Removed as a minor part 1

Moving to Canada

-rough article-

A story like this usually starts with an African kid living in absolute poverty, dreaming of a bright future in a Northern American country. But I was not that one. In fact, in a story like this, I should probably start by bashing my home country than in the end say how much I still love it (even though it is expected that I would never go there again). While this might make a good movie, it was not my story.

I was a moderately bright 8-year-old. I was doing well in school. I guess because I was the only one studying non-Asian at the time. But my parents were really fascinated by the Asian parents so I guess that it influenced my upbringing. I grew up playing piano till I refused to play. I rebelled against this passive instrument by playing guitar. That was my way of pissing off my parents I guess. I went to swimming lessons, had good grades (If you haven’t figured by now) and I watched anime (when I was allowed because my Christian parents would see demons everywhere). The day when I learned that we would be moving to Canada, I remember coming back from school with 3 buttons missing from my shirt and some blood on my front pocket. With small leaves and dust stuffed into my dirty tangled afro I looked at my mom with the proudest look.