Your lowest moment? - Page 2

KrazeeStacee · 04-02-2003, 04:46 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Nimrod's Son

*hopes the faint is just the first symptom of a dangerous and possibly fatal illness that limits the use of your hands so you can't type anymore*

No, sorry, dear.

sawdust restaurants · 04-02-2003, 04:47 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Nimrod's Son
*hopes the faint is just the first symptom of a dangerous and possibly fatal illness that limits the use of your hands so you can't type anymore*

*hopes Michael Jackson fucks you and you get AIDS*

Nimrod's Son · 04:57 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin

Okay, dicklick, let me educate you for a moment.

a.) the point of these sorts of threads is to share your stories and let other share theirs. Most people don't feel comfortable saying something personal unless others get personal, too.

It is normally customary to have a "b.)" that follows an "a.)"

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin

Even though you and a handfull of others think I'm some attention whore, I'm not. I'm also not going to sit here and defend myself, its not me. So think what you must.

I will tell you the truth, however.

I am all ears!!

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin

As for my regrets, you have no idea what my morals and ideas are, so DON'T tell me what I regret and what I don't.

I have a pretty good idea of the morals of a chick who parties so hard on Saturday night that she forgets the orgy that took place on the church lawn.

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin

Regrets: Something you wish you hadn't done.
Mistakes: Something you shouldn't have done, but you learn from it.

Regret: Reading this post.
Mistake: Giving you a forum to grab more attention to yourself.

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin

The things I did then were mistakes, but I've learned from them, and they make me a better person for the present and future. I have no regrets, I only have one regret, but there's nothing I can do about it, here's why:

I made my mom cry because I ran away from home. I regret making her cry but I do not regret running away from home, because I learned from that experience. So its a catch 22, somewhat.

They may have been tears of joy. Shit, I'd cry too if you finally got out of my living space. I'd be able to cancel that noose order.

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin

So before you start flaming me and throwing these half-baked opinions of your around in my direction, I suggest you take a microscope to YOUR words, not mine, dear.

Now wait a minute, my opinions are all fully baked.

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin

And if you don't fucking care what my lowest moment is, then don't click on the damn thread.

Of course, Your Majesty!

noir cat · 04-02-2003, 04:59 PM

THIS CALLS FOR A PIECE I WROTE FOR MY CREATIVE WRITING CLASS. O, JOY!

(I don't know if this is the lowest point in my life, it might have been. I did have a shitty childhood, so there are lots of bad memories. Oh well. I dunno. Just wanted an excuse to share my writing).

O, Father, Who Art Thou? I Do Not Want to Know.

Driving my car on the road to my house always leads me to reminiscing. I enjoy the solitude provided by sitting in a moving vehicle. Alone with my thoughts, memories flicker through my mind like the shadows of venitian blinds dancing on the cold, white tile floor of my house. I am a middle classed Chinese-American, a recently naturalized US citizen. Driving home occasionally awakens the urge to ram my car headfirst into a quick, oncoming vehicle. A mixture of soul-weariness and lack of sleep arises violent emotions inside my usually passive self. Even my emotions take on passive tones and I feel like I am an observer of this bipedal body rather than an occupant. My thoughts today are of my father. It probably had to do with the visit I paid him last week so that he could give me money.

Late in the month of December 2002, my father bought his own house and moved out of his parents’. He did not take me with him. Since my biological mother abandoned me when I was born, it had fallen in the hands of my father to bring me up. My father is not an intelligent man. Perhaps it runs in the family, I am not sure. I do not communicate with my family, other than informing them of my grades, where I’m going, or what I ate for the day. Sharing with them any deeply personal information or emotion is a foreign concept with me. Not that I am not capable of such things, but merely with the members that I have occupied this house with, I simply cannot bring myself to do. Growing up with my father and his parents, I find that I do not blame my mother for leaving, and I have never held any hostile thoughts towards her. I regret that since I cannot speak to my family about any subject deeper than why meat should not be left on the counter to defrost for over twelve hours, because I know nothing about my mom or the history of the matriarchal side of the family. I think it is better left unsaid, as I cannot hold such discussions with them. I just hope that my real mother has passed on good, healthy genes to me. Today, when I refer to my family (or complain about them, rather), I usually mean my father and his parents that are my grandparents. I call my grandfather A-yeh and my grandmother A-mah. I call my father Papu, which was due to when I was a toddler the first time I tried to say Papa it came out to this unintentional nickname that I will forever refer to him by.

