My Life so Far

Let me talk about my life, if anyone is interested in reading this. I was born in the mid 80’s, and after I was born, or perhaps when my brother was born 3 years earlier, she received a bad blood infusion because I or my brother was born through Caesarian section, since my father is 6’2″, about 250 pounds, and my mother, if I remember was no more than 5’3″ or 5’4″, so as a result she was cut open and due to the poor hospital conditions in New York at the time was infected with Hepatitis C, which ultimately was terminal but could be fought had she really wanted to (or at least this is what my uncle tells me). Growing up I had never really considered my race as being anything particular, but my friends were largely either Asian or white, and I was the only one who was mixed, other than a half-black boy in our class who I was good friends with.

My brother looked decidedly more Asian than me and with his pitch black hair was quite attractive and could have passed for Asian in some places but definitely could not have passed as white. Whether or not my mother preferred him or not is anyones guess, but she did spend much more time shaping him as we got older, and eventually she grew to disregard me even completely. She forced us into playing instruments as is common with most Asian parents and I absolutely hated playing violin as it was really atrocious to listen to it since we were poor and could not afford a quality violin. I showed an early aptitude for art and was described as being a genius by a rather well known artist in New York, who took me under her wing and showed me preference in a class of mostly adults.

She refused to buy me anything that I wanted and I wound up borrowing or stealing my brother’s clothing and toys, which I regret deeply. By the time I had entered middle school I was already a very notorious trouble maker and had been suspended or disciplined dozens of times, and the schools upper administration was very familiar with me. There were racially charged incidents in which another white boy coaxed me into calling another mixed-race half-black boy nigger or other slurs, and at the time I had no understanding of their meaning. By the time I finished middle school I had been in dozens of fights, suspended multiple times for graffiti, fighting, vandalism and trouble making, so much that the dean knew me by name and would scream at me like a father every time I entered his office. Then at age 14, my mother died, and I recall coming home that day after school with my aunt sitting in our apartment, and she told me with cold eyes that my mother had passed away; within minutes, without saying a word I went to go play basketball in the park, alone. I didn’t cry then, and I didn’t cry at her funeral. I actually never cried about this until I graduated college, and that was the last time I cried, until when I was in college and was obsessed with architectural preservation and found out two very beautiful buildings in Manhattan were going to be torn down, which was the first time I actually really wanted to kill myself; and then two years ago when my then girlfriend asked me “why do you think you are handsome,” so I pushed her hard, and she started crying, so I started crying too. I haven’t cried since and feel virtually no emotions anymore.

Anyways, I will post more. It feels good to write here. I feel much better.

On mothers of Eurasian children

Sometimes when I’m outside I wonder how the average lower-status man is able to endure in his life and I am crushed by sadness all the time. I guessed it was because their mothers were both there in their lives, and unconditionally on their side; I guess if someone was forced into basic survival to support his own mother he’d be more positive in enjoying the simple things in life. But in my case when I look at mother, she was and would not have been on my side; she spent her life keeping her eyes open for white men, and only white men, and said, in her actions that anything less was worthless. She was one of these women parading around with her tall white prize, acting too good for asian men, with a smug look on her face. She believed that I was somehow better because I looked whiter. Of course we all know that this is a biological impossibility. So what’s the answer then, mom? I’m just supposed to be okay knowing that you view me as inferior? So, I, and I imagine all mixed raced Eurasians probably realize at some time that our mothers were whores for whites, and that the same thing that turned them on was something we could never be. It took me twenty eight years to come to terms with what I am; to realize that it’s okay to be asian, but it wasn’t my mother or the millions of other asian women who taught me this. I learned that it’s alright to be who you are and to improve yourself as best as you can; I learned that even though women that would otherwise be our FUTURE MOTHERS put us down constantly, that it’s okay to be what we are. And in knowing this I feel happier knowing that when in the face of death everything becomes much simpler, and there’s nothing more convincing for a peaceful suicide that realizing that ones own mother was a whore, driven by simple biology and evolution, and extremely superficial. But in the meantime I have learned to accept what I am and enjoy the small bits of life that I have in front of me even though it is women like my own mother who have pushed me to the very brink of the end of my life. Sometimes I wonder if just killing myself even on webcam or just propagating this website to more people just to make a point to these women about the damage they do psychologically to their sons. If anyone ever reads this, just be aware that your actions can have consequences not only to the people you so hate, but your own flesh and blood. I’m not afraid to die anymore. Nothing appeals to me. I can’t look at anything the same. I leave the house once every three days. I don’t do anything but work and in the meantime play games, but these no longer appeal to me. I love my wife and could never hurt her but it destroys me inside to think that she loves me more because of my appearance. I love her and I know for a fact that had she not come along I would have taken that cocktail in 2010. She saved my life and I owe it to her and every time I see her my eyes light up. But I still just can’t bear it. I can’t bear it. Even my own mother. My sanity comes and goes; some minutes I am able to distract myself but other minutes I sink into complete blackness. What’s the point. Even my own goddamn mother proved that personality means nothing. Talent means nothing. It’s just fuck the white man. Suck the white man’s dick.

