Here’s To My Past
I don’t usually tell anyone about this little detail of my past ‘cause I always found it an unnecessary and uncomfortable subject to talk about, but like my high school history teacher used to tell me, “You can’t understand the future, unless you understand the past!” Or some bullshit like that.
I was born in Cambodia and I moved to the United States when I was just turning four. No, I didn’t know how to speak English and yes, of course, I was a fucking cutie. I went straight to this deserted little richy-rich town and began my new life with my older sister, Nicole, my mom and my mom’s American husband, Joe Foeman.
The United States! The land of rejects! Where all the people from different countries populate because they’ve failed at life wherever the hell else they came from! These rejects decided that America is the place to start over, and to better their lives as well as their children’s lives’ (how sweet)! I’m not dissing the United States; I’m just stating facts that my history teacher used to tell my class, but then again, my history teacher told my class a whole lot of shit. This guy used to be in the marines and he lived in a trailer house down by the river. Trust me, he was one crazy ass motherfucker. He always came in half asleep and half coked up, preaching to us about not doing drugs. How strange? I can’t say that I didn’t learn shit in his class, because I learned more about the history of drugs than I ever wanted to find out.
But anyway, back to the USA. I love America, but I also love where I came from. Back where I lived, everyone worked. If they didn’t, they pretty much died. Nice, huh? It’s quite different from the United States, where people can sit on their ass all day and get fat because they just don’t give a damn. But then, later on, in their worthless lives’ they decide to make something of themselves by going on impossible diets even though time-is-a-ticking.
But I’m glad I moved to the United States. I got an education and all that bullshit that rejects came to America for. And I know for a fact that an education is something I sure as hell would not of gotten if I lived in some other third world country. But life in the United States wasn’t all happy times, like when my mom got married, or when my mom got pregnant (by accident) and had my little brother, Jesse. Some parts of my new life were pure shit. Especially when Joe tried to rape Nicole and me. Fortunately for me, I didn’t end up getting raped but my older sister became the victim. I was only 6 (I think) and my older sister was 11 (I think). Although it’s been years, I remember so much from that night (besides our ages).
That night, my mom and that drunken American fag bag were involved in a violent fight. He threw a fucking chair or something like that, at her and even threatened her with a 12-gauge shotgun that he kept in his room. He never really aimed that shit at her but he did threaten her by shooting at the ceiling leaving a 12-inch gap on the living room ceiling. My mom ran to my aunt (through marriage; aka that bastards’ sister’s) house, which was next door at that time, and called the police.
Meanwhile, Nicole and I were asleep upstairs. Luckily we weren’t in the room above the living the room. It was quiet after our mother left, until shortly after when I was awoken by cries for help and mom. It was Nicole. Apparently, while I was sleeping, Joe had dragged her out of bed unto the floor so he could eat her out. So much other shit happened that night and I’m sure you don’t want to hear it but fucking deal with it because you couldn’t possibly imagine how much guilt, fear, and every other fucking emotion possible, that I felt then and most of all, after all that shit happened. I can’t even thank my sister enough for her bravery. She saved me from him, and that’s more than I could possibly ever ask for. I just remember her, screaming and throwing shit at Joe until he finally stopped trying to pull my pants down and went after her. I wanted to return the favor so badly but no matter how much I tried, nothing seemed to work. I even tried to talk him out of what he was doing. But he just replied me with nasty, filthy, disgusting answers, like when I asked him why he was doing what he was doing. He replied me by saying, “Because it tastes like ice cream.” I wasn’t exactly sure what he was up to but somehow, I knew it was bad so I jumped on his back, punching, screaming and crying but he just pushed me off him like I was nothing. There was so much I could have done that would make so much sense but I didn’t do shit. I always feel so selfish looking back when I ran upstairs, told my sister that I was going to find help and then ran to my aunt’s house. I wish I could have stopped him or at least taken Jesse with me, but I didn’t. For the longest time, all I could hear and see in my dreams were the crying pleads of my sister not leave her and Jesse being left alone on the living room floor, crying. I don’t think I could ever even fucking begin to forgive myself for letting them down like that.
You might be wondering, “I thought your mom went to your aunt’s to call the police?” Well, she did, but they didn’t do shit until what seemed like fucking forever. When I arrived banging on the glass door crying, they brought me inside and asked me all these questions about myself. I was so in shock that I yelled at them fuck heads. How the fuck could they have asked about me when that fucking child molester was abusing my older sister? Trust me honey, we can skip talking about me and go straight to the big picture. Those fucking retards could have at the least let me go back to get my baby brother who was only 8 months at that time, but no. It was too dangerous, they said. Then why the fuck couldn’t they do it?
And people today, wonder why I hate the police. I hope this paints a clear picture as to why.
Fuck the police!
