Biography

[Frost Guardian]

Note to mods: Sorry. I'm not sure what this exactly falls under. I needed to pour out feelings and desperately needed to compile it up into this. This isn't fiction, since it's pretty much a true story. But it isn't exactly misc. writing either(non story according to the guide), so sorry if I misplaced it. And if you don't think it deems worthy of a thread, feel free to lock/delete.


When I was going to enter seventh grade, my parents decided to move out to the suburbs. The reasons would be thrown in my face excessively over the forthcoming years, they didn't want me to go to a dangerous school with the wrong sort of people in the city since they thought I wouldn't be able to achieve a high enough score to go to the "good school" which was safeguarded from the relative vileness of the city. I had a bit of eagerness for the plan and was eager to make new friends, hide away bad memories of my quaint neighborhood life where I went the local Catholic school. Everybody was close seemly, except me. I had grown up with my parents restricting my time outside since they didn't trust me with my own life. And so I became isolated, lived on video games and such, and I had no friends by sixth grade. I prevailed that year though, gaining the hearts of everybody by becoming a funny, somewhat random person. And in truth, I was that kid, so I wasn't lying to myself. So I was disappointed of leaving that too, but I appreciated the thought of getting a new fresh start, where people would not be reminded of my past embarrassing moments, which I thought outweighed my likeability in sixth grade. But I firmly thought it was for the better. Now, I don't know anymore.

My friends told me they wouldn't survive without me, but I was well aware they could. And we parted our ways seemly in silence. I keep contact with them still, but it's not the same over instant message and phone. And although I eventually visited them twice over the recent years, it just feels empty now. I hoped to quickly adjust, with public school and all and gain some friends. I still wasn't allowed to walk alone outside, on the account of my mother, who would promptly follow me but my cousin and his husband persuaded her not to but was met with the cost of my father giving me a scolding for telling her about my scenario. I didn't take advantage of the freedom but I soon found myself socializing for the first time in my life outside of school as the year began again. I was quickly made an instant celebrity because of my general awkwardness ranging from the way I talked and looked, and maybe did things. They seemed like to me, I thought. But things quickly crumbled as they began to realize I was pretty lame in their eyes. And eventually, everyday at the bus stop, they would pelt me with rocks and call me gay and such. I did what I could though and eventually a multitude of things happened. There were two groups that appreciated me and didn't, or interweaved with each other in confusing ways where one guy who pick on me one day, and be my best friend the other. But either way, they thought I was funny. I was clumsy, a bit slow with words, nerdy and people, and genuinely sucked at sports. I had problems with my teachers too, they didn't seem to take it too lightly on a kid who was disorganized and late for classes because he didn't get the hang of lockers yet. But I survived, I would just bury myself into the computer after school and let my troubles melt away until I went to bed and realized I had to endure another day of that.

And then I noticed her. Angelica, such a fitting name for the girl I liked. I don't know why I liked her exactly, but she seemed like a nice girl. One of the things was that I always bantered around about how my life wasn't worth living and such to everybody, probably every day. And then once I said it to her on the account of her asking why I was so weird, I believe. And then she commented that that wasn't a very nice thing to say. But ironically, I thought it was the nicest thing anybody there had ever said to me, it seemed. And I never said my life wasn't worth living ever again. And then I just thought I loved her, even if it was a foolish infatuation. One day in a class, she began to see that everybody was giving books for me to put back, it was one of the classes where you would give somebody, usually the head of the table all the books to carry back. And I wasn't the head either, but it happened everyday. And she openly commented how mean it was(even though she handed her own book to my stack). I didn't mind, they weren't heavy anyway and I would do crap for everybody, hoping one that it would bottle up and gnaw at their heartless souls one day with my cynical mind, but I wondered about her after that. After that, I had a lucky chance by sitting at the same table as her for lunch. I had finished my relatively small lunch and then she slipped a snack to me when she saw I had nothing to eat. And perhaps these were useless and minor gestures that meant nothing, but soon, I fell in love with her. And she carried me through the year.