My dad had remarried when I was at the age of fourteen in 1996. He had to go to China beforehand in 1994 to search for a suitable wife, and brought my grandparents along for their approval. Of course, my family took me with them, since they never used to let me go anywhere or do anything without greatly intrusive supervision. My stepmother came into this country soon after she married my father in 1996. She too cannot tolerate my grandparents, and so with my father already being fed up with his parents for literally all his life they moved four houses away. I am still unsure as to the reason why they didn’t have me move in with them, but I do not ask and I do not care. I cannot say that I love my stepmother because I do not use the word love lightly, but I am fond of her, in a way that someone may grow fond of a bird that flies into the birdhouse in the backyard everyday and perch there. I think that she is a wonderful person from what little interaction I’ve had with her, but there is also a lack of communication. She speaks in a different Cantonese dialect than I, and she has a mild and unintrusive manner, so I would say that I like her most in the family that I live with.

Last week I had visited my father in his new house. It is a real pain in the ass to do so, as it is awkward for me to go over his house and actually think of things to say to him as opposed to just seeing him everyday and exchanging light, passing-by comments. Usually he will mention to me how annoying his parents are, which would be hilarious if it weren’t that he was so deadly serious about it, and he completely misses the irony in it. Since my father has moved, he had yet to speak to my grandparents. His comments on how annoying they are and his silence take me back to the days when from ages five to twelve when he and my grandparents did not ever speak to each other and had me verbally pass messages between them. They would always speak badly of each other and I felt like I was in a war zone. I had to take my dad’s side if I were to cross his part of the house and I had to take my grandparents’ side if I were to cross over to their part. There was an arbitrary line set up in the living room. My dad’s room and the bathroom are on one side, my grandparents’ room, the kitchen, and the door leading out to the backyard patio was on the other side. My father would always grumpily go to the kitchen and retrieve food as fast as possible and go back into his room, locking his door, watching TV and eating alone. I think Chinese people have the tendency to talk shit about other Chinese people once their backs are turned. My Chinese friends have complained about similar problem with their parents. My grandparents are always talking shit, or if there were no shit to talk about, they would invent something scandalous to fill their dinner conversations. Or else they would be talking about the way they cook (and they cook terribly) and they are always chewing their food and spiting it back out on the plate. They also have disgusting table manners, so it is amazing that I am as polite and normal as I am now.

I remember, how one time, after one of these disgustingly mannered lunches, I had begged my father to take me to the library. He had finished his solitary lunch in his room, and I was in there crying because he was making fun of me and refusing to take me anywhere during my summer vacation. After several minutes of my begging, and about a minute of my crying, he was frustrated and began threatening to belt me if I did not immediately shut up and stop crying. I tried my very best to stop, but I simply could not, as I was young and even at that age I felt such great injustice. My family would put me down and tell me what a terrible student I was, how dumb, fat, and unladylike I was, and how I should study more, when they would not even take me to the library to allow me to read books. They felt that my fictitious paperback (and sometimes hard cover) books were meaningless because they were not textbooks and they did not carry an educational look. Therefore those books have no purpose. So my father began belting me, on my legs (because it would be scandalous for people to see bruises and cuts on my face), with the metal part of it so that he can hurt me as much as possible.

My grandmother heard my screams and cries, so she rushes into the room to tell him to stop. He gets angry with her and they begin yelling. He is so outraged that since he cannot hit her, he storms into my grandparents’ room and instead yells at my grandfather while he was in the shower. My dad made some threats, and then he goes into the kitchen to get the butcher knife. My grandfather comes out of the shower, standing at the doorway of his room in his boxers and nothing else. He is saying things, I forget what. I am still crying and all I can think about is how I hated them all, that I wished we were all dead, and how ugly my grandfather looks with his heavily black mole covered face, bald head, and big round belly. By this time, my dad has a knife in hand and my grandfather is out the door, running. I had never seen him run, so I was fascinated and embarrassed to be in such a situation at the same time. He had run to a neighbor’s house to call the police who came shortly. All the while, my grandmother was beside me saying “See what a horrible father your dad is? See what I do for you? No, you will never be able to live without me. Without me, you would have been dead. Either your father or your grandfather will kill you. You know how they can’t stop themselves from hitting you. You will not be able to go anywhere in life without me, because there is no one there to protect you.” She laughs as a funny thought struck her and says “Ha! And you? Protecting yourself? Why, that is such a silly thought. So are you dumb and helpless. I pray that you will find a good husband, because I don’t think you will be able to do anything on your own. Oh, you will better hope that the day I die will be the same day you die.”

