My Side Of The Story: Independent Living

I'm writing this by looking at my diary entries from around that time; this is a lot harder than I thought it'd be. There's no way you can capture an individual completely in a story. My readers, though they can get to learn things about me, will probably never know me. You can only understand so much about a human being. Even so, I want to try. I want something to leave behind in the event of my death or disability. There's no promise that something won't happen to me and leave me unable to tell this story, and that is why I'm doing this at twenty while I'm so young.

Life continued from then on. During the weekends we cleaned the unit endlessly under the supervision of two female staff members I nicknamed Hannigan (from Little Orphan Annie) and Trunchbull (from Matilda). There was more fighting, more drama, more violence and though Tish did apologize for the earlier incident, her actions didn't match her words. She'd even try to scare me with promises to "do it again", to which I replied "go right on ahead". Please. I couldn't believe that I told everyone not to press charges on this girl.

Somewhere along the line, I entered some sort of essay contest held by Martin O'Malley. I don't remember what it was about, but I got some Governor's Citation and went to the ceremony, driven by my CASA (court appointed social advocate) worker Marti Haub.

"I am gonna go punch the governor in the face!" I joked to everyone on my way out. While there, I made sure to hoarde all the food and I brought a big bucket of fried chicken back for the girls in the unit.

By then, the number of altercations I got into decreased, I calmed down, and the workers there got ready to discharge me. I went to an interview at an independent living program called Family Advocacy; they had two phases; phase one where you'd have to stay with a foster parent, and phase two where you had your own apartment. They liked me, but there was a problem with my immigration status. I still didn't have a green card or social security number (and to this day I am still not a citizen). That unnerved me because the state had been "working on it" for around five years, but I had my hopes up.

During that time, I had nothing I could possibly cut myself with because they took away everything I possibly could've used. I kept the previous incident with Shantel in my mind and sometimes heated up water so I could burn small parts of my skin with it. It was a short-lived phase, and no one ever found out about it.

I dreamed of having someone there that I could count on always; someone to ride with, but people like that didn't exist. Even the strongest of relationships eventually fell apart as the people drifted away from each other.

They kept pushing back my discharge date and I felt like it'd never come, just like when I first started talking to Family Advocacy, the interviews kept getting postponed due to snow. I felt trapped; it was such a relief just to be able to leave and go to McDonald's or something every two weeks or so. But the time did come, and I left to go to phase one of Family Advocacy/Mentor Maryland's Independent Living program.

Now that I'm talking about it, I recall a staff member who told me I'd never get out of there. He told me I wouldn't last long in the next foster home I went to-if I ever went to one-and I'd never get to Independent Living. I'm pleased to inform you that I did everything he told me I'd never do.

When a kid got discharged, they usually threw some sort of party. I didn't want one. I felt strangely indifferent and prepared about the whole thing. I didn't want anybody to know about me leaving until I was already gone; I'd let them think I went on a really long sign-out or something. The last thing I wanted was a bunch of fake "I'll miss you's" from people who didn't give a fuck if I was dead or alive and damn sure didn't know who I was as a person.

I moved in with Ms. Vanessa Wilson. I lived in the basement since she was waiting for Korea Miller, a foster daughter of hers that had been with her for two years, to go to phase two and get her own apartment. Then I'd have my own room next to Keisha Smith. During the day, I attended Forbush Day School. To go to phase two, you had to be at least eighteen and had to have at least five hundred dollars in your account, a high school diploma or GED, meet all the behavior requirements, and of course you had to be employed.

From the moment I walked in, I was dead set on going to phase two. Most kids in phase two had roommates, but I didn't care. If it wasn't required for me to be in phase one first, I never would've gone.

The people in Forbush were much less disruptive than the people in RTC; strangely, as soon as I walked in there, I started missing the girls I used to live with, if only for their ruckus and drama. It was weird, to say the least-far too quiet. So even though I'd gotten out, I called the unit to check in with them and laughed when I heard they'd gotten in trouble for sniffing coke. I don't know why I thought that was so hilarious.

It unnerved me when kids tried to talk shit in there because I knew how I would've handled it just a little while ago. But I'd come this far and made it out, and I controlled myself.