A question for the readers

I want you to really try to wrap your head around the horror of my existence.

When you see a white male and an asian woman walking hand in hand, I want you to really ask yourself, when the asian woman hates asian men and finds them undesirable and inferior (I don’t believe other excuses, such as political reasons), and the man harbors racist views about the superiority of white males to asian males, what will the son think?

Ask yourself, what will the son of these relationships think? Ask yourself this question every time.

He will think like me.

To my mother and others like her

For every life that is created, one is denied; a man somewhere died alone and in poverty while my own mother practiced hypergamy. For the women who look at me and think I’m of high value because of my appearance so will thousands of men pass through life unwanted and ignored. Why do I deserve this life? Why is my life worth living if I’m just the outcome of some goddamn genetic dice roll?

Why did I come here? Why did I come to this place? I know the answer. I’ve always known. I came here to die in peace. It would have happened in 2011 when I was crossing the street and looked into the headlights of that bus. I didn’t. I kept looking over the edge of the railing outside of work. Kept wondering about what it would feel like falling down there. But a few weeks after that I met my wife. But what a goddamn tragedy it is that she saved me. I love her but what can I do? What about my kids?

As the son of a woman like you, mom, and her “tall white prize”, I have serious questions about what your incentives were. Serious questions. The fact is that you threw yourself at something you thought was superior, into a relationship rife with power plays and completely IGNORING the horrible shit that white people say about asian men, while playing right into the idea that asian women do in fact prefer white men and will do anything for access to white cock, makes me hate you.

That’s right, I hate my own mother and father. After all, I can never be a white man, only the product of powerful racial plays that makes me nothing less than a war baby. Thank you, asian women. Whatever, I don’t care anymore. I’ll be dead one day. Obviously there’s no convincing you. What is love, if it’s hinged on race? What is life, then, when the most important aspect of our lives, the thing most men wake up in the morning for – love – if it’s dependent on the race and appearance of the man? How is that not worse than death?

What is it? Am I inferior or superior? Pick one. I’m still asian, but I’m a little white. Which one is it, asian women? Just pick one. Why should I devote my life to doing any kind of good if you admitted in your actions that it’s not character that matters, only race? And before you say that it’s because of asian male patriarchy, that’s a lie, because white women complain about white patriarchy all the time. Just admit that you’re turned on by whites and no matter what an asian does, even your own son, will never amount to a white man in your eyes. Just admit it. Why should I even try and contribute to society IF MY OWN MOTHER viewed an entire group of men as worthless regardless of their character?

But in a way, I understand; we all wish a better life on our children, and the world is cruel and ugly, but at least show some respect to the people who you demean. Maybe that is my weakness – that I have always been far too sentimental and far too empathetic to those around me. It wasn’t until I came to China that I realized how lucky I was to have this white-ish appearance. That’s the ultimate tragedy.

