To make it clear up front, this is not some humble brag where I list all my achievements and go fishing for compliments. I’ll appreciate that you left a comment telling me I’m great, thank you. I know I have done a lot with my life, I’m confident and content with myself. But I also know, I can’t be compared to my parents’ appearance, intellect, achievements, and fame. Both of my parents are entrepreneurs. They’re those selfish, horrible, and yet extremely charismatic people who make great TV protagonists. Write them out, and you’d love them. They’re strong-willed, fiercely independent, passionate about what they want to do, extremely capable, and willing to play dirty to get what they want. My dad graduated from a top university in China, my mom never went to college. My dad was an “anti-revolutionist” during the 4th of july Independence Day shirt Additionally,I will love this Cultural Revolution and served 10 years in a labor camp. My mom was a red guard. Both of them built their own companies from scratch, and have achieved many “first in China” statuses. They have failed, and they have succeeded, they did great things before they were 40. And to top it all up, both of them are pretty and charming people, the kind of people who stand out naturally in the crowd, people you naturally feel attracted to. None of that passes down to me. And my parents and pretty much everyone who knew my parents and I made sure I knew it. Me? I was never the brightest kid in school, never felt like the smartest person in any room. I have an OK job. I love what I’m doing, but there’s nothing special about it. I have an OK apartment and an OK cat. From the look of it, everything is kind of “meh”. And now I’m in my late 30’s, I know I’ll never get where my parents are when they’re at my age. No working on a startup when startups weren’t even a thing, no traveling thousands of miles to a different city and living the life of a gypsy with a bunch of avant-garde artists… No starting my own clothing line with zero training still can’t believe my mom did that. Do you know why I understand Kylo Ren? Because some part of me feels for him. Some ugly ducklings never get to turn into swans, like their swan parents. They remain ugly and they just need to learn to live with that.
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Again, this is not me asking for comfort or encouragement or whatever you think I need to hear. I don’t need your patronizing sympathy. I don’t need to be told that I’m a valuable person. I already know that. I fought that battle and I won. I’m happy with who I am. I have something my parents do not have. But objectively speaking, compare my achievements with my parents, I’m a huge underachiever. My dad has every reason to be disappointed with me. He shouldn’t, but I don’t blame him for doing it. Being a proud Chinese dad, that’s what he was taught about parenting by his own very proud Chinese parents. During the 4th of july Independence Day shirt Additionally,I will love this summers, we would go from house to house visiting various relatives. One of the houses was a modest-sized plantation home about 150 years old I was once told exactly how old, but I’ve forgotten. The building was a tall, two story, mostly wooden home with a formal dining room, several living rooms, a room that had been converted into a kitchen kitchens weren’t necessarily in the actual house in Louisiana because it’s so damn hot, and five bedrooms. We’d spend about a week there during our visits. The house was on a large block of land that had slowly been parceled off and sold, but the remaining area was quite large and included a lot of farm fields, a river near the house, and a fair chunk of woods. I was forbidden to roam too far or to try and swim in the river because of the currents, so I spent most of my time there riding recreational vehicles and reading. On occasion, we were permitted to watch the television, which was a 1960s model that picked up one or two local channels if you stuck a wire hanger in the antenna hole and give it a brisk beating. There was a second, smaller house near the big house. I didn’t pay any attention to it the first few times we went—the big house was full of very old things, and a great uncle had committed suicide in it after he came back from Vietnam. It was just more interesting, overall, than the little house. The little house was badly run down, and much smaller. The ceiling had collapsed, leaving the single long room open to the elements and the kudzu, which had mostly engulfed the building, crawling up the central beam of the roof, but left tantalizing hints of a rusted iron bed frame, the rusty belly of a stove, and a handful of glass bottles.