• I guess by now since you starting reading this you’re in an anxious state of trying to know who I am, where I was born, what are my name, and all that ridiculous junk. Introductions suck, and I’m just here to tell you that I’m not in the mood to start that crap. But since this is the first page, I’m seeing right now you want to get this crap done and over with. Fine by me, I mean, if you really want to hear about it, be my guest. Don’t expect much though except a rather interesting, yet lousy childhood. And of course the parents that are so paranoid about me giving the stakes and grub on some things. I’m not trying to be mean, they’re okay. Able to cope with them sometimes and whatnot; they’re strict and a bit touchy when asked personal questions, don’t ask; you just need to experience it. Even though I don’t recommend trying to attempt that crazy suggestion at all, I’m not here to coddle anyone into doing things the fast and hard way.

    My life isn’t exactly spark and shine, my mom passed away about two and a half years ago and my dad currently lives with my grandfather back in Thailand. My brother on the other hand is more “special” so to say, if you count being in an asylum institute for the crazy then that counts. He has inherited the family paranoia and was like a madman brother of mine. I’m not saying I don’t love him, but he’s a little more than wacked in the head. When you bring in not only suicidal thoughts but also negativity, insanity, and anger management problems, I think that’s a pretty big deal to cope with. I visit him every week, even though I’m out on my own now, living a rather healthy life and taking care of myself. Being legal is heaven, but it’s not all shine, especially when I’m not only a famous genius of performing arts, fashion design and cosmetics, but I’m also trying to balance out the life of college. Chicago is hell of a great city, and living on the edge of downtown is the perfect spot. Anyways, going back to my brother, he lives in that asylum for about six years now. Previously he was a rather talented person, he was a stunt double, risk taker for actions moves, got paid well, and even was a heck of a great chef. Though I guess life wasn’t all that peachy on the week of bad luck around the corner of New Year about seven years ago. If I recall correctly, I was about seventeen and still in high school.

    Instead of a New Years large celebration, our family went back to China in order to visit some temples and see my mother’s parents. They’re buried six feet under, but my mom always did seem like such a happy person, they were still alive. Sheesh. Why now?