a life worth living

I never really feel inspired to write. I think of ideas, but they never truly come to fruition. I only really feel like writing when I'm mad, or depressed. I can't really tell which I am right now, but I can certainly say that I hate crying. It's a worthless expression of emotion. Nothing makes me cry anymore, except the psychopathic people who made me this way.

I'm sorry. I've just been too stressed out. The only thing that gives me hope is that once I have money, I can tell these bastards I'm never speaking to them again. It's the only thing that holds my chin up, because I sure as hell can't..

Chapter 2

Hey there, I brought you a gift today. See? Yeah, it's a big brown bear. I call him Bear. He's the one person who has always loved me, through thick and thin. I used to imagine that he'd always really want a hug, and would bother me till he got one, but the truth is that he was the only one who comforted me through every bad thing in my life. I've always had a bear with me to console me, this was the one I took the most care of. I always looked at him, thought he looked a little weird, but every time something bad happened, his fuzzy little paws would push away my tears. I would hold him, and just cry until I could cry no more. He is very important to me, and I hope he can comfort you in this way.

You may wonder why I'd give you something so precious to me. To be honest, it's been a long time since I needed to cry, and more importantly, I know you'll probably feel this way too.

Where was I again... oh yes, high school. The worst time of my life, by far. When you're an adult, you just have to follow the grind day after day. When you're in high school, you feel like you're just trapped amongst in a giant popularity contest. It was a nightmare. I always wanted to be popular, because I had never known the feeling. I always just felt like an extra in a play, filling up the empty space. I wanted to be loved, a feeling I didn't really understand.

Honestly, I still don't understand love. If I were to define it in familial terms, love is like being controlled by someone who always thinks they've done absolutely everything correctly, that they aren't at fault. Every time my folks would say they loved me or that had done well, I felt sick from their lies. They never expressed love, not even to each other. If I had done well at something, they felt it was all because of their expertise parenting. What a bunch of fucking phonies.

I'm not going to apologize for that this time. This was the point when I finally knew how much the home I had once thought was happy was just a crock full of shit.

When I had entered the revered halls of the famous Boston Latin, or as we called it BLS, I felt like I had done something right. There wasn't any good options for schools nearby, so this was it for me. Only two other kids from my grade school came were accepted in, so I would be making a clean start.

That's part of why I never talked about any kids in my grade school by name. They are all part of the past, and I wanted nothing to do with them anymore. Even my best friend from grade school, someone who was close to me drifted far away and into a different scene. The last time I would hear about him was during college, when my mom had told me in an email he had died or killed himself. I asked her what was the point, and she thought I would care. His father worked for some time at a prominent radio station as a DJ, and I once was able to see it. The world I experienced in high school would lead to the deterioration of every feeling I had left in my body.

My first year had not been a good year. In grade school, I had been utterly lazy. I understood everything quiet well, and was often asked to help write out questions for what was being taught. High school? Must be a cakewalk. I was mistaken.

Do you know what a classical education is comprised of? I really had no idea at first either. It is essentially a basic training to the mind, training a person to think critically and logically, and being able to orate as though you were speaking to the Roman senate. A utter load of crap in some respects, and yet a good path to making leaders. The first class I ever had was a Latin class, a language only used in describing specific names of parts of the body, plants, and animals. This was not a language normally spoken, and yet we were forced to anyways. I didn't understand it at all. In fact, I don't think in the five years of mandatory Latin I took I learned anything of value, much less anything at all. Aside from that, I took two forms of English that year, Reading Comprehension and English. Reading Comprehension was the most infuriating class I had ever experienced, yet the class that really prepared me for high school and college by teaching me how to stop using I in a paper. It's a really nit-picky, I admit, but it was a class where they taught people to express opinions naturally without the first person. The class included a mandatory exercise which would remain utterly useless in my eyes for most of my high school career: declamation.

Declamation taught me nothing of value, aside from the fact that I hate standing in front of crowds and talking. It also taught me how to memorize useless bits of data and recite them nervously while standing in front of a class. There would be prizes during the year for people of all grades who could do it professionally in front of several grades. It made me feel terrible, and made me wonder how it was that they were able to speak like this, so boldly with such passion and emotion without caring about the eyes following your every gesture. Watching people perform these with such gusto made me feel worse about every time after when I would do this.

English was similar to Reading Comprehension, but with less emphasis on caring about the little details. It was simply reading old books and plays which history proclaimed were great. Tom Sawyer, Romeo and Juliet, and other books were among the many piled into my backpack, semester after semester.

