiritually, I had faith and hope in this world. At the end, I still got punished for what I did. I snitched. He did go to prison for child abuse after this observation. The police showed up at home while I was at school. He just got a slap on the wrist. He was released shortly because the prosecution did not press charges. I don't even know how he got away with this. Somehow, my Mother never even knew about this.
When he got out, I got beat so fucking bad... it made me want to never tell anyone what I've actually been through. I've learned to keep quiet after this, and I did.
Until now.
One night, in 2005 timeframe. My Brother had a friend spend the night. This was rare for us, I remember my Mother agreeing and it's one of the first times a friend ever stayed the night at our house. It wasn't even my friend, it was my little Brother's friend, let's call him "J-Waller." J-Waller was a tall, mixed (half white, half black) grown kid that was the same age as my brother. I didn't know him, so I just met him that night and we were just being kids playing around. Everything seemed fine at first.
Later that night, the monster shows up seemingly out of the blue. Jimmy was so fuckin' pissed, and I was caught in the kitchen, just by myself. Late at night, just trying to get water. Fuck me for trying to survive out here.
He swung at me many times, and kept punching my face. He was literally and figuratively kicking my ass. He kicked me in the ass. "WHY IS YOUR FRIEND SO FUCKING LOUD?" this demanded all caps.
I told him that he wasn't even my friend, obviously deflecting this blame. It didn't even matter.
He beat my ass in the kitchen, with my Brother's friend hanging out downstairs and it was late. I remember going back downstairs to tell them to shut the fuck up, please.
The Absurdity
There have been countless nights of my childhood, being abruptly awoken up from my slumber. It could be for reasons as small as "where is the remote control?" in the living room. Don't worry, there has been countless other reasons, too, but this one took the big cake. I think this was prospect number one, as the whole family have been awakened from their slumber multiple, multiple times to participate in the finding of the fucking remote control for the TV in the living room, at fucking Midnight or even at 3am. Time knows no boundary, according to Jimmy. I think I've been woken up about ~100 times in my life because Jimmy couldn't find the fucking TV remote.
It would always start with me. "Where is the fucking remote?"
Shit, I thought it was here, but let me try to find it...
If it ever took me too long, and I was getting beat for it... I'll wake my brother up to see if he has seen it. I'll wake my mother up, begging her to know where the TV remote is at. I'll wake up my little sister, asking her kindly if she has happened to see the TV remote last.
I always put the remote back at the same place, but somehow this thing goes missing way too much, and this seems to be a constant punishment for no reason type scenario that I had to live through.
Another reason would be for me to make him Lipton's Iced Tea. He would always have this large cup, or a large QT cup that he would hand me, demanding me to make him iced tea. I was the only one who did it, this task that he has never done himself, which was always delegated to me. Yes, folks, this dude would wake me up in the middle of the fuckin' night just to make him iced tea. Isn't that stupid? I think that's fucking stupid.
I've always made the iced tea, exactly how I would "enjoi" it. Lots of scoops, making it sweeter. I didn't drink it as often as my step-dad. I mixed it up with a long spoon, while the water was slowly dripping into the cup, making sure it was fully dissolved, leaving room for ice. It was easier to dissolve while the water was warmer without ice. After that, I added ice to the top and stir it all up to make it cold. I had my technique with it, and it always came out good. I always look to make sure it's good, sometimes there would be something floating on top of the liquid, but I always fished it out and made it look good. I got beat once because there was dust in it. I never spat in his drink, even though I've pondered it, I mean... it would've been totally worth a beating for. But, I never did it. I don't know why I choose to be good, at this point of my life.
There was this one night, I got woken up and beaten because I put the E-brake up in my car, and my stupid step-dad couldn't bring it back down. It was one of those pull handles by the right of the driver's seat, and you had to push the button at the end and pull up to deactive it. He never used it, and didn't know how it worked. He thought I broke my car's e-brake, but he woke me up in the middle of the night, like he always does, and made me try to put the e-brake down. Yeah, I put the E-brake down. Do you think he was happy? The answer is never.
He would often wake me up because I put my seats down too low, "like a thug". It was too leaned back. Violently waking me up just to put my front driver car seat two notches up. Always waking me up for something stupid that doesn't even really matter that much. Always...
The Beating That Wasn't Even My Fault
I was 16, back in early 2007.
