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Our website address is: https://satori.live.
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All content is for individual viewing purposes only and not to be redistributed or used for any other purposes. Please understand the implications of the risks I am taking in order to share this side of me with you – it is a leap of faith I am taking. I know once it’s out it cannot be taken back, and one day my son may see it.
Please, don’t share it beyond this site. I beg you – being of Chinese descent, sharing material of this sort is taboo and forbidden. Hell, people are fascinated by the mere monopoly of black clothing in my wardrobe – nevermind my fancy of rock and metal music and subculture and disinterest in finance and management alike in favour of psychiatry and psychology. Much less the atypical, almost confusing preference for the unorthodox and curious – I recall this being seen by others as a reason to outcast, humiliate and make fun of me around grade 2, 4, 5 and 6. Nevermind my long frowned-upon appreciation for exhibitionism, body modification, BDSM and the likes…
In hindsight, I have discovered a newfound sense of admiration and respect for the girl who played into the role rather well – the nomadic, rebellious, mischievously smart clown that doubled as a vigilante for the bullied and outcast. And then, I try to remember and believe that that girl is me, and I was that girl. And yet I don’t have that same sense of respect for me. I try to pretend that I feel a sense of new found pride, as I pretend that I believe that that girl is me. I was that girl.
But then my heart falls into what feels like a bottomless pit whilst the corners of my lips return to their sunken and sullen default. I don’t know why I bother to pretend anymore. I plaster a smile on my face and do what I can to act alright. Whatever alright is. Anyways, I am already a reject. The aforementioned is simply a rough overview of a few factors – all mundane and imo ordinary.
My fondness for things “unfamiliar” to the “general population” made me the perfect scapegoat for every behaviour deemed unacceptable. Even if I was outcasted, excluded, bullied etc. Even if I was nowhere near the scene of the “crime”, I must have been the one who had led their children astray. I cannot recall why, but I vaguely recall a “popular” boy whom I had formed a genuine understanding and connection with who had recoiled and avoided me like the plague when ridiculed by the “mean girls” – I believe it was because the leader of their posse fancied the boy. I don’t remember, or maybe I refuse to recall and experience the ever familiar pang of rejection – but to be given the same treatment by one’s own family seems to be a rather plausible explanation for the years of emotional attachment to follow.
I was blessed to have found people whom I could call friends, one of which I still consider a friend. But shortly after I had learned the meaning of what I assume to be joy, I was abruptly and forcefully banished. I was, amidst an academic year, cast to isolation in the company of my mother for half a year in San Fransisco. I was, at the age of 12, deprived of education, social interaction, and autonomy.
I was blessed for my mother to abandon her own life and selflessly escape with me so I could be saved. Only now, am I experiencing the tsunami of emotion and suppressed feelings from then – this is one of many incidents others would refer to as traumatic that were simply accepted as is in the years to follow.
I would very much like to pursue a professional career, and so I would be beyond grateful if you would graciously bestow this courtesy of confidentiality upon me and grant me the luxury to explore my forbidden fantasies through this safe space so I can continue to share with you this side of me that is condemned to be a dirty secret should I wish to remain in my family’s good graces… Let’s keep this a secret between us – thank you