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.

One thought on “My Final Letter

  1. The only thing you got right was that this is a genocide and an especially devious one. Other than that it’s a bunch of woes-me blabber. I don’t know if you’re serious. I, however, don’t see the point of you telling everyone this. Maybe it’s attention you really want.


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