Zer0/∞
Incelius Savage is The Godfather of Inceldom
★★★★★
- Joined
- Jul 23, 2021
- Posts
- 22,547
This student in my class whose family newly emigrated from Greece to America, when someone asked the question what is more important, money or family, he said family because he was separated from all his friends and family back home in Greece and all the normies scoffed at the mere thought of that: he was absolutely right.
If I spent most my childhood back home in Bangladesh I wouldn’t be so mentally ill, my younger brother would never have thought about killing himself and getting the police called at my house, and my mother would have never turned into a schizophrenic by the utter alienation and loneliness that is to live as an ethnic in the west, far away from that family and home, all because my father was deluded to come here to America for money. Look at what that got him, driving a taxi for a living and just barely making above minimum wage, only being able to afford this small, dirty, cold, very old apartment for us when he had Masters degree back home at respectable school back home, all completely worthless here and he burdens me with this intense pressure to live this failed American dream of his here in his place everyday!
When I went back to my father’s village and home for the first in over a decade since my family moved here, everyone welcomed me and accepted me: all the kids in the village would come and try to peer through the gate of my grandfather’s home where my aunt lived as well to see just a glimpse of me and my family. My aunts and uncles would invite me to their homes the entire week and feed me the sweetest mangoes, asking me questions about life here in America. For the first time I truly felt a sense of belonging in this world, a place I would proudly call home: here in the city, everyone has cold, uninviting blank stares on their faces and no one tries to ever be all that close to me, my existence is quickly forgotten by everyone, I’m just another face among the crowd you don’t even take a note of in the back of your mind.
I just wish that in another reality, my father would have been a rice farmer in my ancestral land of Comilla, Bangladesh and never left: what a sad and pathetic existence I have here.
@Transcended Trucel
@ilieknothing
@highinhibition
@lonelycurry26
@IncelKing
@BraincelsRefugee
@wereqryan
@Mentally lost cel
If I spent most my childhood back home in Bangladesh I wouldn’t be so mentally ill, my younger brother would never have thought about killing himself and getting the police called at my house, and my mother would have never turned into a schizophrenic by the utter alienation and loneliness that is to live as an ethnic in the west, far away from that family and home, all because my father was deluded to come here to America for money. Look at what that got him, driving a taxi for a living and just barely making above minimum wage, only being able to afford this small, dirty, cold, very old apartment for us when he had Masters degree back home at respectable school back home, all completely worthless here and he burdens me with this intense pressure to live this failed American dream of his here in his place everyday!
When I went back to my father’s village and home for the first in over a decade since my family moved here, everyone welcomed me and accepted me: all the kids in the village would come and try to peer through the gate of my grandfather’s home where my aunt lived as well to see just a glimpse of me and my family. My aunts and uncles would invite me to their homes the entire week and feed me the sweetest mangoes, asking me questions about life here in America. For the first time I truly felt a sense of belonging in this world, a place I would proudly call home: here in the city, everyone has cold, uninviting blank stares on their faces and no one tries to ever be all that close to me, my existence is quickly forgotten by everyone, I’m just another face among the crowd you don’t even take a note of in the back of your mind.
I just wish that in another reality, my father would have been a rice farmer in my ancestral land of Comilla, Bangladesh and never left: what a sad and pathetic existence I have here.
@Transcended Trucel
@ilieknothing
@highinhibition
@lonelycurry26
@IncelKing
@BraincelsRefugee
@wereqryan
@Mentally lost cel
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