I'm Victor, and so far, I'm 22. Sometimes I think, sometimes I don't. Both can be witnessed here.
Friendly note that I tag the heck out of things so I can more easily find them later on.

6th April 2014

Question reblogged from Good for Health, Bad for Education with 9,531 notes

Anonymous said: How did you manage to see so many animes?!

secretotaku:

I don’t have a girlfriend.

Tagged: samereblogaskreplyanimerelationships

2nd December 2013

Post reblogged from Yellow Faced with 24 notes

On Something-American

unapologetically-yellow:

I was cleaning out my computer, and found something I wrote senior year of college:

Something-American

Our relationship was unique, and I knew that. People were both amused and shocked by us because of the number of traditional boundaries we crossed—I ordered while he obeyed, I was the openly bisexual with the wandering eye while his devotion never shook, not once—but I forgot the most obvious boundary we crossed, the one that people could tell by looking at us, until I would speak with my mother or we would go hiking in rural areas.

As we exited the hiking trail next to the swimming area, children were happily splashing in the water as their parents lounged at the sides, keeping watch along with the lifeguard. But one by one, their heads turned, and by the time we crossed the beach, all eyes were on us. Their stares trailed us into the parking lot, and only after we pulled out of the parking lot did it stop. My boyfriend was unnerved. “What are they staring at us for?”

“I think your blinding paleness threw them for a loop,” I joked. He punched me playfully, and for the rest of the ride I did not think twice about what had happened. For him, however, it was different: it was the first time he had been treated as an exhibit at the zoo, whereas not only had I become accustomed to it while growing up in the rural areas of the Midwest and the South, but when it came to racial discrimination, that had been the least of my worries. Later that day, as I was preparing dinner, he asked me again. “Why were those people staring at us?”

“It’s because we’re foreigners,” I explained. “Or rather, I’m the foreigner, and it’s weird to see an American and a foreigner together.”

He gave me a look. “But you were born in America. I was born in Russia. Why would you be the foreigner?”

“Because I’m Asian, honey, and they probably don’t see too many Chinese people wandering around. They can’t tell by looking at you that you’re a foreigner. You’re just another white guy.”

“But that’s so stupid of them to assume that,” he argued. “Why would they do that? Asian people have been integral to the domestic history of America since the 1800s.”

“But until you open your mouth and speak with that accent of yours, I’m still more foreign than you are just because it’s so easy to see how I’m different,” I tried to explain to him. “Asian people have always been considered foreigners no matter how long our history is here.”

“But that’s so stupid, why would they do that?” he continued. “They went to school, right? They had to have learned that Asians have been in America for a long time.”

My roommate, who had been mulling around and pulling together her own dinner, paused in her actions. “Honey, it doesn’t matter what actually happened in history. To the vast majority of people in this country, an Asian face is automatically a foreign one. Old people—and by that, what I really mean is people of all ages, but primarily old people—still call me ‘oriental’ and comment on how small and pretty my ‘almond-shaped’ eyes are even though my eyes are larger and rounder than theirs. Perception is reality.”

“But that doesn’t make sense. Why would they assume that I’m not a foreigner?” he kept asking. “Are you sure that your opinions aren’t skewed by your childhood experiences?”

“You’re white, so they assume that you’re American,” I kept telling him, but he kept asking the same questions as before and I grew more and more frustrated. How do you explain white privilege to someone who has had it their entire life and has never seen or felt the effects from the lack of such privilege? My roommate eventually intervened, saying “I have to agree with her. Most people, if all they knew was what they saw, would say that you’re the American and that she’s the foreigner. They wouldn’t know until you opened your mouth and started talking. If I saw the two of you and were told that one of you had been born outside of the US, I would’ve guessed her.”

“That’s so stupid,” he reiterated, but he accepted her statements—she was, after all, a white American who had grown up in rural America. My childhood had been colored by the racism I had faced because of my yellow skin, and my judgment of the opinions of the majority could not be accurate.