I'm laughing because I remember all the smoke. Me and Korea were the only non-smokers. I coughed so much. There was no privacy there in the basement; people would come downstairs to play video games while I was trying to sleep but I didn't say anything for fear it would start something and once again, I'd be thrown out.

Although I was out of Sheppard Pratt, the mentality was the same. Korea Miller. Where do I begin? That girl thought she was the fucking boss, and that she owned everyone around her because she'd been there the longest. She came downstairs and just randomly turned the TV off while I was watching it and that's when I first noticed her attitude. She talked about the other girls behind their backs nonstop but if they were present, she'd pretend to be nice. She considered the front seat of Ms. Wilson's car her "throne" and hogged it like there was no tomorrow-her attitude was that because she'd been there the longest, she was the ruler. On a couple of occasions, I heard her make some racist remarks on my ethnicity (only behind my back of course, she never does anything to my face). And of course she was favored. No one in the house cared about her superiority complex; only the other foster kids with the program did.

After two months in the Independent Living program, she got thrown out and moved back in with us. It was drama there like there's drama everywhere, but sometimes I really hated Korea. But nothing noteworthy really happened. It was just typical shit. Even the other adults in the house who were supposed to watch us acted the same way. She formed little "cliques" with them, gossiping, drawing even our foster mother's grandkids into her little he said-she said bullshit. Lord knows how much time I spent while she and her little "clique" talked shit about Keisha behind her back, hurling all sorts of insults at her for no reason.

That was why I couldn't trust anyone. They talked shit about everyone while they weren't there-it made me wonder how they talked about me when I wasn't around.

It was times like those when it was really hard for me to keep my temper in check. Sometimes I felt like losing it and blowing my top all over again like I used to do, but then I reminded myself how hard I'd worked to get out of lockdown. I had to move forward and keep living life; I couldn't just react the same way I used to. Luckily for Korea, she was very discreet about the things she did and how she talked. She mouthed off to Keisha, but she never said anything to me (to my face that is, cause I just KNOW she talks about me behind my back). She partly does this so she can act like the victim if someone reacts to her, but I think a part of her knew that if she was to overt about the things she did, if she talked about me to my face, she'd end up just like Shantel (she knew about this).

Around then I completed the mail-based Art program I'd been attending-it took me three years instead of two to complete it because I'd moved around so much and it was hard for me to continuously keep in touch with them. I got my social security number, work visa and green card through the state and got a job at Quizno's.

I was so, so happy when I got my first job. It was my first step towards getting out of there. I hated the gossip there, I hated how I couldn't trust anyone, and I lived day to day dreaming of when I'd be out and didn't have to deal with the bullshit that foster homes came with anymore.

Through my job there, I saved up enough money to get myself a laptop and go to driving school, though I still don't have my license. Here, you have to have a provisional license for two years before you can get a driver's license, and I had no one to sit with me and help me complete the behind-the-wheel hours I needed (none of the authority figures working with me were comfortable with the idea of a kid driving their car.)

After I graduated high school, I worked various sales jobs and was once a beginner model maker for an architechtural firm. Needless to say, I had a hard time catching up to everyone else. I saved up, worked hard, kept myself out of trouble the best I could and finally moved into my own apartment in phase two. I didn't even have to have a roommate!

I didn't have any incentive to go to college. I'd had co-workers who had degrees, but they were holding the same positions that I was holding. Plus there was no degree that I found interesting. So I only went to college for a year, cause I wanted to do something different anyway.

People had always told me that I should model, so I enrolled in John Casablancas to take classes in acting and modeling. Let me tell you, the public always thinks success in modeling is all about "looking pretty"-it is not. It's more like freeze-frame acting than anything else, and depending on the assignment, sometimes your job is to look downright scary. I'd even had one girl tell me that the job was basically "standing around having people tell you how pretty you are". Are you kidding me? Models don't hear about how "pretty" they are. Models hear all day that they're too tall, too short, too thin, too fat, not good enough-the list goes on and on. It's a skill like any other, and it really sickens me how many people think otherwise. Especially runway. Good Lord, I basically failed runway.

Afterwards, I did some trade-for-print modeling with some photographers and had shoots with a dude name Kelly for Asian Glamour, who specifically wanted to work with Asian models. Kelly, though I tolerated him enough, disgusted me. He slammed the models for not wanting to do nudes and made fun of their appearances. I don't know what happened to him afterwards. His business, if it's still up, is probably not doing well.