I attended Park Hill High School, located up north KC. Right off Barry Road, this school has some history to it. I thought it was a good school, although I did not appreciate it as much at the time. I remember getting my permit and I drove an off-white, 1990 Nissan Maxima. I loved the thing, it was my very first car.
I got my permit early when I turned 16. It took me two times to finish the driving test. I failed the parallel park the first time, I was so nervous. With my new permit, I was allowed to have a maximum of two passengers while I drive.
I drove home one day from school, on a sunny afternoon. I had my gang with me at the time, all poolin' it up in my car. I had my boi: p0ngii (sitting up front), my Brother, LNT, and Hungweezy. We all lived in the same neighborhood, but that's 5 total in my whip, including myself.
I just took a right, going down N. Congress Rd., my normal routine and route. I stopped because of people in front of me, and all of a sudden, BHAMMMM.
A 2004 Toyota RAV4 rear ended the fuck out of me, not even an attempt to brake was made... This girl, Kelsey, wasn't even paying attention. She totaled her wanna-be SUV going ~40mph straight into my parked car. I was at a complete stop after waiting for someone to turn.
The aftermath, her car was done, son. The radiator smoking and bright green coolant bursting out, no way it could drive after that. All three of my passengers in the back actually took off and left walking, nearby other walkers, just because they didn't want me to get in trouble. They walked over to a friend's house that lived nearby, actually (shout out to J W!). We were all hurt, it was truly unexpected. I didn't even see it coming. I wasn't aware of my surroundings like I am now. The fresh damage on the rear side of my car made me really sad. It was my first car, and it had some history to it (as you have read above). The trunk of my car couldn't even be closed, the whole back end got bent in. My car still drove, so HELL YEAH BROTHER. No functional damage. My baby was tough, just like me.
Her story was, that her mother was driving on the opposite lane, (and in fact she was, because she came back to park and speak to us) and they were waving at each other. She wasn't paying attention and didn't even try to brake at all.
Kelsey D*******. This person, unknowingly got me punished for her actions. It was 100% completely her fault that she rear ended me because she wasn't paying attention. She totaled her car that was 14 years better than mine. Her family bought her a new car after that happened. Yeah, a brand new car. She got rewarded for this.
It wasn't even my fault... that there was damage to my car. My car was only worth $2,000 so that's what the insurance paid us... To my step-dad's eyes... it was worth much more than that. We took care of the car, and it was a great car to us, it had sentimental value. Certainly, more than $2,000 was paid for it at the time.
When that shit happened, I remember getting the second most memorable beating of my life. I don't know how I survived this one.
The beating was brutal, he made me think it was my fault... that we got scammed by our insurance company. He kept wailing on me, punching me non-stop. 16-year-old me was still defenseless at this stage. The urge to retaliate... but, I never did. I was well conditioned. I would try to block... ha. This beating brought me back to my childhood, where the injustice is what made me the most upset. My perspective, my side... didn't even matter at all. I just... stayed quiet. I chose to, it was the easier route for me.
The aftermath... was the moment I cried all of my tears out (again), which was left soaking on my pillow. I violently screamed to a "god" that didn't exist, begged, and pleaded with the darkness. I got beat so bad, I went through a very depressive episode after this happened, I remember being stuck in my head about this for a very long time, way too long for someone to think about. It wasn't even my fault...
"There is neither happiness nor unhappiness in this world; there is only the comparison of one state with another. Only a man who has felt ultimate despair is capable of feeling ultimate bliss. It is necessary to have wished for death in order to know how good it is to live... the sum of all human wisdom can be contained in these two words: Wait and Hope."
-Alexandre Dumas, The Count of Monte Cristo (1844)
/The Darkness
Whew...
(Intermission)
[rough] The Light
How did I get through my "childhood"?
OK, I will admit it... It wasn't always dark.
When I was young, aged 5 - 10, my "Uncle" Mike used to take me to Toys 'R' Us, and he would always buy me a toy. I had expensive taste, I always picked a nice Transformers toy (or Beast Wars) because that is what I absolutely loved at the time. He really spoiled me, when nobody else did. I managed to eventually accumulate myself a collection of awesome Transformer toys because of my dear "Uncle" Mike. He was the coolest uncle ever, I remember trying to teach him Cantonese, he was dating my Auntie Kay at the time. "yue is fish."
I also loved Hot Wheels. He spoiled me with Hot Wheels, too. I knew he didn't have much money at the time, but he always got me stuff. He was studying to become a doctor. Those toys meant the absolute world to me, and he knew it. (Thank you for everything, Mike. You were such a kindred soul in the 90's. I am wishing you and your family the best. I don't know how I would've survived without your genuine kindness, selflessness, and compassion.)
