My Side Of The Story: 5th grade

So there I was. New school, new state, new apartment...ready to start over from the beginning. Well not really, but I had no choice in the matter.

That year my personality disappeared almost completely. I was never popular, but as a kid I was always outgoing and kind of brash. I don't know if it was because of not fitting in, having no buddies, or because of starting puberty but I became one of those shy, quiet kids who sat all the way in the back of the room, never saying anything.

The apartment complex we lived in was not very social so I didn't get into many fights here. Actually, I didn't get into any at all-there was no one there to fight or interact with. To be completely blunt, I was a nerd. I still got those damn nearly-perfect-but-not perfect-enough grades, I never talked or socialized at all. A complete loser was what I was. My parents had an issue with that too. It embarassed them to a point. It got me in trouble but what can I do? I tried but once you're labeled the 'loser', they always see you that way and they stay away from you.

Korea, Japan, China etc. are conformist societies. Over here, parents are taught to accept their child no matter what others think of them. In Asia, if you child is unpopular for any reason, the parents become ashamed of them and punish them for being unpopular.

I didn't know what was going on. I couldn't step outside without feeling like someone was watching me, trying to get me from the bushes or something. I started to care about how I looked. That's just a natural part of puberty and a perfectly normal thing at that age, right? Maybe, but my feelings were extreme.

When we moved to America, my family started going to church. We didn't do that in Korea, but here it was a great way-and usually the only way-to socialize whithin the Korean community. Yup. I hate to say this, but in many Korean immigrant families, the parents' idea of a social life is church. That is the only place they can mingle with other Koreans. They form little "cliques" of so-called "friends". They expect their children to become friends with the other Korean kids in church-basically, they want their kids to be chummy with their friends' children.

American christians just go to church on sundays. Among Koreans, it's a big ass social event. They hold field trips, they have a church orchestra, they hold parties, all sorts of events, etc. For the kids it's like school number two. And because they also have clubs, Koreans usually go to church more than once a week. I remember I had one foster parent who thought it was a big deal to go to church every sunday; she'd never make it in a Korean church.

I didn't fit in.

Among Asian youth, they distinguish themselves and each other by how americanized the person is. Let me introduce you to some of the slang terms that are used.

F.O.B.- Stands for Fresh Out the Boat because the immigrants came on boats. These are Asians who have just recently immigrated to the States and are not Americanized at all. They speak very poor English; and they hold on tightly to the customs and way of life that they led before coming to America. For example, Jackie Chan.

Twinkie- Extremely Americanized. They don't speak their languages very well. They don't know much about their own culture. Most of them were born in America, or at least came to America at a very early age. They are called "twinkies" because a twinkie is yellow on the outside, but white on the inside. for example, Tila Tequila.

And in that point, I was neither. I was definitely Americanized, but not so much that they could call me white-washed. In the church we attended there were only hardcore FOBs and Twinkies and I was neither. On top of that, I was extremely shy. My parents wanted me to make friends whithin the church-the Korean community-but because of the reasons above, I couldn't.

I got in loads and loads of trouble for that. You see, in Korean culture, your amount of "friends" is directly linked to your reputation and honor. Well...it's like that everywhere...but for your child to be a misfit among their peers is considered disgraceful. I guess my parents were embarrassed by my lack of social skills. They'd lecture me, rant and rave, and if they got embarrassed enough by their "friends", they'd fight me.

Honestly, I don't know why they cared so much about what those phony "friends" of theirs thought. Being my parents, they should've accepted me the way I was. But Asia is so ridiculously conformist that what others think of you matters more than anything.

Me and my family grew further and further apart. I no longer spoke Korean at home, which almost drove them insane. We had long 'fights' about how I was becoming too Americanized, betraying my country, and forgetting who I was.

I used to fawn over my 'cute' little brother, but now I rarely ever talked to him. He usually did nothing but play with his legos, which he was practically a genius with. I always ended up having to clean up after him.

Me and my "mother" became practically strangers. The only times I'd interact with her is if I absolutely had to, or she was mad at me for something. My father didn't get angry as often as she did, so whenever I'd need company I'd go to him. It made her jealous; she was blunt about that.

"Daddy, why does she act like that to me?" I whined to him one day when I was about ten. "Why is she so...bitter? Hostile? Whatever! I mean, seriously...is she even my real mother?"

My father looked away, hesitating, and then pulled me up onto his lap. "She is your real mother. No doubt about that. She's just...she's just not good with her emotions. Don't say things like that again, okay? Imagine how hurt she'd be if she heard you say that."

She didn't have to hear me say it. One day I came home from school and my "mother" shoved my diary in my face. I looked at her questioningly.

"That's my diary."

"Yes, I know that."

"Did you...read it...?"

"That's besides the point!" she snapped, flipping through the pages until she found the place she was looking for. "How could you write something like this about me...your father...your family?"

I felt no guilt whatsoever. It's my diary; I can write whatever the hell I want!

"You...you read my diary." It was a statement; not a question.

"That's besides the point!" she snapped, throwing down the book in anger. "It's not like I went looking for it! You left it on top of this table, in plain sight for everyone to see!"

That didn't give her the right to read it. She should've backed away as soon as she saw the words "Diary" written on the first page. And yet she didn't. My blood was boiling; and yet, I said nothing. I was too scared.