Such magical moments in my family as this one had turned to a tamer tune since I began middle school. Mostly because I was not a child anymore, or less of one anyway, and the beatings have stopped. I do not miss any of these things, and if I can help it, I block out these and many more memories like these as much as possible. When I look back on it now, I understand why my dad was the way he was. This does not mean I forgive him, just that I understand that my grandparents are a lot to put up with. My father had lived with them all his life because it is a cultural thing to live with all the generations of your family under one roof. On top of living with them, he also had to deal with his job, working in a Chinese restaurant. Being a waiter for life is hard work, and up until these past few years, he would work six days a week, from seven to ten hours a day. My father supported my grandparents and myself. It was a strange arrangement they had, my father would give my grandparents money every month or every two months in order to help out with the bills. It was also money for my grandparents to buy me food and clothes. In turn, my grandparents looked after me all the time while my father went to work.

I did not have any sort of familial relationship with my father, other than him taking me to school. Even that stopped when I began high school and I was relieved because I finally got to take the bus. I remember the very first day I took the bus, it was liberating for me until I realized that my whole entire family, dad, grandmother and grandfather were going to walk me there and wait until I got inside. I was mortified to say the least and angry. It was one of my first steps towards independence and they were ruining it for me. It was 6:15am and although it was morning, it still looked like night. I was fuming and I ran off to the bus stop, hoping they wouldn’t know where it was. Of course, they did know where it was and they found me. They were angry as well and completely did not understand why they couldn’t see me off. All they had in mind was how I was going to get abducted and raped six houses away, waiting for the bus with a group of other high schoolers. My family was irrational, overprotective, and insane. When I got on the bus, my grandmother was shouting at me to say goodbye to them, especially my father. In retrospect, I think I even hurt my father’s feelings.

In my junior year of high school I got hired on as a bus girl in Canton Restaurant on Galloway Street. The employers in my father’s restaurant were looking for a worker, so my father suggested me. Working with him at the same place actually brought us somewhat closer together. It was strange to me, because by that time in my life I convinced myself that I hated my family. Slowly, my hate began turning into tolerance and sympathy. There is still resentment in me, but I had a taste of what it is to be my father. He will always work at Chinese restaurants for the rest of his life because there is no other kinds of work out there for him. He has no options because he cannot speak English other than the utmost primitive words and the foods off the menu. He only speaks Chinese and Spanish. He is under appreciated and gets laughed at by his coworkers when his back was turned. My father is socially inept and is unable to adapt. He does not fit in with people. I realize then, how much stronger I was from my father. Secretly, I started to appreciate the chance he has given me to have a better life than he has. For two years I worked at that restaurant, up until the time I graduated high school. I was laid off because one of the managers of the place, who was also the son of one of the owners, wanted his son to take my job. And since I had the least flexible hours, I had to go. Actually, I was quite relieved because it was a physically draining job. I am almost sure my father misses me. And strange enough, I missed that bond between us, when he drove us home and we both complained about the customers and how terrible the pay was and just everything. I am very sorry that he has to be in that line of work with no end in sight until he is unable to demand anymore from his body.
It is very sad now, when I have to visit my father. He makes up these silly excuses for me to come by. The running excuse is if any mail comes to our house that is for him I should stop by and give it to him. I do visit my father out of obligation. I no longer hold anything against him, but I do feel pity and sympathy for him. Maybe in his old age he wants to get to know me now because I sense him wanting to establish a relationship with me and unsure how to go about it. However, I have a nagging suspicion that his reason for wanting to pursue a semblance of a father-daughter relationship is the very reason why he fathered me and took care of me all along. The same reason why my grandparents had my father and had him live with them fifty something odd years with them. Because they want someone to take care of them at their old age. Hopefully, with a young stepmother and a promise of a better job than my father, I will be able to send them enough money to get by while at the same time living far away from him.

noir cat · 04-02-2003, 05:02 PM

Don't bother to point out my mistakes, I think my Prof. and the rest of my class caught most if it. I hope. The tenses and stuff.

Nimrod's Son · 04-02-2003, 05:16 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by undivinemartyr
Don't bother to point out my mistakes, I think my Prof. and the rest of my class caught most if it. I hope. The tenses and stuff.

It's OK to have mistakes. I heard they are something you shouldn't have done, but you learn from it.

noir cat · 04-02-2003, 05:21 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Nimrod's Son
It's OK to have mistakes. I heard they are something you shouldn't have done, but you learn from it.

