I’m here to try to talk about my life. From beginning to some part until I get tired of typing.

As most of you know, I love to type blogs; ranting, experience, anything, you name it. It’s just so fun to talk about my experiences on blogs; to share. I may feel good about myself on blogs, but then again, class essays. Typing my experience without any requirements other than my own (humor, sarcasm, and laughter) is an easy task for me. However, in essays, you have to worry about your thesis, blue printing, conclusion, significance, importance, relativity, and all those shit.

I received a D+ on my social studies essay the other day,

“Max, your essay only has statement of facts, where is your significance? What are you trying to tell me about your essay? I see none of that, see me after class.”

Sigh.

After around 30 minutes of discussing about what I was missing in my essay, well, basically everything is missing and told him that I am terribly inexperienced at writing essays. I finally left the room. While going to the PE locker to get my knee pads, I thought about this, my blogs on MMOTales. Why am I good at writing blogs but not essays?

First of all, I just found out that my blue printing on the paragraphs above are just wrong, the first paragraph should’ve been the second, and the second should’ve been the the first. I should’ve answered my own question in the second, not mention it during the second. Therefore which is why I often take advantage of essays when I know that we’re gonna use laptops to do it; I just type the essay first, then send it to my email and copy and paste it. Oh, and sit at the back of the class.

After getting my knee pads out of that smelly locker room, I went to go dance for around 2 hours and went to Starbucks to study then go home and do my usual stuff.

I also wanted to talk about something that I’ve been thinking in my mind for the entire time. Moreover, my parents does not know how much pain I am in right now..

The stupid dentist tightened my braces more than he usually does. God damn it.
I can’t eat anything for a week, again, like the first time I got my braces last year. I told them that not even noodles are even hard enough to cause me pain and they wanted me to eat a friggin’ carrot. Okay okay, this has nothing to do with what I’m gonna talk about.

The earliest thing I remember of me be conscious was when I was 4, I actually had vision, taste, smell, etc. I opened my eyes, I walked out of the dark room and went down the stairs looking down at who was down there. My parents; I don’t know if I know them or not know them, but I immediately returned to my original location when I opened my eyes. Then everything went dark again after I closed them, dark as in sleep. Not like you close your eyes and you can’t see anything dark.

Then I don’t know what the hell happened after.

Why I am myself right now

What does that mean? That means why am I the way I am right now, my personality, etc.

During first grade, I always went late to school, teacher hit me with the ruler, blah whatever. Like any Asian teachers back in 1999. During the last day of school, the school announced that I had the highest score in the finals from any grade in the school. I was so proud of myself and told my parents. Yeah, it was awesome. Perhaps it was because in kindergarten, all we did was play and learned Chinese in all those fictional happy happy happy style. Was tired of it and wanted to do something else.

I still remember I hated English when I was first grade. IusedtowriteEnglishlikethisinfirstgrade.
“I’m Taiwanese, why should I learn English?!”

Ahaha, how ironic.

In second grade, no one told me why I was moved to California with all the “white people with big eyes”. I spoke no English that time, so I was at this EAP/ESL place learning English step by step. Four months later, I was able to speak English with little bit accent, but I was able to communicate in a conversation.

By fourth grade, I moved to Hawaii. I was the class clown and I often got into trouble either by clowning or talking too much or false accusation. I think that was like the first time I acted like a retard.

In seventh grade, all the kids in the school were all ghetto and you immediately become popular if you’re hot, spoke Spanish, or you did something cool. Unfortunately, I was the nerdy person who always knew the answer to every question the teacher throws at me. I had awesome grades, somewhat nerdishly friends and it was an okay year. Again, I clowned, to try to be funny for people to like me for being the ONLY ASIAN in the school.

What I realized, it was actually the cultural differences.
Easterners always let’s the car pass, then cross. Westerners let the people cross, then go.
Westerners always greet each other when they see each other even though they don’t know each other, but Easterners don’t, they’ll just think that you’re weird and Westerners will think you’re a kind and polite person.

Again, totally different cultural values.
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And every summer, I would go back to the house where I was born and raised, I would always see that rock I’ve sat on ever since I was a little kid. Year after year of going back and forth, not noticing it. After 14 years, finally go back to see that rock again. Especially that rock..

It rock had been weathered away.