Ultimately my question is: mother, how could you be so callous? And that is something I doubt I could ever forgive her for. That distance will be there forever until the day I die. May god forgive my mother, if god even exists, and when I die I do not intend to see her. All I know is that my thoughts of suicide are becoming incessant and overwhelming that I can think of nothing else. I am consumed with this and it is affecting my ability to function throughout the day. I draw near my peace! And isn’t it great! To be free!

On the rationality of suicide

Regret – my father has a lot of it. I guess he regretted his decision to never attend graduate school because of the birth of my brother. Maybe ultimately he regretted marrying my mother; I don’t know if this is the case but I’m certain he must at least be aware of the repercussions of marrying a Chinese woman.

Regret is stupid, and I’ve always known it. To live in constant fear really isn’t a good way to live. To realize the wonderful things that you have is the way to live, and to accept death and to even take it into your own hands is the truest, most absolute freedom a man can experience.

Why did I start writing this? At the beginning it was sort of a cry for help, but now, I just so this for myself. In writing this I have worked my way through so many issues that I finally feel as if I’m ready, and I feel, in a way, happier than I have ever felt since I was born.

I have experienced an interesting life; one in between worlds. I always was perplexed and disheartened by the moral decadence in America. I always thought “God” would eventually come and restore order; I came to china to wait it out, or at least to lose myself, to commit a spiritual suicide. But here I learned that I really never was quite white, nor as Chinese as I thought. I was neither, only just me, and in being me, I have had a great and wonderful life. On my bucket list I have accomplished literally everything that I wanted to accomplish, and I have found in this tiny apartment in the middle of the biggest city in the world, a small, small piece of quiet and solitude and happiness.

But I know now that it isn’t god that brought me here, just circumstance that was half luck, half insanity, and that there is no escaping the prison that I have created for myself. But unlike my father I feel no regret. The issue of my parentage is only one thing; I know for a fact that regardless of any question of character or personality that women are biologically driven to height, and more so to white men, and I can never have exactly the same pull as my father had, the same pull that created me. I know for a fact that many asian women, once they become too old, try to trick asian men into marriage, never forgetting the pure animal lust they had for white men as young women; and had my mother birthed me by an asian man or white man this fact remains that a desirability of a man is immutable and based in race and height and other genetic cues. Accepting this is core to my being.

And, as a result, I see really no other option in life but to end it; I really don’t, and I find that life is too much struggle and sadness when dealing with the present and future, more so than it is worth continuing living. Some men press on, because they owe it to their mothers. Mine is dead, and even if she were alive I do not think I could face her knowing what I know now. I guess some men, in the face or horrible crippling loneliness, still have the love of their mothers to help them endure, but I really have nothing.

I have accepted suicide as a certainty. My entire thoughts burn with it even when I speak with others and walk the street. It is the one thing I have known my whole life that brings me a peace like no other. And why should I fear it? I have my beauty to die with, my love, my art, my happiness, and most of all my dignity knowing that I will never be goddamn bested by some racist whore like my mother or aunts or cousins, my dignity to know that nobody will ever be able to hurt me or my memory of myself or that which I leave people that I influenced in my life; my dignity knowing that I willingly destroyed myself to fight the terrible evil of this world. And what better way to destroy evil than to destroy ones own consciousness? The whole world dies with my mind, doesn’t it?

As I said, my mind is consumed with my desire to die, and it even appears in my dreams. Call me insane but my own beauty and my own work makes me feel even more happy knowing that I died having such wealth that nobody can ever take away from me. I really do doubt that my message will make any difference in this world, but I suppose that’s really not even the issue. I do not want to live to be a slave to white men, a slave to any woman, a slave to any kind of sick greed or lust.

This is what I call a rational approach to suicide, where the benefits far outweigh the negatives, the only negatives being the pain I would cause my loved ones; so in a way my life is largely dependent on them and in every single god damn way I am already a dead man walking unless some drastic change in my life comes about in which I am able to pull myself from this prison. Did I make a mistake coming to china? Well, C, did I? That’s a question for another day. It really is. Maybe I will live to see it. FEAR NOTHING, C.

