My name is Danil and I am writing because it makes me feel like a human being. I am 29 years old and will turn 30 by the end of the month. I am a second generation (south)(duh) Korean, hailing (haha… hailing, get it?) from Germany. I always liked English, ever since my brother made fun of me not spelling “forever” correctly. I tend to drop a lot of childhood memories in blog posts. Maybe a Korean thing, a sign of unresolved childhood trauma, immigrant thing or just “my” thing, I don’t know: My rich interior life seems to be fuelled by them. I don’t have friends. I don’t have a girlfriend. I am straight. Christian. Recently got a dead end job as call center agent, part time. Live alone in an shitty rooftop apartment in a shitty old house with shitty people living in it. Oh, my parents are the owner so I don’t pay any rent nor bills except for internet. But I don’t feel bad about any of that. Heck, I say: heck.
I honestly regard people who are obviously part of the bourgeois as other species. I dream of being part of them. The air around them is just different. The good life. Academic brilliance may get you entry, money may too. Yet there are many rich people who are very base and vulgar in their taste. I speak of people who seem to have descended from another stock. Who seem to radiate those civilising factors of society so naturally they must have had it up and running for centuries. Why all this sugar coated sentiment around all the shit that clearly come with obligations that are slipping my mind in order to built this case, you may ask?
Because I got a reasonably wealthy father who is very base and vulgar in his taste. A mother who has struggled against and lost the fight to integrate her feminist tendencies, being a horrible, un-nurturing mother in between. A older brother, who has done exceptionally well academically, gone off to be protestant pastor among all his German girl friends he uses as anchorpoint for both, emotional stability and personal value in a society that is predominantly non-Asian looking.
I resent them and I resent my past up to around half a year from my present point. When all my life choices were made by “old me”. I am pretty weird, from what I hear people say even flat out, bananas, bat-shit-crazy. I hear that I am gay or transgender a lot, maybe for being so weird or not having interest in close personal relationships with women and in general. Recently I hear that I have a small penis too on a semi daily basis from my 25 year old co-worker who is struggling with some of the shit that society does to people, (all that entitlement crap) but heck: call center agent in Germany usually means being one pay-check away from jobless-benefits, anyway. The tattooed, borderline retarded, stinking loosers without manners nor any common sense, talents and skills (but alotta issues) gather there. Which is why I fit right in, you see? I got hate and resentment as my number one driving factor. How far do I thought that would take me. Heck, if it keeps me fed and clothed and clean, you won’t hear me complain, amigo. In fact I am thankful that an oddball like me found a job. Minimum wage, sales goals, co-workers who hate my guts, all things that would have been fine for me to handle while I was sitting at school, sleeping. Now that it is my reality, I start to write. On an Easter Sunday evening in 2017. One day before we commemorate our Lord coming back from the dead. Still better than those panic attacks I had being on jobless-benefits, stuck on three months of “Project: Fit For The Future”. Elementary math and German on the level between 5th and 8th grade. Microsoft Word, typing up CV’s. It was living hell, a reminder why being without a job doesn’t pay. I vowed never to talk about it to anyone, but this hardly counts. Gosh. I see myself when I was in high school. Stoned and angry. Vowing to reach for the Buddhist idea of enlightenment above all else. How noble I was back then. This sense of nobility has never really left me, speaking of entitlement. The kind that makes you feel like it is all a big joke. Like a drama, so badly scripted that anything but clocking in your hours and spent the rest in solitude seems like a waste of precious energy. Hey, gotta go. Did I mention I spent good Friday with a prostitute? I regard myself “unconventional” in regard to the Christian faith. But, like you would give a damn.