GRAMMAR MISTAKES. Sentence structures, wordings, mistypings, and other such silly things, silly.

KrazeeStacee · 04-02-2003, 05:26 PM

I had this whole response to nimrod, but then I realized, its not even worth arguing about it.

KrazeeStacee · 04-02-2003, 05:28 PM

I also have a new low moment, arguing with this twit.

Nimrod's Son · 04-02-2003, 05:33 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by BeautyOfTheDead
My most humiliating moment was when I dated a girl for the first time, and she convinced me she'd be there forever. When she left me for another girl I was humiliated because everyone knew that we had dated. I had no one, I was "the high school lesbian". GRRRRR. That was 2 years ago.

Do you happen to have any pictures of you and her making out?

Nimrod's Son · 04-02-2003, 05:34 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin
I had this whole response to nimrod, but then I realized, its not even worth arguing about it.

a.) no one gives a shit.

Crippler · 04-02-2003, 05:38 PM

Jumping into the trash can in a fit of hysteria in my 7th grade English because EVERYONE wouldn't stop making fun of me....day after day after day after day after day....

KrazeeStacee · 04-02-2003, 05:39 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Nimrod's Son

a.) no one gives a shit.

And yet you feel the need to tell me that? Hmm...

THRILLHO · 04-02-2003, 05:41 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Crippler
Jumping into the trash can in a fit of hysteria in my 7th grade English because EVERYONE wouldn't stop making fun of me....day after day after day after day after day....

that's fucked up. every day you ended up jumping into the same trash can? what, they couldn't find you there anymore?

right now all i can remember is the time every girl in my grade 5 class caught me without pants, but i can sense a bunch of repressed stuff i made myself forget that'll i'll have to concentrate on for a while in order to resurface.

Crippler · 04-02-2003, 05:46 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by THRILLHO

that's fucked up. every day you ended up jumping into the same trash can? what, they couldn't find you there anymore?

No, I only jumped in once in a fit of hysteria. The other 7th graders made fun of me day after day after day...it was a terrible time to be me.

KrazeeStacee · 04-02-2003, 05:52 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Graveflower
Locking myself in the bathroom at school in the 4th grade because I had gone in there (long story, because I ALWAYS avoid public bathrooms) during lunch and immediately people began cracking fat jokes, and of course hitting me because I wouldn't do anything back. So I ran into the last stall, and locked it. People tossed toilet paper in after me (for all I know it could have been used) and splashed water (i hope) on me and leaned over taunting me. I lost it and got up and hit one of them in the nose, and he ran off, but they mostly stayed there until it was time to go back to class. I stayed in there crying for another hour before teachers started coming in and trying to get me out. Eventually they had a janitor reach over and open the lock. I got suspended for 1 week.

Omg, between this story and Crippler's, I'm getting all teary eyed. Thats really sad that kids can be that mean. Fuck.

Nimrod's Son · 04-02-2003, 06:02 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Crippler

No, I only jumped in once in a fit of hysteria. The other 7th graders made fun of me day after day after day...it was a terrible time to be me.

What was it that they mocked? Did you jump in in order to hide?

Irrelevant · 04-02-2003, 06:05 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin

i broke someone's glasses. it was very despicable, and i regret it very much.

KrazeeStacee · 04-02-2003, 06:11 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Irrelevant

DAMMIT! I was waiting for you to post something and I was gonna say "Well you're gonna be feeling pretty low when I smash your glasses!!"

Damn you, daaaamn you.

Irrelevant · 04-02-2003, 06:23 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by KrazeePumpkin

DAMMIT! I was waiting for you to post something and I was gonna say "Well you're gonna be feeling pretty low when I smash your glasses!!"

Damn you, daaaamn you.

did you miss this one?

http://www.netphoria.org/forums/show...threadid=19548

KrazeeStacee · 04-02-2003, 06:33 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Irrelevant

did you miss this one?

http://www.netphoria.org/forums/show...threadid=19548

i totally missed that one.

papapishuman · 04-02-2003, 06:38 PM

the day someone stole my bag in which i had my lucky yoyo .... i really liked that yoyo

argggg life can be so cruel ....

slugger · 04-03-2003, 02:47 AM

hmm....

one day when i was about sixish..

went to school and got physically dragged to a coat rack by a teacher cuz i didn't have my coat off. later on i went for a bike ride with my mom. got hit by a van and my arm got broken. missed my little softball game and my team got second place cuz of it. that night my dad showed up and started a fight with my mom. the cops were questioning me about if i saw my dad push my mom. I didn't know what to do so i just cried and cried so fucking much.