Peace

What kind of life is one of constant unhappiness? The people I deal with for work are passive aggressive, cruel, petty and driven by nothing more than the acquiring of titles that they can lord over people that they hate. They pretend to like each other to siphon resources from another, barely sleeping, barely taking a breath to realize that they treat others like shit.
It’s not right for me to judge, only to say that these people are different from me, in that they are driven by things that would never make me happy. For years I’ve know this, kind of drifting through life perplexed at how people can be so casual in their self destruction and destruction of other people; they harbor no qualms about demeaning and stepping over other people to get what they want.

This isn’t limited to Chinese or western culture, but uniform throughout. And in a way I understand it, people are driven to surpass one another where they fail physically, and the base desires and our physical beings, the only thing that really matters, ultimately, causes resentment and anger and jealousy among men and women, and so they lash out and become vile. My mother was self hating, yes, but ultimately, what she did for me was a favor, I guess, in which I benefited from some rare combination of genes that made me able to drift through life relatively unfazed, free to pursue my love and my longing for what I thought was god. After all, if I could have been so lucky, then why would there not be a god? And in this way I made a mistake, interpreting my own appearance and talents as something god given rather than something born from genetic luck. That’s what it is; everyone is just passing the time with their meaningless jobs, cutting each other’s throats for money and status for what? For what? Our fates are already written in our bones, like it or not, and someone like me, someone whose own mother made the choice to “upgrade” her children knows it better than anyone.

I am free and I always will be free. I have had a good life and from here on out I no longer feel the fear and worry I had growing up. Don’t you understand that without love, without beauty, without art, life is simply not worth living; what kind of life is it to struggle every day, to create nothing, to be a slave to money, the surrogate child of loneliness and misery? An artist, I’ve always believes, owes his life to his craft, and his only purpose is to make the world more beautiful than he found it. The world loses its beauty daily. It is overcrowded, noisy, modern and tactlessly built; this is hell for an artist.

I did it, my god, my father, my family I did it. I created. In my little corner of the world, I finally created something, as was my dream. If I can, if I can push on further, I will create more, but there is no promise my mind will still function as it has. I have fulfilled something most men cannot, in that I have created – not something for monetary gain, but for the purpose of beauty in and of itself. It is knowing this that I know that I can go to the grave content and without fear. How many young men and women are there, whose dreams have amounted to nothing? I am so lucky to even be able to do what I do, even if only for just a while. I do not promise myself that it will last, but I only promise myself to keep going as long as I can, to love, and to create, and to find peace this way. My qualm with the world is not that it is unfair to me, but that it’s unfair to so many people. I guess this far I’ve managed to survive by the skin of my teeth using, unknowingly, my appearance to my advantage.

I was a fool, and this is my fathers fault, to believe in god, and in believing in god I believed in myself and my own inherent self worth, which is nothing short of solipsism. So, maybe I did make a grave mistake, in assuming that my privilege as a white-ish person was god given rather than a conscientious choice on behalf of my mother, while billions of men would suffer terrible fates that I would never have to suffer, struggling every day just to garner respect where it is simply so easy for me because of my appearance. I was a terrible fool for falling for this. I even suspect that finding my wife was due to this, which makes it even worse. I suspect that my views on the US, and why I left it, out of disgust for the culture there, was rooted in my own privilege.

So, that being said, I am unable to grasp in my mind the sheer complexity of a world like the one we live in… Other than I know that I definitely benefit from some privilege. So it is without guilt that I will shut off my mind. It is an ugly world where people treat each other with horrible scorn, but up until this point I was able to enjoy some wonderful things, and have found love. I no longer fear death, only look forward to it. This is the honest to god truth. I look forward to dying. It is simply not worth living in a world that is akin to a virtual hell than to die; I will learn to appreciate the brief moments of happiness in my life and acknowledge that I am already a dead man.

And that, I guess, really brings clarity to my birth. It’s not got anything to do with patriarchy, as to why asian women hate asian men; it has to do with the nature of women to try to “breed up” into a class of people that enjoy a better life, and to define themselves among their own peers by having access to what they view as the inherently democratic and luxurious way of western living. Whether or not this is true on some genetic level, is up in the air; all I know is that I left the west because I found it too degenerate, and my father taught me to not approach things objectively, but to believe in god and that our lives will be improved as a result. But of course, it is easy, as I thought it was easy, to believe in god, as a tall white man whose life was handed to him on a platter.

