My Life, I Guess (A Memoir)

Chapter 3

I know you're probably asking, why don't I just leave? Surely as a capable, 27-year-old adult, I have financial independence, right? I don't have to be tied to my family still.

Remember when I said I don't particularly have any useful skills? Well that doesn't help in looking for jobs, cause I'm still pretty incapable of doing most adult things. I was raised so sheltered by family and barely taught any necessary life skills that I genuinely feel like I have nothing to offer. I can write decently, I guess, but definitely not good enough to be a full time writer. Plus, I never finish my stories, as is proven in the other one I have right here on this account. I always abandon things I write because I know they aren't good enough. I always end up feeling like it's a wasted effort.

As long as I don't have my own money, I am completely tied to my family. Even if I did make my own money, I feel like they would still try to keep their hold on me, because they want me to be in charge of the inheritance after my father passes since I'm their only son. I obviously can't use all that money to flee the country, because it's going to end up in a big legal dispute. Because it's not my money, it's my family's money.

I know the saying "I'm not rich, my family is" is very cliché, but it is the literal truth in this case. If I decided to come out to my parents, they would disown me and I would be out on the street, because I would have nobody to turn to. I would quite literally have no money to my name. So I assimilate and play my part in order not to be homeless and alone, at least until I manage to find a single job that I'm actually good at.

But hey, I've been taking graphic design lessons, so hopefully I'll be able to do something with that. 

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I've decided to make this memoir non-chronological, so let's jump back to the past. It's time to talk about my school experience.

After a certain point, my schooling history became so complicated, you'll just have to follow me here. I'll let you know when things are about to get weird.

I don't have much to say about my time in Kindergarten, except that I was afraid of swimming. Every two weeks or so, my entire class would go to a nearby public swimming pool, and because I couldn't actually swim, I was always afraid to go in the water. I often chickened out and used the excuse that I didn't bring my gym uniform or swim trunks. That's the thing about me to this day; I will worm my way out of doing something if it's the last thing I do.

Elementary school was a rollercoaster for me. It started out not so great because the kids would make fun of me for being so feminine. I didn't really have any actual friends until a few grades later.

I remember in first grade, I fell and split my head open right onto some broken glass. I don't recall a lot of specific details, but I distinctly remember the sight of my blood on my gym teacher's shirt as she carried me out of the class. The teachers rushed me to the nearest clinic and I had stitches put in. It was a very strange feeling, like your scalp was constantly being tugged roughly. Several days later, I got them taken out. I wonder if the scar is still there deep in my scalp somewhere.

Another traumatic thing that I recall happening was, when I was in fourth grade, I remember one morning when I walked into my classroom, the entire class was eerily quiet, save for some sniffles as I saw tears on a few of my classmates' faces. I sat down confused, wondering what the hell was going on, until the kid next to me told me that one of the students in our class, named Hani, died yesterday in a motorcycle accident. Her little brother was with her, and he died as well. The driver survived.

I wasn't close with Hani, but I distinctly remember back in first grade, we also shared a class together and she actually brought me a Barbie doll to play with and bring home, all because I once told her that I wish I could play with Barbies. I was so appreciative of her because she didn't have to be so kind to me.