I had a friend named Quoc that I was friends with from about third grade until 8th grade when he started running with a different crowd. We didn't talk much freshman year until near the end of my sophomore year we ran into each other after school and talked for a couple of hours. I asked him what he was up to with his new friends and he takes out a fucking pistol out of his backpack and starts waving it around. There was no one around but we were in an open space, plus it was about a month after Cho's last stand at Virginia Tech, so schools were on high alert and I could not imagine the kind of shit I would have gotten into if a teacher happened to see us and call the cops. I nearly shit myself and told him to put the gun back in his backpack. I knew his friends were like him, working class Vietnamese guys trying to thugmaxx in the world, but I thought they were posers. I didn't think they could get him a gun, especially in California.
Quoc laughed at my freakout but what he said next always stuck with me. He asked me who the fuck I was trying to impress? He told me that people hated me already for being a fat Asian nerd, being hated for being a wannabe gangster would be an improvement. I didn't realize it at the time, but Quoc knew we would always be judged by how we look before we are judged by anything else we've done in our lives. To him, joining a gang was just a way to protest against the things society doesn't even acknowledge that they do to us. We went back on forth on this, with me arguing that becoming angry wasn't the answer, and that his own future is in danger if he keeps doing what he's doing. I told him I didn't get him anymore, and I left campus to walk home.
It wasn't until I got blackpilled years later that I realized he was right. I'm an idiot for thinking anyone, especially women, truly care about who I am inside. Their "respect" should be worthless to me and I should be happy if I were to ever become a person that they're scared of. I reactivated my Facebook and found Quoc on there, it turns out he kinda did clean up. He works in IT now and is married with a daughter, his wife looks like Naomi Campbell. Lucky guy. I sent him a facebook message and he texted me his number back, we talked for an hour and it was awesome because we talked like we talk every day. He invited me to dinner on Sunday so I can meet his family. A part of me is sad though, I have a feeling that now that he has the wife and house he won't be as based as I remembered him to be
Quoc laughed at my freakout but what he said next always stuck with me. He asked me who the fuck I was trying to impress? He told me that people hated me already for being a fat Asian nerd, being hated for being a wannabe gangster would be an improvement. I didn't realize it at the time, but Quoc knew we would always be judged by how we look before we are judged by anything else we've done in our lives. To him, joining a gang was just a way to protest against the things society doesn't even acknowledge that they do to us. We went back on forth on this, with me arguing that becoming angry wasn't the answer, and that his own future is in danger if he keeps doing what he's doing. I told him I didn't get him anymore, and I left campus to walk home.
It wasn't until I got blackpilled years later that I realized he was right. I'm an idiot for thinking anyone, especially women, truly care about who I am inside. Their "respect" should be worthless to me and I should be happy if I were to ever become a person that they're scared of. I reactivated my Facebook and found Quoc on there, it turns out he kinda did clean up. He works in IT now and is married with a daughter, his wife looks like Naomi Campbell. Lucky guy. I sent him a facebook message and he texted me his number back, we talked for an hour and it was awesome because we talked like we talk every day. He invited me to dinner on Sunday so I can meet his family. A part of me is sad though, I have a feeling that now that he has the wife and house he won't be as based as I remembered him to be