By the end of the year, I was less than miserable and happy enough to endured nearly a week of a v-bomb/rubber band war in Art class where I was on one side and most of the boys in the class on the other. And I didn't bother to fight back, simply because I thought my patience would hold out. It did, and I became "friends" or at least calmed some of the group's friends by doing crap for them. And then the taunting began to subside, people were appreciating me more in longer periods and the punishments for being dorky became less severe to just calling me a fag maybe twice a day only, with the exception of the v-bomb fight, which was much more prolonged than ever. But after dodging so many v-bombs, I wondered if becoming friends with them would actually help at all. I left the year, with a handful of guys who had my back and I felt I had made a peace with all them.

My patience had bore fruit and I was left to the summer. But it was all to short for my tastes. I was eventually grounded in the middle of it for giving out my phone number to somebody and then money(I felt nice that day). And then I had the task of learning how to ride a bike. It was a great shame to me that I was nearly thirteen and still didn't know how to ride a bike. I practiced on my old bike, which was maybe ten sizes too small for me and I felt genuinely stupid when I rode around, but I thought it would pay off. It was tedious hanging out with the girls(the guys of the neighborhood still refused to chill with me) and they would take me places, along with a guy of the crew and eventually I felt a relationship was healing. It was embarrassing walking everywhere while they had bikes though. But by the end of the summer, I had mastered and kept a 24 inch wheeled red and black Mongoose. It was a proud moment.

And as summer waned into fall, I found myself at school again, wary of the effort I had pulled into last year. Hopefully, people would be in a better mood after a summer and maybe would spare me from the delights of their hunting. But to my delight, I found many of my old harassers had been placed in the other team and I could avoid them much more easily now, but they had gone with many of my friends as well. But I took this new chance to hopefully gain a new image with everybody, regardless of some of the people woh already knew me. And I felt my work. None of the kids called me a fag, except the inner ring I hung out with. But something inside of me felt a bit empty. I made new friends easily and by now, I had gained an understanding of the public school system. I still sucked at sports, but people knew my abilities now, instead of challenging it, like last year. But then suddenly, they just began making fun of it, my inner circle that I hung with anyway. And people thought it was funny in a positive way for once and I admitted my flaws, instead of pretending not to notice them like last year. And it was a change, but somehow, I felt that nothing had changed at all. People weren't openly burning me anymore, but inside, I felt that everybody thought I was lame. And it disturbed me.

The first week made me feel a bit empty. I was now in eighth grade and I would enter high school next year and I felt old. Homework and school took a heavier toll on me that it had ever did before-- I needed to study now, for math anyway. But the first week also carried the absence of Angelica. And then I realized how hard it was for me to function without her image, her soul, regardless of the Angelica-free weekends. And then I noticed how I was so happy, I was probably beaming when I saw her come up the locker next to me the next week. And I thought it was great. The four minute passing periods were the highest points of my day, her face would make me swell inside and my heart pounded whenever I was near her, I had to woo her accordingly in a precision, on the account of my impulsive lameness last year. But to no avail, it was. She was in none of my classes, which barred her from experiencing how likable I really was. I had changed a little, grown wild facial hair and maintained a more tame, calm manner but remained excessively funny. But still slow to some people, but generally liked by everybody now. But my old friends took note of this, one said that he much preferred "Loud and fat Ron" on the account of me being relatively quiet and having lost ten pounds over the summer as opposed to "Quiet and skinny Ron" and they began to complain. But I still made an ass of myself, but not on such a mass scale. They would sit at lunch and looked at girls rears to search for thongs and the hot ass their abnormally high testosterone craved for. I took no part in it and I seemly took no interest in girls, whereupon they threatened my manhood again. And after that, made tin foil replicas of dicks and pointed them at each other mouths. It was an effort to restrain myself from telling me how homo they were acting, but I stood quiet. And all they did, was make sexual objects, talk about sexuality during lunch, where our appetites were still liberally intact. The year went by fast, and before I knew it, I was at graduation. But the week before it became a bit morally depressing. We were to go on a trip to Six Flags one day and we had the luxury of coach buses. And I sat on the seat across from Angelica. And I don't know what happened, but I suddenly wanted to talk. And they didn't. It had never happened before, people always wanted to talk to me and I wanted them to leave me alone. And soon, I had become annoying enough for them to ditch me at the park, save for a few kids and then the ride home became even more depressing. Only sometimes when I had stayed after school and took the lonely after school bus, I had felt so lonely and isolated. And it came to me, even though I had my friends beside me. They didn't like me for who I was genuinely. And soon the rift widened, I wasn't funny anymore. Who wanted to hang out with me? Barely anybody wanted my yearbook signature unlike last year and I felt so empty by the end of year.