That is the nature of white privilege from a man who has lived on both sides. Of course, I too was questioned for my heritage by whites, and turned down by women because I was asian, so to me coming to china was a natural choice. It was here that I came to understand the true inequality of the world and came to terms with my own heritage and parentage.

Now, knowing this, I no longer want to live. I just called my wife over and told her that without her I would have killed myself in 2010. This is certain. She saved my life so in a way I owe it to her.

There will be comments here saying that this blog is merely looking for attention, and maybe it is. I am just voicing my thoughts over time, as someone of mixed heritage, of someone of good conscience, of someone who RATIONALLY believes in suicide and intends to do so, and as someone who wants

My Final Letter

Dear diary, this is among my last posts. I don’t intend to post much anymore. If I do, it will merely be to tell you that my plan is going through. I have already purchased the method of suicide and it sits next to me now (not really a manly one, but it’s impossible to purchase a gun where I live). I know there are some people out there who claim that I am trolling because I am married, but I will specify more on this subject in a bit. As long as I am writing I would like to make clear the different circumstances, for one final time, that pushed me to this point, since I must not have been very clear as to my intentions, which, as of today, have moved from idealization to determination. I no longer fear death, nor am I worried about the possible consequences, and if anything I have realized that my pain is too great to make my life worthwhile and that ending my life would take only a few minutes and is one hundred percent preferable to living in what seems to be constant pain and humiliation that has lasted for a very long time. My horror has even extended to my dreams, I no longer go outside, I idealize and think about my death hundreds of times per day, and I accept that one day in the immediate future I will sit down on the couch, open the door, place a phone call to the police and

I’d like to address this post to asian women and women in general, and to men who use asian women’s sexual preference to their advantage, and to my father. I know there is nothing that can really ever convince you to not desire what you desire. I have accepted that as a fact. I have also accepted the fact that my own mother was physically aroused by a tall white male and nothing short of it; no amount of shaming her or blaming her could absolve her of her biological desires. I’m sure most of you will recognize this. I am also sure that many men, black, white and Indian and Spanish recognize there is no negotiating with female desire. It’s really a moot point to argue this fact and whether or not is a result of culture or indoctrination nevertheless implies that life, and particularly my life, is the result of a primal lust and choice that is non negotiable, and my some stroke of luck I was able to pass some 25 years unaware of the fact that I was overtly undesirable at a genetic level because of my race, simply because of genetic flukes that made me resemble, at least superficially, a white man; this fact, at least the fact that this might have been my mothers plan, and joy, that she could give birth to a son that represented her sexual ideal, or represented something she valued inherently more than herself and half of myself, makes my life irrelevant and pointless, and at very least a pitting of my dishonest white self against my asian self. Again, it sounds like a troll, but these are ideas that I have been fleshing out and hope to convey.

Unfortunately for me, I have to live with this knowledge, and the knowledge that life is meaningless and merely dictated by the sexual urges of women. Life is created due to evolutionary drives, rather than anything sacred. Personality, or anything like that, is not taken into consideration. I was raised by my father to be godly and kind but it is obvious to me that even if there had been a slight variance in my genes I would have looked asian, and my life would have been different, and I would have been treated as lesser. I know for a fact that if I has looked asian I would have been treated as less by both men and women who would supposedly be the same ethnicity as the mother who birthed me, implying that I came from a pussy that was only aroused by something that I could never be. This is a dichotomy in me that I will never be able to come to terms with; the very idea that my mother thought asian males were not worthy of the most basic of all urges, makes me sincerely doubt if I am right in taking pride in my asian heritage, or attempting to pass as a white male. Given the terrible dynamic of these relationships, in which both parties admit that the asian male is physically inferior, my birth was nothing short of an example of genocide on a small scale. I know it is hard for people to understand but I am trying my best to explain. It is easy to say that there are “good women” out there but the very fact that it is so common, and the fact that I can easily imagine myself as being fully asian if by some stroke of luck I was born different in appearance, makes me know that my life is a fluke.