Cynthia is one of my childhood friends. She not only provided me with my favourite Christmas gift of all time, but has always provided the greatest gift of all... friendship, very early and even currently, in my life. I have always looked up to her like a big sister that I never had, but obviously had because of her. She spoke sensibly to me, at times when I needed it the most. Just her presence, and her family's presence, provided much safety and comfort needed during my childhood days. (Thank you dearly, Cindy, Michelle, and Shang.)
Megaman X: Super Nintendo
I was obsessed with this game, and eventually got good at it. I feel this was my very first accomplishment in life, was completing this beautifully pixelated game with a captivating storyline. I have a tattoo of Megaman with a pose he does after he kills a boss. It's the story of my life.
You have to get through the obstacles, and then kill the boss. Overcome adversity. Stay alive and persevere. Never give up.
Jet Force Gemini: Nintendo 64. This was another video game that kept me alive during the hard times. I became really good at this game because I played as much as I can. I was the only one in my family who completed the campaign, and everyone used to get so mad at me whenever I dominated the versus mode. Playing this game made me so happy.
My Mother.
There is a reason why I didn't mention her much in the Darkness, because she was my light. Even though I kept silent, my Mother was like a clumsy, cutesy, bubbly, mini personality that brought happiness in my early childhoodish life. She was my Mom, so she obviously tried to take care of me no matter what. I never told her about the brutal beatings that I went through, I sacrificed, and bit my tongue heavily in order to keep my oblivious Mother happy... I wouldn't want to break her heart anyways. I remember when she used to "discipline" me when she would tell me to hold my hands up, and would hit me with a wooden spoon. Compared to what I've been through, I remember laughing at this light punishment for it being so cute, the pain was nothing to me. I love my Mother so much... I am indeed, a "Mother's boy."
Uncle Thanh and Ann.
I have mentioned I had a slice of the good life because of them. Some of the best meals I've ever had in my life was with them, and because of them. I remember going to a private dinner event at this beautiful home in Lawrence, KS where we were hosted by the Chef Owner, there was a 20-course meal. I was 15 years old at the time, and I will never forget that kind of experience. They started taking me, and my family, to dine at restaurants as early as I could even remember. Otherwise, it would be quite a rare event for me to eat somewhere else that wasn't inside my home. They loved food so much, and I fell in love with it, too.
They took me to so many different restaurants. Osteria Il Centro, Andre's, Dragon House, Bonefish Grill, Red Snapper, Blue Koi, China One, Cheesecake Factory, Ruth Chris's, Bluestem, Bo Ling's (the original underneath the plaza, this place was special back in the day), Story, countless Lucky Wok nights filled with food and joy. Starting at a young age, I got to try foods I never even imagined. They have given me so much. They took me anywhere I wanted for my birthday. Anywhere. They spoiled me, but I was so grateful for them. They have no idea how much I appreciate them, even though they might not think that. (Ann, wherever you are, I hope you are doing OK... I miss you so much. Thank you for everything...)
[/rough]
(To be continued...)
Thank you for reading my current rough draft, it is about maybe half-way finished! I am seeking feedback, guidance, and direction, to see where I want my story to conclude. Don't worry, it's going to be good.
I want the readers to know that I do not want you to be angry or mad at my Stepdad. I have forgiven him, although I choose to not spend my time with him. He shaped me to become who I am today, and that is a strong, empathetic man. How I became good, is self-taught. I now know what not to do when I have children one day.
I do not seek pity, that is not the intention of my story. I want others to see what horrible struggles others can go through, and the positivity that can come from it. I have learned all of my valuable lessons the hard way.
Please do not get mad at Jimmy, as this happened nearly 25+ years ago, and people can change. The past is the past, and what is done... is done.
Coming soon:
The Three Loves of my Life:
Music (Discovered: 1994)
Food (Discovered: 1996)
Writing (Discovered: March 2024)
Pros and Cons of my upbringing
Dysfunctions of Me (being envious when seeing a happy family, being an overgrown child, sleep problems, OCD, hypervigilance... this chapter might be too long.)
Strengths (memory, genuine kindness, hardworking, manic energy, open minded, nonjudgmental, spiritual.)
Conclusion: Tolerance for Pain, Lone Wolf