Explaining the quandary of racial identity and its effects on my choices was something I was constantly asked to do, but I could never do it properly. Much to my mother’s chagrin, my romantic ties always fell outside of the Asian and Asian-American community. My boyfriends were all of a whiter persuasion, and in retrospect, I was attracted to their privileged upbringings that were seemingly removed from the politics of race and the concerns that came with being a person of color. In a wealthy, predominantly white community, people like me were minorities but not true minorities because we were not underrepresented in the higher socioeconomic echelons. Their gift of breezing past cultural differences, for better or worse, allowed me to reinvent my identity with each relationship; after all, everyone had told me that only in America are you not judged by the merits of your ancestors and only judged by your own. With each boy I brought home, my mother’s frustration grew. “Why do you keep bringing white boys home?” she would yell at me. “What about those nice Chinese boys? You go to a school where there’s so many of them!”

“Well—”

“And yes, you’re tall, but you’re not so tall that there aren’t any Chinese boys who are taller than you!” she would continue. “Why is it that you insist on copying your sister?”

My sister married a lanky man originally from the Czech Republic. He was from a decent family, but for some reason, my parents never mentioned that their eldest daughter was getting married to family friends except for a couple who attended the wedding. They were a compatible pair: she was always in a rush, and his patience never ended. They were well-educated young professionals who placed great value on looks and took pride in their status in life. In a city where many people were something-American and most immigrants were only a few years removed from their native lands and spoke languages other than Standard Written English, under his guidance my sister identified more and more with whiteness. More and more she looked down upon those without her privilege, and less and less she identified with her roots. I tried to explain that I was not copying my sister—if anything, I was striving to be her opposite—but my mother could only focus on the few similarities between me and my sister.

Our conversation about relationships never moved past the superficial, because how could it? How do you explain to your immigrant parents the issues of identity, that you are both here and nowhere? You are simultaneously American and your native roots but neither at the same time. People are only willing to see one at a time, and they judge you based upon the social reference. In American circles, I am Chinese, but in Chinese circles, I am American. To some, I am nothing like their mothers and what is deemed as socially acceptable and attractive, and to others, I am an exotic object whose profanity is a front for my true, submissive nature.     

I was always careful to choose those who would not objectify me and who would appreciate my intellectual input, but there was always a disconnect I could not bridge. My first boyfriend would feign interest in some distant object or event whenever I brought up the issue of race and its effects; my second told me that he would never understand, so it would be pointless for me to talk to him about it; my third, bless his heart, tried to understand, but his blunt manner of questioning my experiences only succeeded to frustrate me without educating him. Whenever I asked why my relationships never succeeded on an intellectual plane, my white male friends would tell me that my interests lay too far from the concerns of the majority, and my Asian and Asian-American male friends would tell me that I had too many unnerving opinions on race, identity, and oppression by the patriarchal society.

I once tried to explain to my mother that the reason for the lack of Chinese boyfriends had little to do with my appearance and more to do with my personality and strong feminist beliefs, which were incompatible with most boys my age, and due to a sheer numbers and probability game, I had stumbled upon more white boys who were accepting of me than Chinese boys. She judged my explanation as a poor excuse for my lack of trying to impress Chinese boys.

“Tell your daughter that she should find a good Chinese boy to bring home,” my mother told my father as our argument went nowhere.

“As long as you don’t bring home a Japanese boy or a Republican, I don’t care,” my father responded, not even bothering to look away from his newspaper. 