I am not blaming anyone for my death. I must explain why I have simply accepted my death as something that is preferable to a life of humiliation and shame. If I had to describe my feelings of every day of my life, they are shame, dread, fear, desperation, loneliness, and terror. Very rarely do I feel happiness. If any asian woman reads this and thinks that they can do a better job of raising their sons than my mother did, I implore you to try to understand where I am coming from. I know I am not a white man; I may look like one but I am not. A lot of my terrible insanity when I was young was because I thought I was white – yet I could never identify with them. I was constantly on the outside. I know the true horror would have been if I had been born more asian looking – I certainly wouldn’t have made it this far given the level of hatred that asian women have for asian men, and my own personal experience at home.

The fact that I feel such terror, even though I can pass as white, I cannot even imagine how what an asian man must feel like; the idea that I could just as easily be one makes me want to tear out my hair, knowing that these men suffer as badly as they do though they have the qualities of humility and kindness, as have I. Compared to my white friends, I am more timid and reserved, and I attribute this to my genes. The very idea that my whole life is built around a lie; the idea that my very own mother was one of those hate filled women who took pride in the fact that her son looked white; the idea that my own mother threw herself at a sexual ideal that I can only hope to emulate – wouldn’t you be in hell, my reader?

The point of this blog is to help myself deal with emotions that I have wrestled with my whole life; in 2010 I committed a spiritual suicide and went to the opposite end of the world. Since then I have become reclusive and never leave the house. I barely work, since I don’t see the point, and I have locked myself in this apartment in a way to pretend that I am actually dead. My wife’s family takes care of me, probably because I am a foreigner and I love their daughter very much; she is a virgin and believes in true love, but I am not a fool and I know what lurks around the corner of women’s hearts once they are freed from tradition; and there is nothing I can do to compete in that game, even though I look white – I am still an asian man, and extremely empathetic to them in such a way. The idea that a mans life is measured in such superficial ways as his appearance is not something I am willing to partake in anymore. I also know that if I have a son he will suffer in horrible ways, and I also know that at the time I met my wife (as long as we are being honest) I was depressed at the behavior of white women and found an asian woman to date, being unaware of the privilege that I had as a white face in Asia.

I am writing this from a darkly lit room in a poor neighborhood in a major city in China. The instrument of my suicide is next to me and I have already come to the conclusion that using it is the best way for me to end my agony and pain. Perhaps there is a god, but I am willing to take the final steps to meet him rather than living here in a world in which I could lie and benefit from my appearance rather than acknowledging who I really am. This perhaps separates me from other mixed race men in that I am ashamed of the factors that brought me into this world.

I have had a good life. In the end, for what it is, I have quite beautiful features, good artistic talent, and am intelligent, but that simply is not enough; in an ideal world an artist would be free to create without the pure hell of being controlled by sexual evolution. My father, I hope you could understand in my writing how I feel. I know that your mind is set on god and accordingly you might be blinded to the realities of this world; I know it is painful for you to admit but my mother wanted you for your race, rather than for your personality, as we saw towards the end when she was very hostile to you. I do love you very much, and I know it is not in your conscience to be like those other racist white males; but knowing how this world treats good men, you and I both know there is no more room for us here.

So it’s clear to me that asian females don’t care about the consequences of their children, and only care about their lusts. They couldn’t care less if me and other asian men died, even though they give birth to us. So that’s what you want, then, then that’s what I’ll do. I’ll kill myself. That’s what you all wanted.

To my readers, eventually you might find this diary and eventually you might be able to read all of it. I know some of it might seem unreasonable and self serving but this is how my mind works, and there is little that can draw me out of this hole. To me, to be dead is far more appealing that to be alive; I have experienced love, beauty, and brief happiness and I think this is what makes me confident in taking my own life, since I have already lived.

I don’t think I’ll post much after this.

Good bye.