General Science was terrible. I had never felt so bored by anyone before. The teacher was just not interesting, as he proved to my friends as the Physics AP teacher. It's strange too, that when I was in second grade, I wanted to be a scientist. I thought learning the bits and pieces that make up the world was fascinating. This man made it utterly boring.

Gym was probably one of the worst experiences ever for me. Pretty much every year, being the fat kid doing jumping jacks poorly was one of the most embarrassing feelings to me. In catholic school, people were nice to each other because God didn't teach you to be a fucking prick. But in this godless world, I was just another person that everyone could dump shit on. I was so ashamed because of all those bastards whom I hated that I never changed with them, and just wore my gym clothes all day. I would sometimes just not come to class with the right clothes so I wouldn't have to participate. Music was better, because I didn't have to know music. I don't even remember what the hell we learned in that class. I can just assume it was a colossal waste of time, because like Art, we only took it for a year.

History was my biggest enemy my first year. I had nothing against learning about the past, but my teacher... that woman was just a mean bitch. I admit, I've never been a perfect student, but she just seemed more cruel than all the others. Her class was the first time I had failed in anything. I can't even remember if it was because I hadn't studied hard enough or what, but if I could change anything in my own life aside from being born, I would have tried during this year. This one mark of failure would just bring my morale down for a long time. I don't remember the consequences though. My parents always wanted my report card. It was all they cared about. How would they be able to brag to other people with out it. I can't remember what that moment must have been like, but I'll just assume it was like every other moment of my god forsaken life.
Screaming, being assaulted by that asshole, crying, avoiding talking to them, agreeing to their retarded promises to do better...

Fuck... I can't handle this right now. Let me get a drink.


Sorry about that. I get angry when I think about them. I don't usually drink much, but I find it calms my nerves a bit. A lot less to deal with than slashing your wrists too. See this? This is from when they first gave me the "what are you doing with your life?" speech. I hate that speech. It's a speech that just makes me want to scream "WHY DON'T YOU TELL ME, YOU FUCKERS? YOU SEEM TO HAVE AN IDEA OF WHAT YOU WANT ME TO BE!", but I can't. Their speeches aren't debates; they are more like rhetorical questions. You don't give an answer other the one they probably will slap out of you. This touched the top of my vein. I could never push deep, not unless I was really crying. I remember that bastard told me those scars are something everyone will see, and judge me because of. I thought that was stupid. These scars weren't something another person was going to judge me on; these were going to be part of my story. The story that their fake smiles can't hide. "Why are there scars on my arms? Because those two are such wonderful parents. This is a mark to remind me how wonderful I felt from their love."

High school for the most part could have been summed up like this. My parents were typical Asians: Straight A's or you're retarded. I couldn't live up to that. They were always throwing the impossible at me as reasonable goals. I just wished they would just be happy with what I do, stop this fucking judge me based on how the children of your friends did bullshit. They were not that kind of people.

The only thing I can say that was good about high school was my friends. They got me through pretty much anything, and to be honest, I don't feel I ever showed my thanks to them enough. I'd say in eigth or ninth grade, I started hanging around a few kids. They were kind of geeky, but that was a good thing. Being a geek is great, because you already know how people perceive you, so you can do just about anything, because the judgement will always be the same from the masses. They taught me to love soccer, a game we played after school practically every day. I remember having played for a while after playing little league in school, but never being that into it. Because I wasn't that talented, I was usually goalkeeper, just standing there to block the ball. I had done the same with my friends, but it was different. I didn't care that I was in some random position because of a lack of skill, I was with friends having fun. It was something I didn't understand as well till this point. My childhood was much like the little people in a snowglobe, only understanding the world inside their surroundings, able to see beyond yet never able to go there. My parents didn't let me go outside to play like a normal kid, so I sat indoors a lot and played video games, a decision they later regretted, blaming that on my anti-social nature and lack of interest in studying.

Having good friends is important. They're the ones who are going to look at you, and keep you right on your feet when family can't. You can talk to them about things that you can't talk to your family about too. Hell, they'll even smack sense into you when your parents give you crap. Good friends are hard to find. There's one easy way I've always used to determine which friends are keepers. All you have to do is upon the first time meeting someone, act as though you will never see the person again. Say outrageous things, and even get on their case. Don't go and just chew their asses off, but just say silly things you wouldn't normally say to people you're trying to make a good impression on. If they just get offended, they probably are taking things too seriously. The people who joke back with you, those are the keepers. They see your game, and get how to play.