or maybe the one time when i got my ass beat back in 7th grade. i was beat up bad as hell, two black eyes and big huge bumps on my forehead. my mom was flipped out and that didn't help me none. plus i got suspended from school for it too. then my mom makes me go to the police station, which i always strongly against. when i got there the cop was an asshole. "He did that? One guy? Just his hands?" fucking pigs!

getting shot at was scary too...

getting stabbed and having my throat slit was scary but the kid was a bitch and i was ok.

naww actually, those are physical mostly they ain't really shit.

the worst is either dropping outta high school because i thought making two grand every three or four months or so would make me a bonafied ass high roller or something or when i fell in love.

or listening to people whine cuz people called them fat when they was a kid, that's pretty low too.

i'm losing weight like a muthafucka, i used to be called "BTN" or "Big Titty Nick" get off your ass or at least stop whining. Represent! FAT PRIDE!

obscured01 · 04-03-2003, 11:09 AM

Comming to the realization of how out of control I was with food... that I wasn't just a little "chubby" - I was obese in every sense of the word and putting my health at total risk. - September/October 2002

Realizing that people online do not mean more than those close to you in real life. Realizing that I nearly lost the only person, besides family - who loves me, really loves me, for something that didn't matter in the first place. - April 2002

2002 was a fucked up year for me. 2003 has proven to be much better though.

Best Looking Boy · 04-03-2003, 12:10 PM

reading this thread, all uphill from here bitches

TiaraGurl · 04-03-2003, 01:44 PM

Spring 1984

August 2, 1989

Feburary 3+4, 2000

9/11/01 was pretty bad but for me personally i was not that affected in a general way.

yeah even still things have been good.

Crippler · 04-03-2003, 02:26 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Nimrod's Son

What was it that they mocked? Did you jump in in order to hide?

All right, as long as we're being honest...

My voice hadn't changed yet when I was in 7th grade, and thus EVERYONE, guys and girls, loved to make fun of my high voice. The running gag was calling my name in a falsetto ALL THE FREAKING TIME....and that was only part of it. The jumping in the trash can thing was done on my part to illustrate a point on one occassion when the teasing was at its very worst (in the middle of English class, no less)...I felt like trash, and in tears I jumped into a tall trash can and screamed as they all teased and laughed, "ISN'T THIS WHERE TRASH GOES??!"

The funny thing is, after that incident, things FINALLY started to improve for me.

I STILL haven't heard the end of that one.

Nimrod's Son · 04-03-2003, 02:39 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Crippler

All right, as long as we're being honest...

My voice hadn't changed yet when I was in 7th grade, and thus EVERYONE, guys and girls, loved to make fun of my high voice. The running gag was calling my name in a falsetto ALL THE FREAKING TIME....and that was only part of it. The jumping in the trash can thing was done on my part to illustrate a point on one occassion when the teasing was at its very worst (in the middle of English class, no less)...I felt like trash, and in tears I jumped into a tall trash can and screamed as they all teased and laughed, "ISN'T THIS WHERE TRASH GOES??!"

The funny thing is, after that incident, things FINALLY started to improve for me.

I STILL haven't heard the end of that one.

Dude that totally sucks. I think I can finally overlook that you're a Redwings fan.

Crippler · 04-03-2003, 02:46 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Nimrod's Son

Dude that totally sucks. I think I can finally overlook that you're a Redwings fan.

They're better than your team, bitch.

Nimrod's Son · 04-03-2003, 02:48 PM

Quote:

Originally posted by Crippler

They're better than your team, bitch.

You don't even know what my team is....