At home, things began to deteriorate at a faster rate. I took home bad report cards and I had been kicked out of the honor society I had joined for getting 3.3 and 3.4 GPA averages. It was clear that I never liked them anyway though. My mom was generally the lesser feared of my tastes. She let me get away with tons of stuff, except for not waking her up when she watched the news and then it would become the Wheel of Fortune soon enough, whereupon she would complain about how boring and blood-curling the host's voice sounded and then scold me. And she cleaned the house for most of the day. She cleaned the house before she went to work and I think she had become quite the pro at it. So I wasn't required to talk to her much at all during the day, which was to my liking and benefit. But she had her unreasonable times-- she would burn me and yell whenever I would wear pants during the summer, noting that it was stupid when I had shorts. But I didn't like my short-shorts, they weren't my thing. And she was quite racist and noted ills from everything. I never smiled. She thinks I'm a demon. She notices black pots in the front of a neighbor's house. That family sucks, she would think. And she always talked about people behind their backs, resenting everybody secretly. I think I got that from her, surprisingly enough.

My dad would be stranger and I noticed that the two were probably polar opposites of each other, my father reminding my mom who stupid she was in many tasks. I wondered how the two became unhappily married. It turned out they were introduced by a matchmaker somewhere in Hong Kong some many years ago. And it made sense. He came from a poor background and had to endure a lot of crap, so naturally, I think he had throw all out on me. He would always tell me how his dad, my grandpa had died when he was six, how he became paralyzed and couldn't even talk by the time my dad was age six. Perhaps there was something to my upbringing about that, he couldn't know how to be a father without having one, I suppose. But I don't know, he was critical and complained everything about me. Even told me I was ugly once. Twice. Or maybe dozens of times. He would probably give me a lecture about forgetting to close a door when I left a room, I stress. And together with my mom, they genuinely thought I was one of the stupidest and ungrateful kids to ever grace the world. How could you love me when you get bad grades? they would ask of me often. I didn't mean to get bad grades, I just didn't think grades would become the foundation and makeup of my whole entire relationship with my parents. And they seemed to hold dear that since they had given birth to me, it was merely principle for them to have control every single aspect of my life. And yet they said I disobeyed. I had to show myself to everybody, I was not to be second-rate, I was going to beat the Americans(my parents never came to appreciate the Land of the Free, apparently). And told me of many stories of how hard work and ambition smithed luxurious lives of riches. And they would keep bantering on about how they gave me good food and they were to eat the leftovers. I couldn't understand why they tortured themselves to make such a blunt point that I already understood. And true, we were poor and they wanted people to acknowledge that I would be rich and famous one day. But it wouldn't happen. He would encounter countless people who had smart kids and outclassed me in every single way. Oh, and they would remind me I sucked as well, worthless in comparison to them because they brought home straight As. But I noticed a difference between these kids and me. They were happy. They were rich, they had luxuries of cable TV, cable modem, new clothes every week. I am and was cable-less, had a six year old computer, and my parents seldom spent much on me other than food. And maybe they were minor things, but it didn't help improve my own crumbling self integrity. And those who weren't rich, genuinely liked to study and do well in school. I didn't. I felt that I didn't need to study at all. I could easily ace a test with an A, but I didn't do well since I often misplaced my work, rushed, and so forth. But it didn't help, it couldn't fly with my dad. And there was a clincher of a difference between me and them and it was simply the solution and reason for it all. They had friends and family that loved them for who they were. I didn't.

