I have four papers and two finals today and I am bugging out so hard. For one of my papers, I basically had to write about myself and then follow up with theories explaining certain things. So I decided to write out my story first and then plug in the theories... Which I thought would be a good blog. What is this blog going to be about? It's about who I am and why I turned out the way I did.

When I went around campus to see how people view me as a person, I would hear “oh, he’s a great guy.”, “ A real sweet heart.”, “great person to talk to if you are ever in trouble.”, “He’s so involved and really mature.”, “I love this kid”; in general, I am perceived as an all-around good guy  that can seem to do know wrong. I find this a little bit humorous, in a bittersweet sense. For if someone took a look at who I am three years ago, or any time prior to those years, those would be very different words. How different? All I have to say is that I am a three time suicide survivor, suffered anxiety neurosis, and severe depression; surprise? I’m a firm believer in the idea that “your past makes you who you are today”. I don’t necessarily believe that your past defines who you are, but instead it is the foundation of how a person turns out the way they do.

                Growing up, I grew up in a pretty rigid and brick schedule environment. Self- expression was not tolerated in my house hold and anything that was not approved by my parent’s approval first was taboo. In short, I did not have a typical American childhood. In retrospect, this is not really too surprising. I was the first born male in my family. In the Asian culture, the first born, especially the son, is supposed to be their treasure. So they will do anything they can to nurture their pride and joy to become something they can show off to the rest of the world as their trophy. It really did not help that my teachers, tutors, and coaches saw me as a quick learner; me always wanting to make my parents happy didn’t help with my upbringing either. As far back as I can remember, my “friends” were always screened by my parents to make sure that they were going to be good influences that would promote a mentally stimulating environment. If that was not the case, they would tell me to not be friends with them anymore and make sure I do not stay in contact with them.  On that off chance, that they received my parent’s approval, I would always be compared to them. My best friend was my biggest competition. To make sure that I would be able to catch up with my best friend, every day, every hour was booked with extra classes, swimming/tennis/piano/violin classes, and Chinese school. If I did not receive a satisfactory report from my educators, I would be disciplined or scolded. This was my parents attempt to make me a “better son”.  By the time I was 7, I had learned to be terrified of my parents, to never trust my educators, to keep everything to myself as long as I could, and to see myself as nothing more than a failure.

                When I was thirteen, and got into high school, I had not acknowledged that I had depression and anxiety yet. I would have already hallucinated shadows crawling out of the dark corners to stop and stare at me, wondering how much easier would it be if I just walked into traffic, drowning myself into angry and angsty music to find solace, running away into my books to go and dream that of myself as a knight in the olden days; the escapes would only last for so long. Sleep was a luxury to me, and my thoughts would never allow me to sleep. I had always assumed this was normal and I would grow out of this; since I had learned that during puberty, everyone goes through hormonal changes. I just had to tough it out.  By my second year in high school, I had already made the three attempts at my life. It was painful and lonely. I had wanted it all to end. I was about to make a fourth attempt, but something unexpected to me. In my Chinese school, the place I had hated the most, I found my savior; my kung fu teacher. I’m not too sure if he noticed my mental state, but he took a liking to me. In my kung fu class, if the master takes a liking into you, that means he tends to pick on you; meaning I became the demonstration for the audiences and other students whenever he wanted to show the effectiveness of a technique or stance. So one day, he took me up to show people how to spar, he would always call it “free fighting” , apparently, I was doing a lot better than he expected in holding myself against him. So he decided to do a fancy combo kick. A kick to my neck, followed up with a spin drop kick to my chest. I was flat on the ground. Instead of looking worried, he goes over to me, looks at me, and asks with a smirk and hand out, “you okay?” in that moment in time, he had saved my life.

                He gave me a reason to stay alive. Instead of always pining for my parents expectations, which I would seemingly never would be able to do; and a goal I was giving up on, my new mission in life, was to become strong enough that one day, while he’s still in his prime, to be able to do the same exact thing to him one day. Soon after, he disappeared to go back to China to take care of something. Always hoping he would return, I would train to show him how much I have improved. I never heard of him again until recently. I had learned that he became the honorary president of the Kung fu association in China. I was still severely depressed and anxious, but because of him, I never made another attempt at my life again.

                After High School, I was accepted to multiple colleges. I chose to go to SUNY Binghamton because I saw it as an escape from “home”; an escape from my parents. That was the biggest mistake of my life. My depression and anxiety only grew worse. I would always be haunted by my thoughts of failure, going through relationships where I ended up either jilted or cheated on, not really knowing what I wanted to do with my life, except for the dream of eventually being a super hero or knight one day; I had turned to alcohol and sex. It was the only thing that I seemed to know I could do correctly, and I would use that as my escape. When I thought things couldn’t get worse, my insomnia had turned into hypersomnia. I would sleep up 14-15 hours a day and I never wanted to wake up. Soon after, I came back home and ended up in therapy and in Brookdale Community College.