04-02-2003, 04:59 PM	#34
noir cat Socialphobic Location: Hicksville, NY Posts: 11,699	THIS CALLS FOR A PIECE I WROTE FOR MY CREATIVE WRITING CLASS. O, JOY! (I don't know if this is the lowest point in my life, it might have been. I did have a shitty childhood, so there are lots of bad memories. Oh well. I dunno. Just wanted an excuse to share my writing). O, Father, Who Art Thou? I Do Not Want to Know. Driving my car on the road to my house always leads me to reminiscing. I enjoy the solitude provided by sitting in a moving vehicle. Alone with my thoughts, memories flicker through my mind like the shadows of venitian blinds dancing on the cold, white tile floor of my house. I am a middle classed Chinese-American, a recently naturalized US citizen. Driving home occasionally awakens the urge to ram my car headfirst into a quick, oncoming vehicle. A mixture of soul-weariness and lack of sleep arises violent emotions inside my usually passive self. Even my emotions take on passive tones and I feel like I am an observer of this bipedal body rather than an occupant. My thoughts today are of my father. It probably had to do with the visit I paid him last week so that he could give me money. Late in the month of December 2002, my father bought his own house and moved out of his parents’. He did not take me with him. Since my biological mother abandoned me when I was born, it had fallen in the hands of my father to bring me up. My father is not an intelligent man. Perhaps it runs in the family, I am not sure. I do not communicate with my family, other than informing them of my grades, where I’m going, or what I ate for the day. Sharing with them any deeply personal information or emotion is a foreign concept with me. Not that I am not capable of such things, but merely with the members that I have occupied this house with, I simply cannot bring myself to do. Growing up with my father and his parents, I find that I do not blame my mother for leaving, and I have never held any hostile thoughts towards her. I regret that since I cannot speak to my family about any subject deeper than why meat should not be left on the counter to defrost for over twelve hours, because I know nothing about my mom or the history of the matriarchal side of the family. I think it is better left unsaid, as I cannot hold such discussions with them. I just hope that my real mother has passed on good, healthy genes to me. Today, when I refer to my family (or complain about them, rather), I usually mean my father and his parents that are my grandparents. I call my grandfather A-yeh and my grandmother A-mah. I call my father Papu, which was due to when I was a toddler the first time I tried to say Papa it came out to this unintentional nickname that I will forever refer to him by. My dad had remarried when I was at the age of fourteen in 1996. He had to go to China beforehand in 1994 to search for a suitable wife, and brought my grandparents along for their approval. Of course, my family took me with them, since they never used to let me go anywhere or do anything without greatly intrusive supervision. My stepmother came into this country soon after she married my father in 1996. She too cannot tolerate my grandparents, and so with my father already being fed up with his parents for literally all his life they moved four houses away. I am still unsure as to the reason why they didn’t have me move in with them, but I do not ask and I do not care. I cannot say that I love my stepmother because I do not use the word love lightly, but I am fond of her, in a way that someone may grow fond of a bird that flies into the birdhouse in the backyard everyday and perch there. I think that she is a wonderful person from what little interaction I’ve had with her, but there is also a lack of communication. She speaks in a different Cantonese dialect than I, and she has a mild and unintrusive manner, so I would say that I like her most in the family that I live with. Last week I had visited my father in his new house. It is a real pain in the ass to do so, as it is awkward for me to go over his house and actually think of things to say to him as opposed to just seeing him everyday and exchanging light, passing-by comments. Usually he will mention to me how annoying his parents are, which would be hilarious if it weren’t that he was so deadly serious about it, and he completely misses the irony in it. Since my father has moved, he had yet to speak to my grandparents. His comments on how annoying they are and his silence take me back to the days when from ages five to twelve when he and my grandparents did not ever speak to each other and had me verbally pass messages between them. They would always speak badly of each other and I felt like I was in a war zone. I had to take my dad’s side if I were to cross his part of the house and I had to take my grandparents’ side if I were to cross over to their part. There was an arbitrary line set up in the living room. My dad’s room and the bathroom are on one side, my grandparents’ room, the kitchen, and the door leading out to the backyard patio was on the other side. My father would always grumpily go to the kitchen and retrieve food as fast as possible and go back into his room, locking his door, watching TV and eating alone. I think Chinese people have the tendency to talk shit about other Chinese people once their backs are turned. My Chinese friends have complained about similar problem with their parents. My grandparents are always talking shit, or if there were no shit to talk about, they would invent something scandalous to fill their dinner conversations. Or else they would be talking about the way they cook (and they cook terribly) and they are always chewing their food and spiting it back out on the plate. They also have disgusting table manners, so it is amazing that I am as polite and normal as I am now. I remember, how one time, after one of these disgustingly mannered lunches, I had begged my father to take me to the library. He had finished his solitary lunch in his room, and I was in there crying because he was making fun of me and refusing to take me anywhere during my summer vacation. After several minutes of my begging, and about a minute of my crying, he was frustrated and began threatening to belt me if I did not immediately shut up and stop crying. I tried my very best to stop, but I simply could not, as I was young and even at that age I felt such great injustice. My family would put me down and tell me what a terrible student I was, how dumb, fat, and unladylike I was, and how I should study more, when they would not even take me to the library to allow me to read books. They felt that my fictitious paperback (and sometimes hard cover) books were meaningless because they were not textbooks and they did not carry an educational look. Therefore those books have no purpose. So my father began belting me, on my legs (because it would be scandalous for people to see bruises and cuts on my face), with