Tagged: reblogtextwhite privilegerelationshipsracism

11th April 2012

Link with 10 notes

"Being foreveralone has got me so down right now." →

thedeadsigh (original poster)

I feel like recently I’ve just been going through these highs and lows. Today is really low. I hate being alone. I wish I knew what it was about me that is so unattractive. I mean I’m sure it’s multiple things. I guess I just wish I was normal and happy. I’ve tried to improve my life with working out, dieting, and trying to be social. I’m still just the same old 23yo virgin who’s never had a girlfriend. Nothing I do seems to make a difference. I just seems like no matter how hard I try and no matter how nice I am, there just seems to be this invisible force repelling everyone away from me. I’m so worried that I’m going to die alone. I know I’m young but everything around us tells us that being a virgin is like the worst thing ever. Even if I managed to ever get a date, how lame am I going to sound when they find out I’ve never had a girlfriend? How does an interesting and decent looking guy manage to never be in a relationship? They are going to think something is wrong with me. That I’m faulty or something. I just feel so left out, so unloved, and so ugly.

I know I can’t force anyone to love me, or like me for that matter. I know I’ll probably never find someone for me. All I want to do is forget it. I don’t want this stuff to bother me. I want to live my life, alone or not. I just don’t want to feel anymore.

Divayth_Fyr (reply)

I would speak to you of cool breezes.

You may or may not wish to listen to me, since I am 43 years old and have never. Sex, kiss, date, cuddle, whatever a human might want from another human, slap a ‘never’ on it and that is me. Taking my advice might not be a great idea. But I have learned some things.

Sometimes on a warm day, a cool breeze will come along. It just happens. Or it doesn’t happen. There is no schedule for it, no specific reason, nothing I can do to cause it. It feels awfully nice when it does happen. I don’t deserve it, or not deserve it. I can’t earn it.

All I can do is be out there doing whatever I am doing, and enjoy it when it comes along. That is not to suggest you should be passive, not at all. Exactly the opposite. But you should allow life to happen.

You want to stop feeling. You can do that. I did. It can be done. But there is no way—none, zero, no way at all ever—to stop feeling the bad parts without also stopping feeling the good. You do not get to choose that, it cannot be done. If you numb the bad, you numb the glorious.

Have you ever met a girl you thought was pretty nice, but you just didn’t feel that way about her? I don’t think you can just decide to love her, whoever she was. You could decide to think of her as charitably as you can but you can’t feel what you don’t feel. And neither can they. Love is a cool breeze. You can’t decide whether to feel it, all you can do is decide what to do about it if you do feel it.

You know you will probably never find someone for you. Tempting, isn’t it? To have that final answer, to stop enduring the misery of hope. You are sure. It is nice to be sure. It is nice to have that out of the way and not have to wonder and hope, dream and want, need and yearn. Yearn! What a word. But there it is. Yearning. Sounds like a goddamn sonnet but that is the word for it.

You don’t know a goddamn thing. I am sorry, but the bad news is you probably will find someone. You can try being as repulsive as possible and some girl might like you anyhow, people are crazy like that. Stop trying to be sure, and learn to endure uncertainty. Being sure is like riding a flat rollercoaster. Whee.

The bad news is you have hope. Hope’s the rope that keeps you tied in knots—the torture never stops. Even when you find her, and she likes you and she can’t help it and she gets all silly and wants to have your babies and everything, you will still have to hope. It never ever ends. You will hope every day she still loves you. You will hope she isn’t bored with you. You will hope the tests come back negative. You will hope she forgives you. It never, ever ends. Well, until you are dead, and there is time enough for that later I assure you.

There is no solution to hope and uncertainty. All you can do is be who you are and hope like hell. You are not a strategy, you are not an attempt. You are you, and now let’s see what happens.

I still hope. And I will never stop. Failure has no meaning, as I am not attempting to succeed. I am that I am. Who I am does not depend on circumstance or events. I hope, I want, I dream. No matter what, I damn well hope. If I fall from the 87th floor of a building I will hope on the way down. I am hurt, I am disappointed, I am ashamed and miserable and alone. But I will never give up hope. That pain is mine, and I welcome it. I yearn.

I wish you many cool breezes.

Tagged: his reply is just one of my favorite things everso yeahread itthere's a lot to read but please read ittextlinkredditlovehateemotiondepressionrelationships

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