So many times, I came close to hitting him. He kept making vulgar comments during the shoots. He pressured me over and over to do nudes, and just wouldn't shut the fuck up. For a price of a hundred, I caved, and almost slapped him when he tried to skimp on the money.

I saw him try to coerce other girls to do nudes they didn't want to do and wanted to kill him.

And of course, I got slammed because some of the shoots I did were suggestive. Were they not aware that I was modeling, not taking cutesy fun little family pictures?

They actually had the nerve to claim I was going to get raped. Victim blaming from people that worked with abused children-I nearly threw up. Why did they not know that sexual assault has everything to do with power and control and nothing to do with attraction? I felt violated that they'd actually imply that. Sexual assault happens to the old, young, babies, animals-not just pretty girls. And countries where women are forced to be draped head to toe usually have higher rates of sexual assault. Most assault comes not from strangers, but from someone that you know.

And art is self-expression. You are supposed to be creative, experiment, and express yourself. And yes, sometimes that includes sexuality. So why is it that people think there should be limits as to what you can or can't express? Why is every other emotion/aspect of humanity okay, but if someone wants to use sexuality, they immediately get slammed for it? Is there any good reason besides that humans have been brainwashed to censor themselves? And why is it that the male models, who did everything the female models did, never got slammed for anything they did?

What is this called again? Oh yeah, slut-shaming. It's MISOGYNY. Men can do whatever they want and they're praised but if a WOMAN does it, oh she's terrible, she's a slut. Where does this come from? Think back to back in the day when a man could have 5,000 wives and concubines if they wanted but if a woman showed her ankles she'd be killed. This comes from the idea that woman are property! There is nothing wrong with sex. And I don't wanna hear that you say the same thing for men too, cause the historical context isn't the same, and the words are still misogynist. Fuck you, Janae Smith and victim-blaing judge.

If a man is promiscuous and sleeps around with a lot of different women then he's a "pimp" and a "player" and a "stud" and it's a good thing, but if a girl does the same thing then she's a "slut" and a "whore" and it's a bad thing.

Oh and for the lawyer who said "this isn't art"...if it's creative expression it's art, sexuality is a form of expression in itself, just because you don't like it doesn't mean it isn't art. And art should never be censored because of a little thing called free speech and is protected under the law. If you don't like it just keep yourself away from it and don't try to tell others what they can or can't do.

What was funny though, is that they claimed I was manic depressive (I have major depression and PTSD but I definitely don't have manic) because I wasn't sleeping. Anyone who knows anything knows that working without sleeping is encouraged in Asian culture, but oh well.

Not to mention their constant harping about OH MY GOD WHAT DO YOU WANNA DO WITH YOUR LIFE when I repeatedly told them that I didn't want to talk about it with them because they knew nothing about the industry (you're talking about a bunch of people who went to my website and still couldn't tell, that's clueless) and I didn't want them trying to give me advice or messing in my affairs. But of course, they twisted it around and said I wasn't doing anything or some shit. Because if someone isn't in college, it MUST mean they're not doing anything at all and are just lazy, apparently. What narrow-minded ignorance. What an insult not only to me, but everyone who chose not to go to college in pursuit of something different (Tyra Banks, didn't go to college to be a model, Bill Gates who dropped out to make Microsoft, Mark Zuckerburg who dropped out to make Facebook, Oprah Winfrey who dropped out to be a TV anchor, etc.)

Fuck you Herman Gaynor, fuck you random therapist whose name I can't remember who actually thought she knew more about foster care than me. I told her in foster care you have to be in therapy and she actually argued with me even though I'd know better than her since I'd been in foster care for years and she hadn't; if you DON'T have to be in therapy in foster care why do all the social workers say so? Why do group homes have in-house therapists and foster care agencies also have staff therapists for their kids to go see? Herman Gaynor you idiot, you're a person who is fifty and can't even understand how royalties work and don't understand that certain fields don't pay by hourly salary they pay by profit from sales and then the company and creator divide the profits. When you can't even understand that you definitely wouldn't understand my industry so why would I tell you anything about my plans? Whenever I'm talking to him it's like he can't understand anything I'm saying, yet another person who proves that the "older is wiser" thing is bullshit.