the metal part of it so that he can hurt me as much as possible. My grandmother heard my screams and cries, so she rushes into the room to tell him to stop. He gets angry with her and they begin yelling. He is so outraged that since he cannot hit her, he storms into my grandparents’ room and instead yells at my grandfather while he was in the shower. My dad made some threats, and then he goes into the kitchen to get the butcher knife. My grandfather comes out of the shower, standing at the doorway of his room in his boxers and nothing else. He is saying things, I forget what. I am still crying and all I can think about is how I hated them all, that I wished we were all dead, and how ugly my grandfather looks with his heavily black mole covered face, bald head, and big round belly. By this time, my dad has a knife in hand and my grandfather is out the door, running. I had never seen him run, so I was fascinated and embarrassed to be in such a situation at the same time. He had run to a neighbor’s house to call the police who came shortly. All the while, my grandmother was beside me saying “See what a horrible father your dad is? See what I do for you? No, you will never be able to live without me. Without me, you would have been dead. Either your father or your grandfather will kill you. You know how they can’t stop themselves from hitting you. You will not be able to go anywhere in life without me, because there is no one there to protect you.” She laughs as a funny thought struck her and says “Ha! And you? Protecting yourself? Why, that is such a silly thought. So are you dumb and helpless. I pray that you will find a good husband, because I don’t think you will be able to do anything on your own. Oh, you will better hope that the day I die will be the same day you die.” Such magical moments in my family as this one had turned to a tamer tune since I began middle school. Mostly because I was not a child anymore, or less of one anyway, and the beatings have stopped. I do not miss any of these things, and if I can help it, I block out these and many more memories like these as much as possible. When I look back on it now, I understand why my dad was the way he was. This does not mean I forgive him, just that I understand that my grandparents are a lot to put up with. My father had lived with them all his life because it is a cultural thing to live with all the generations of your family under one roof. On top of living with them, he also had to deal with his job, working in a Chinese restaurant. Being a waiter for life is hard work, and up until these past few years, he would work six days a week, from seven to ten hours a day. My father supported my grandparents and myself. It was a strange arrangement they had, my father would give my grandparents money every month or every two months in order to help out with the bills. It was also money for my grandparents to buy me food and clothes. In turn, my grandparents looked after me all the time while my father went to work. I did not have any sort of familial relationship with my father, other than him taking me to school. Even that stopped when I began high school and I was relieved because I finally got to take the bus. I remember the very first day I took the bus, it was liberating for me until I realized that my whole entire family, dad, grandmother and grandfather were going to walk me there and wait until I got inside. I was mortified to say the least and angry. It was one of my first steps towards independence and they were ruining it for me. It was 6:15am and although it was morning, it still looked like night. I was fuming and I ran off to the bus stop, hoping they wouldn’t know where it was. Of course, they did know where it was and they found me. They were angry as well and completely did not understand why they couldn’t see me off. All they had in mind was how I was going to get abducted and raped six houses away, waiting for the bus with a group of other high schoolers. My family was irrational, overprotective, and insane. When I got on the bus, my grandmother was shouting at me to say goodbye to them, especially my father. In retrospect, I think I even hurt my father’s feelings. In my junior year of high school I got hired on as a bus girl in Canton Restaurant on Galloway Street. The employers in my father’s restaurant were looking for a worker, so my father suggested me. Working with him at the same place actually brought us somewhat closer together. It was strange to me, because by that time in my life I convinced myself that I hated my family. Slowly, my hate began turning into tolerance and sympathy. There is still resentment in me, but I had a taste of what it is to be my father. He will always work at Chinese restaurants for the rest of his life because there is no other kinds of work out there for him. He has no options because he cannot speak English other than the utmost primitive words and the foods off the menu. He only speaks Chinese and Spanish. He is under appreciated and gets laughed at by his coworkers when his back was turned. My father is socially inept and is unable to adapt. He does not fit in with people. I realize then, how much stronger I was from my father. Secretly, I started to appreciate the chance he has given me to have a better life than he has. For two years I worked at that restaurant, up until the time I graduated high school. I was laid off because one of the managers of the place, who was also the son of one of the owners, wanted his son to take my job. And since I had the least flexible hours, I had to go. Actually, I was quite relieved because it was a physically draining job. I am almost sure my father misses me. And strange enough, I missed that bond between us, when he drove us home and we both complained about the customers and how terrible the pay was and just everything. I am very sorry that he has to be in that line of work with no end in sight until he is unable to demand anymore from his body. It is very sad now, when I have to visit my father. He makes up these silly excuses for me to come by. The running excuse is if any mail comes to our house that is for him I should stop by and give it to him. I do visit my father out of obligation. I no longer hold anything against him, but I do feel pity and sympathy for him. Maybe in his old age he wants to get to know me now because I sense him wanting to establish a relationship with me and unsure how to go about it. However, I have a nagging suspicion that his reason for wanting to pursue a semblance of a father-daughter relationship is the very reason why he fathered me and took care of me all along. The same reason why my grandparents had my father and had him live with them fifty something odd years with them. Because they want someone to take care of them at their old age. Hopefully, with a young stepmother and a promise of a better job than my father, I will be able to send them enough money to get by while at the same time living far away from him.