And before you know it, the big day graduation came. It was a bit strange, some of my relatives thought it was funny that I was "graduating" in eighth grade, but it was a bit somber. I had taken home As in all my core subjects except Math and my secondary, enrichment subjects had netted a B and C+. The C+ in Foreign Language stuck like a sore thumb for my dad and I played the simple card that my teacher hated me. And while she did, but that wasn't exactly the point. But the second C+ in Math was even a sorer thumb, to my luck, was my dad's favorite and most appreciated subject. He didn't care that I had a 100 percent in nearly all of my Social Studies test, would've had straight As in all but Math if one were to ignore the secondary subjects(wise decision as well), but it didn't work. I had done better than year, but it certainly wasn't my worst. I had gotten away one quarter with a lower average(minus the enrichment, enrichment sucks anyway), but it didn't work. And then my dad said he would not go to my graduation. I complied, I would simply hitch a ride with my friend and graduate, without my family. It was fine, I had to be independent. But when my aunt offered to come, my dad had to drive me there, for fear of looking like a bad parent. And all over the graduation ceremony, he looked disappointed. When we watched the recording, my dad made fun of how I looked, how I walked down the rows, how I took my diploma, how the salutation’s speech on baseball(whereas, he was supposed to do an essay about his experiences in middle school) was better than any of my writing crap about dragons and fantasy and whoosh whoosh, in his words. And then he counted the yellow cords that some kids got for being eligible for the honor society I had once been on, and he solemnly told me asked how I had the nerve to get a C+ and then told me how he was going to buy me a new computer to replace my clunky, old and loyal current one. I didn't car though, I just wanted to be left alone, to recollect my thoughts of how and why my friends had abandoned me and how exactly it happened like that.

And it's hard to think that my graduation was only a month ago, since I haven't felt a change at all, no sense of drama emerging from the fact I have taken the first rite into becoming a man. My dad asks me if I regret anything every morning and then tells me that its my fault that I ruined my summer, without computer, TV, or video game privileges. But I obliged, I would sneak on both anyway. And by the time I had entered eighth grade, I have a routine of waking up and imagining that Angelica would tell me, "Just hold on another day, Ron..." and then I would rise and take on the day, clutching that fake memory to my heart. To this day, I still do it. I have no idea why I love her so, I barely know and interact with her as it is. And why would she like me of all people? She wanted her knight in shining armor to come one day and sweep her off her feet? I was the wanna-be guy in hobo clothes on a donkey. And it saddens me and makes me think of it and how my dad once said, that if I was rich by doing well in school, women would flock to me for my riches even as ugly as he told me I was—which brought a sick, dark tone into it for some reason. And I don't know if there is a connection or sense of love anymore, but I still hold on to it, for my sake. It is now the symbolism of what I dream for one day, of how my suffering would pay off. Or maybe that is just my teen angst and rage talking, keeping me away from growing up and accept the challenges of life as it is, that there were kids in third world countries without a roof on their heads and that I was too immature to believe it. Was I simply overexaggerating my situation in my mind due to my legions of teen angst? But somehow, I feel have grown in a way that one would never understand. And now I look forward to high school and to gradually loosen from the unwieldy binds that everybody has emplaced on me. And I notice, I don't think anybody has genuinely loved me for who I am, what I've become and made of myself. I keep looking at myself, disappointed. I'll never amount to anything, I tell myself and yet I want to achieve anything and everything. People tell me that a man is never measured by his ability, but by his heart. And as earnest and kind as the phrase is, I feel it has little to do with any case anymore. I simply have never belonged and yet I seek it so desperately. Maybe it was never meant to be. And I hope someday that I find my true calling, the home and family that I never felt in my veins. But little makes sense anymore and I feel I am clinging on to my last moral fiber before I fall into the abyss of manic depression.

But perhaps, I have lost myself already.