Anyways, I don't want to talk too much about the specific events of my high school years. It makes me angry, and there's a lot of things that can be summed up as "I got embarrassed" or "my parents beat the living shit out of me because that's their one collective talent." So I'll just tell you an important story.

We were all playing soccer in the field near my school. My parents had gotten used to picking me up at 4ish, because they knew I'd be playing soccer. They thought it was good that I was being active, because I had brushed off the idea of being on the football team. It wasn't the fact that I hated a lot of the football players because they were dicks, but because I couldn't be bothered to waste my vacation on it. I was goalkeeper that day, and someone had kicked the ball out of bounds. I walked over to pick it up, and I don't recall what specifically happened, but I slipped and hurt my knee. My friends all helped me to a bench, calling over a football coach for our school's team because their practice was nearby. My right kneecap had rotated about 90 degrees from its natural position. I was in great pain, and trying not to curse too much. We didn't know what to do aside from wait for the coaches. We were only in 11th grade at the time, and had more book smarts than street smarts. The coaches rushed over, and looked at my kneed cap, which had gone back in place without being pushed. They told me I had dislocated it, and should go to a hospital to have it examined. A few people rushed to the front of the school, where my parents were, while 3 others hailed a cab. My school had been fortunately situated in the medical district, and after sliding me in and the others getting in, we rode off a few blocks to the nearest hospital, the hospital I had been born at, Beth Israel.

I remember just wanting to scream in the emergency waiting room, but restraining it. A young woman next to me was sitting with her father, asking me what was wrong, and I told them it was just a fall. After an hour of waiting, I went into a room, where the doctor's confirmed what the coaches had said: I had dislocated my knee. The x-rays looked troubling: there may have been a mild hairline fracture which could require surgery. My old man waited with me in the emergency room while my mom went home. My friends had left after my mom told them I would be alright. There were many people demanding to be helped, wanting to be transferred to a less busy hospital. I wasn't interested in moving. The doctor said that my body had produced a fluid to prevent me from moving my knee, so I was immobile. They put me on crutches and a leg immobilizer to prevent more damage, and gave me a prescription for strong aspirin. I went home to some warm soup, and some normal aspirin.

The next day I took off. My old man took the day off too. I could tell it was because he didn't like his work, but whatever. He wasn't being his normal psychotic self, and I basically sat around goofing off. It was a rare thing for my parents to give me a sick day from school. First grade with chicken pox? Just go. Constant cases of bronchitis? Just take your medicine and go. I had a few times when I couldn't be forced in. The flu, sprained ankle, sprained knee. All were nice days off. After one day though, I was bored. I actually wanted to be back at school. When I got back, there were people worried about me. The football team had seen my injury, and it was the talk of my grade. It was all superficial kindness though. I had people who truly cared.

Why did I bore you with that story? It was the story that got me into college. I used it to show how important the people closest to me were. It was a moment that really showed me that someone cared about me. I never understood that feeling.

My senior year was pretty frustrating. The legend of "senioritis" had hit many people hard, especially people like me taking the easiest group of classes. The big worry was trying to figure out where to go to college. The University of Massachusetts Amherst was a safety school for us all. We all knew we could get in. It wasn't even something we had to try hard for. They looked at honor and advanced placement classes with an extra 1 point to the GPA, and .5 to regular classes, or something like that. I had been to my guidence counselor, a crude troll woman who reminded me of a boar. She told me with my grades, many of my schools were reach schools, places she didn't think I would be get into without trying very hard. MIT I knew was out of my league, but all parents want their kids to apply to Harvard and MIT. I hadn't even had a clue what I wanted to do with my life, much less where I wanted to go. I really wanted to do something I enjoyed, so I thought graphics designs. I loved using Photoshop for making graphics, and I thought a career in that would be enjoyable. After much arguing between family and that bitch, I had given into applying to UMass Amherst and MIT, as well as other local schools such as Boston University, Boston College, and Bentley. The April of that year was very nerve-wracking for me. I remember taking a few letters to school to open, because we had all been celebrating getting in. I knew I was going to have a tough time getting in, but I had friends helped me out again. After being removed from a position in a club, my friends had made me secretary of their club, a club with multiple officers in the same position to boost our appearnce on our college applications. The club was pretty strange, having nothing to do with academics or social service, but rather gaming and anime. We were a direct affront to an anime club we had attended before, but we didn't care. We just had gaming right after school once a week, and the moment we got accepted, we locked out the underclassmen and just used it for afterschool gaming. I remember even just putting in some random major for UMass Amherst, Japanese, and getting in. The big package was beautiful, and was less worrying than a rejection letter. The few I had gotten I expected. The interview at MIT was just worrying, but I felt I should just do it. BU rejected me for not having a proper art portfolio. Apparantly having a digital portfolio for doing digital graphics as a major without real art talent. The one that had surprised me was Boston College. They only give out interviews for my high school, and their own private high school. I went in, amongst a few girls I knew, dressed up in a ridiculous green suit, and went in explaining the kind of person I was. Apparantly, I was not the right stuff for them. The school I ended up going to was an hour to the west, and was a school for true techies. After going to the open house invitation at Bentley, a college for business (whose essay about why I was interested in business I lied through my teeth about; I had no interest at all in business) with a quarter mile of vertical campus and tiny dorms, I had gone to see Worcester Polytechnic. It was an impressive school, with a small campus, good facilities, and had given me a small scholarship to attend. I knew on arrival I wanted to go there.