04-02-2003, 05:02 PM	#35
noir cat Socialphobic Location: Hicksville, NY Posts: 11,699	Don't bother to point out my mistakes, I think my Prof. and the rest of my class caught most if it. I hope. The tenses and stuff.

04-02-2003, 05:26 PM	#38
KrazeeStacee Immortal Location: Sherwood Forest Posts: 21,296	I had this whole response to nimrod, but then I realized, its not even worth arguing about it.

04-02-2003, 05:28 PM	#39
KrazeeStacee Immortal Location: Sherwood Forest Posts: 21,296	I also have a new low moment, arguing with this twit.

04-02-2003, 05:38 PM	#42
Crippler Apocalyptic Poster Location: Up in this bitch Posts: 4,446	Jumping into the trash can in a fit of hysteria in my 7th grade English because EVERYONE wouldn't stop making fun of me....day after day after day after day after day....

04-02-2003, 06:38 PM	#52
papapishuman Pledge Location: Belgium !! Alley !! Posts: 96	the day someone stole my bag in which i had my lucky yoyo .... i really liked that yoyo argggg life can be so cruel ....

04-03-2003, 02:47 AM	#53
slugger Banned Location: in your head Posts: 1,101	hmm.... one day when i was about sixish.. went to school and got physically dragged to a coat rack by a teacher cuz i didn't have my coat off. later on i went for a bike ride with my mom. got hit by a van and my arm got broken. missed my little softball game and my team got second place cuz of it. that night my dad showed up and started a fight with my mom. the cops were questioning me about if i saw my dad push my mom. I didn't know what to do so i just cried and cried so fucking much. or maybe the one time when i got my ass beat back in 7th grade. i was beat up bad as hell, two black eyes and big huge bumps on my forehead. my mom was flipped out and that didn't help me none. plus i got suspended from school for it too. then my mom makes me go to the police station, which i always strongly against. when i got there the cop was an asshole. "He did that? One guy? Just his hands?" fucking pigs! getting shot at was scary too... getting stabbed and having my throat slit was scary but the kid was a bitch and i was ok. naww actually, those are physical mostly they ain't really shit. the worst is either dropping outta high school because i thought making two grand every three or four months or so would make me a bonafied ass high roller or something or when i fell in love. or listening to people whine cuz people called them fat when they was a kid, that's pretty low too. i'm losing weight like a muthafucka, i used to be called "BTN" or "Big Titty Nick" get off your ass or at least stop whining. Represent! FAT PRIDE!

04-03-2003, 11:09 AM	#54
obscured01 Minion of Satan Location: DFW Tejas Posts: 9,693	Comming to the realization of how out of control I was with food... that I wasn't just a little "chubby" - I was obese in every sense of the word and putting my health at total risk. - September/October 2002 Realizing that people online do not mean more than those close to you in real life. Realizing that I nearly lost the only person, besides family - who loves me, really loves me, for something that didn't matter in the first place. - April 2002 2002 was a fucked up year for me. 2003 has proven to be much better though.

04-03-2003, 12:10 PM	#55
Best Looking Boy Apocalyptic Poster Location: Austin, TX Posts: 3,414	reading this thread, all uphill from here bitches

04-03-2003, 01:44 PM	#56
TiaraGurl No Whickety Whack Location: 718 area code Posts: 688	Spring 1984 August 2, 1989 Feburary 3+4, 2000 9/11/01 was pretty bad but for me personally i was not that affected in a general way. yeah even still things have been good.