                Two years have passed since that time, I am graduating with a degree in psychology, my depression and anxiety have finally gone into remission, I have a normal sleep pattern, became the president of the Asian Club in my school, ended up in Dean’s list, became a hyperactive member of the Student Life Board, and finally found true relationships that weren’t there just for me to be compared to, but people who I could be around and be myself. And as of fall of 2012, I will be a student in Rowan University pursuing two degrees; psychology and public relations. Going through all of these things, I have learned to finally accept myself for who I am, and to use my past to make sure that I can cope better with whatever the future holds for me. But more importantly, I had found myself.

Just a small plug for Adam Levine because I'm in love with his song right now.

First of all, before I tell this story here, I just have to make something clear here. My mother thinks I'm an absolute failure. She has recently just stated that she hopes she dies before me, so she won't have to look bad for not wanting to attend my funeral (this is in response to her figuring out I haven't quit smoking). 

So now onto my brother:

He's currently in Rutgers studying to become a Physical Therapist (a rehab unit). He's currently a Sophmore with a minor in social justice. He has a few jobs on campus, and has done a great job making a name for himself. This is my brother.

Did I forget to mention? My brother is Gay. This was him at the drag fest. And honestly, on that day, I have never been more proud of him than ever.

This was his attempt at trying to make me walk in heels.... I empathize with women all over the world.

He went around being a drag, that caught everyone's attention, as Ms. Bangkok; and he did it well. He pointed me out of course as his blood brother. Ha ha. 

Growing up, My parents and everyone had expectations of me because I was a quick learner, and it seemed like I was going to take off and do something amazing with my life. For him.... he wasn't the brightest kid in the beginning, and he was a bit socially awkward. No one really did expect anything from him. I just knew that he was my little brother and I loved him for who he is. As he got older, he got more annoying, and a lot of the times I wouldn't want to talk to him. Why? because I really do find him annoying. But there is no one I am more proud of than my little brother. 

When everyone thought poorly of him, or didn't expect anything from him, he stepped up and proved  everyone wrong. Hell, he's still proving everyone wrong. Gay, straight, trangender, I don't give a flying fuck. He is my little brother. And I am proud to be related to him. 

At home, my family is still in denial that he is gay. And they threatened to disown him if ever comes out again to say that he is. But still, He's going to college to live the life HE wants. Not what his parents dictated. That is something I wish I did. Growing up listening to what I wanted. Not what they wanted. And in the end, growing up, lying to myself about who I was and what I wanted is what fucked me up and made me fall. 

Maybe that's why I'm so proud of him. He did something I never really did. Live for myself. Phil, If you're reading this; I know I never said this enough to you; But I love you, and I'm proud to be your older brother. 

My grandma passed away in Friday. At 11:52 PM. 84 years old. From Liver Cancer. Three minutes later; I got home, from work.

The whole family is in a bit of a mess, but they're all pulling through because they have to. Except for the few loose strings. My mom is taking it pretty hard. But she's toughing it out.

The worst thing about this situation, is that I feel guilty. Very guilty. I felt like I chose work over my Grandma's last moments. I had a choice whether if I should leave the restaurant with my dad, but with the situation at the time, it would have left the front with only one person to take the orders and pack the food. It was going to be too much. So I told him to go to mom and I will stay behind and wait for the replacement to come and take my place, then I would proceed to go to New York. 

The replacement never came.  My dad called me telling me to stay until closing and then take care of everything and act as the manager then. I thought my grandma would have at least another day. Or that it was just something light that she would bounce right back with. So I did my job. 

She passed away in Friday. At 11:52 PM. 84 years old. From Liver Cancer. Three minutes later; I got home, from work.

The day after, I went back to work from 10 am to 11:30 pm as acting manager again to let my parents grieve with the rest of the family. 

Rationally speaking, I did the responsible thing. I let my dad be there for my mom, and I stayed behind to make sure that the restaurant would be okay. I know that I did the responsible thing, but inside of me, there is something eating at me. Telling me what type of person I am. Making me question if I'm really who I am. Am I someone who would choose my work over my family? When someone is in need of me, am I going to choose my prior obligations? Who am I?

When My grandma, laying in her deathbed, who has always been there for everyone; Was always there to support everyone. The only grandma I know who would walk in front of a car because she thinks something that small cant hurt her.The only grandma I know who would hit punks crowding the side walk with a bag of crabs because they were in the way. The only grandma I know who would get into a fight with punks on the street, and then use her emergency alarm as a threat to scare them off. The only grandma I know who would steal red lobster biscuits, hide them in her purse, and then ask us to get us a new batch from the waitress.  I chose to work. 

I miss her. Everyone in the family does. I don't think I made the right choice.