It's interesting though, because my friends all wanted to stay together in the area and go to Boston University. However, most of us had either gone elsewhere with better scholarships and cheaper tuition, or not gotten in. It was sad for us to all break apart, but we knew it was not the end of us.

One of the last things we had to do was help a friend get into a college. One of our closest friends had never been great in school. I know, I'm not one to talk, but this kid was on the verge of not graduating. We were not going to cross a stage without him. He was like a brother to all of us. We all began to gather in the library, trying to teach him calculus by any means. We worked ourselves to the bone, but it paid off. He made it with us.

By that time, we were able to relax a bit. We had earned ourselves two weeks off to do anything after doing 100 hours of community service. I had done various things, from helping to clean up Chinatown after two festivals, working in a hospital, and working in youth groups. In the end, I had about 80 hours, but the librarian knew I would always be in the computer area, helping out people, and so he awarded me with the time I needed. However, a few of us were bored, and in those 2 weeks, we'd come back to school. We just hung out in the computer labs, and played games over the location connection.

Anyways, I've already given enough details that you don't care about, but they still sort of mean something me. More interesting than the girls I liked but didn't like me, getting beaten by a pro gamer when my friend got mad I beat him and got up, getting to tell off a teacher who yelled at me for leaving class often on the day I tripped and slammed my foot into a door, spraining my ankle, or even having to help with that stupid Asian event I helped out at a club. I'll just skip to the ending.

Graduation day had been a big one. We only got a limited number of tickets, and so I gave them to my family. My folks, and my grandmothers showed up to watch. The weather was terrible and rainy, and we were out on the waterfront. But the ceremony itself was wonderful. Early in the day, my parents met my mentor in high school, the most important person in my life at the time. Mrs. Middleton had been a saint, personally writing my MIT recommendation, and teaching me for two of the six years I had attended BLS. She had always encouraged her students to reach for the skies, and do what you want. I think she was truly my muse later on, guiding me toward my future aspirations, and my folks knew this. They knew I loved her more than I loved them, and they were glad to finally meet her.

I had been behind the scenes, awaiting the big march. We went and sat in our seats, preparing for a big moment. We had been given one preparation run for the big walk, and told to be on good behavior. They didn't want the craziness they had had before, or risk the students graduating next year not being allowed to have a ceremony as nice as this. In good spirit, we basically said to fuck the next generation of seniors and tossed inflatable toys around, some of them being confiscated. After several speeches and ceremonies, we made the walk. The first set of claps were loud, full of exuberence as one would expect at such a ceremony, but as the time passed, the claps died down. People were happy they had gotten ther diplomas and their school insignia pin, and were waiting for the end. When my turn finally came, I was surprised. I thought I had been a nobody, a loser. But the claps were rather heavy for me, an average student in this school of prodigies. I could not have been happier.

After the ceremony, we had all went to a nice restaurant in Haymarket for a very nice piece of prime rib, and headed home.

I know, I said it would be much worse, but that's because I summarized everything. I could summarize the screaming as the same shit over and over. I could summarize the tears and the laughs as the same thing. I can't share it all with you, but I give you the important moments.

I've got to go get something to drink. Something not laced with Kahlua.