"That's all you care about, huh? That your precious diary was read-even though you left it in a spot blatant enough for everyone to see! What about our feelings? How am I supposed to feel-how are we supposed to feel after what you've written about us?"

That night during dinner, she excused my brother to his room and informed my father about her latest "discovery". She took out my diary, handed it over to him, and had him read the parts that bothered her. My father's face grew grim, but I didn't care. I just couldn't believe this bitch had the gall to snoop through my diary...and now was giving it to someone else to read without my consent.

But nothing shocked me more than when she handed the book back to me and told me to read it out loud.

"Are you serious...?" I whispered.

"Yes, I'm serious. That part-that part right there-read it!"

Dammit. I could tell that I had no choice in the matter; if I refused I'd be in for a whooping. And so I read.

"...I can't stand that bitch." I started the passage. "Sometimes I wonder if she really is my mother. She can't be-if she was my real mother she wouldn't act like such a bitch to me. Sometimes...I think she's not my real mom, but my stepmother."

My "mother" then started crying. My father put his arm around her to comfort her. "How do you think I'd feel after hearing those words from my own daughter?"

Ironic, isn't it? Although I didn't know at the time, my instincts told me that she wasn't my real mother. And yet...the minute she found out how I felt...she starts acting like she is my real mother; when she knew very well that all of my suspicions were completely and totally true! And yet she still made herself out to look like the victim.

That is one incident I'll never be able to forget...or forgive.

But even so, I was extremely fearful of my parents. I couldn't even stay in the same room with them without my heart pounding in my chest, worrying about what was gonna happen to me. So much that when I lost the money they gave me to buy a school T-Shirt, I lied to them about it. Then I saved the dollar I got each Sunday to give as an offering so that I could buy a T-Shirt as a replacement and act like nothing happened. I got one-but it turns out they had ordered two.

And the second one was due tomorrow. I had no money left.

I sat in the guidance counselor's office, nervously twiddling my thumbs. After Orchestra rehearsal, I was scared to go home for obvious reasons. I didn't have the T-Shirt. If I went back home they'd find out that I'd lost their money and had been lying all this time to try to cover it up.

That spelled death for me. Lord, I didn't wanna go back home...but the director of the Orchestra noticed my nervousness. I told him I was afraid to go home. But I couldn't exactly tell him why so he sent me to the counselor.

I had a tough time spitting it out because she kept talking about child services and whatnot; I was scared of that. But finally I managed to tell her that I was scared to go home because of what my parents would do to me once they found out what I did.

But what do you know...? The counselor completely ignored my fear of getting beat up and focused on my lying to them instead. Yes, it was wrong of me to do that, but that's not the issue at hand here! I'm scared of getting beat into a bloody pulp! But she'd have none of it.

"You lied to your parents for THAT long over T-shirts? If my daughter ever did that to me-!" she screeched. "It looks to me like your parents are the victims in this case, not the other way around! How could you accuse them of such things just to cover up for what you've done?"

She called my so-called "mother" and told her everything. My stepmom didn't dare raise a scene in public. But when I got back home, my father had come home early from work just to discuss this.

I don't want to go into detail about what happened that night.

I soon found other outlets that were helpful for me now that I didn't socialize anymore. That year, instead of joining the orchestra like I usually had to do, my parents gave me a break and let me join the choir instead. I started writing. Every night I would dream up something, write out as long of a plot as I could, draw illustrations, covers, and staple the pages together and call it my book.

I'd always been drawing, but around this age, it became more of an obsession. The school took notice of it, and that gave me either pride or hope. Or both. And so I claimed it as my craft and I worked on it religiously.

Singing is completely different from playing an instrument to me. When playing an instrument, I am confined to physical things, it is too rigid for me to express myself freely. When I sing...it's such a release. I don't care how I sound. I feel free-like all the stress, all the emotion and pain in me, my very soul is being released through my body, mouth, lungs, whatever.

I even started getting solos in choir, which definitely was an ego boost. I loved the looks on the other girls' faces when I got the solo part they wanted so badly. Who needs to be a part of your clique when I've got this?

That was around the time I discovered manga and anime. Well, drawing it. You see, Korea is right next to Japan, so anime and manga are extremely well-known and widespread there, so I've been watching anime since I was born, hell my father watched DBZ as a kid. Except in Korea, stuff that you guys think should be for older people like Death Note are mainly considered for kids. Sailor Moon is largely considered a baby show, if you're over five and you watch it people will look at you like "OMG what is wrong with you".

Ever since my art teacher recognized me, I wanted to do better and better. So like every amateur 10-year-old learning to draw, I first studied the art form of manga and anime. You know, drawing my favorite characters, the works. Soon drawing my own characters, and making up stories to go along with them. And according to my teachers, I was damn good.

I felt so victorious. It was as if I was trying to fill the void in my heart caused by being a complete and utter outcast by excelling in these areas and rubbing it in everyone else's faces. Somehow, my jealousy of other people's bonds with each other seemed to cool down once I had something that others would be jealous over.

By now, I think there was some unwritten rule my dad was keeping that we couldn't stay in one place for longer than two years. Right after I graduated elementary school, he decided that we'd move to Maryland and I would start middle school there. And of course, we drove.