PINPOINT
Wu Ping◼ 2/1/2001 ( 17 ) ◼ ◼ Straight
I steal
▼ A P P E A R A N C E:
I really don't know how to describe myself. But I guess I'll try.What is better? To be blinded by the light or see in the darkness?
//STATS:
◼HEIGHTS: 171 cm
WEIGHTS: 70kg
SHAPE: Sturdy
HAIR COLOR: Brown
EYE COLOR: Black
ETHNICITY: Asian
SEXUALITY: Straight
//DESCRIPTION:
It is hard to say whether or not am I beauty or handsome, for my own beauty is way different from others. But I guess I am enough to see. Not too bad so that you avoid looking me in the eyes. But not too shine to become the spotlight.
▼ B I O G R A P H Y:
”I am a son of whore. Of course my dignity ain't that high.”
Let's me get this straight. I hate my mother.
A fool. A blinded woman. A person that live too much for others without holding back. And then, just when there is nothing left in her to give, the “friends" avoid her. Such is the trail of life. The once madam of Macau, daughter of the most powerful gang is now nothing more but a mere lady beside the road, ready to spread her legs and welcoming men to buy her food and fun. Drugs, sex, and the sensation of having something warm to between her arm to fill her silent and lonely nights dragged her further down the road of climax. Even worse, she did not even use protection. I guess that explained why she dies of AIDS and various other illnesses later on.
And I was nothing more than a talking sack of potato. When had I taken part in her life? I have no fucking idea. Day by day, sitting quietly on that wooden chair, listening to her moaning as men and sometimes women come in and out like marketplace. She was selling her body, and I was nothing more than an accessory that followed by. Was I scared? Of course I was. How could you not? Maybe, I was never her son. Maybe, I was a mistake. A horrible mistake. But I chose not to believe in such things. I am too much afraid of my bubble getting popped by the pin of reality.
The time that I was sent away from her has been a few soft notes in my life. In there, I made a bunch of good friend there. But more than ever, I saw the unconditional love. Unlike mother, these strange men and women do not required any their love in exchange of something nor expecting anything coming from their child. All they ever want is to take care one. To feel the meaning of love. And every day, seeing men and women, coming in and out of the orphanage raised hope in me. When they come in, they have nothing. But when they come out, a child hand was within their palm. And I could swear to you, that would be their greatest smile. For now,they would never face the loneliness ever again. They would have someone to tend them; someone to feed them; someone to take them to those places that people show on TV where they take “picnic." And without realization, I found myself indulge in thinking myself in that boy or girl’s position. The image of my hand in my father and mother's arm always soften my heart back then. And how much I long for that moment during those time, I wonder.
After 3 years staying in that orphanage, the woman I thought to be dead after abandoned me in that valley returned with a man beside. “Oh, I forgot" was all she said as she dragged me to her new place. It was a relatively better house, with good instillations, enough food in the refrigerators, and a tv. At that age, TV to me was something mesmerizing. I had only looked from afar with the desire of laying my hand on one of those things. So of course when I found out that my father had one, he became my most beloved person on this world. And he did his duty. He provided me with care, takes me to school, sometimes taking a day off to take us to somewhere new. And I tried my best with my mother. Comforting her when she is on high, restraining her from going outside in the dark, and doing common activities where the three of us could do together.
But it seems like the life of a family could not held a noble woman like her. So on that normal day, she left us. No letter. No pictures. No notes. Just a simple phone number that always lead us to her voicemail. I never bother keeping her phone number. The idea of betraying of her family caused me to hate all the bond that I have to her. So I crumbled it, throw it on the floor, and move on like nothing had happened. But Father was different. He carefully picked that yellow note before placing it in a glass container on his table. Beside him, a rose, a love letter, and the first tips that confirmed mother and Father’s date I assumed were by his side. And then the man weep from the bottom of his heart until it too filled with ashes of what once was.
She died 2 years later, just on the day she passed away. We were there as Father's closed her coffin. Turn out, she was not that far away from us. Still the same city, just on a different ends. She died with a smile on her face, despite the fact that she had got AIDS. It was a painless smile that etched perfectly on her soft and white skin. It blended well with her closing eyes and her parted lips. Only now did I saw her past self. Of a woman whose had lost all. But what thing I never understood. Why a smile? What was she thinking off? Were me and father in there? Or was she happy for getting out of this horrible dream? I never know and guess I prefer it that way.
Life went by like a snap of a finger. Tomorrow, I will move out from here, to a land of freedom and liberty. Father's brother was able to accomplish his immigration documents. And I hoped this would be a new chapter for me.
Goodbye Mother. May you found happiness in your dream. And I find mine.
A fool. A blinded woman. A person that live too much for others without holding back. And then, just when there is nothing left in her to give, the “friends" avoid her. Such is the trail of life. The once madam of Macau, daughter of the most powerful gang is now nothing more but a mere lady beside the road, ready to spread her legs and welcoming men to buy her food and fun. Drugs, sex, and the sensation of having something warm to between her arm to fill her silent and lonely nights dragged her further down the road of climax. Even worse, she did not even use protection. I guess that explained why she dies of AIDS and various other illnesses later on.
And I was nothing more than a talking sack of potato. When had I taken part in her life? I have no fucking idea. Day by day, sitting quietly on that wooden chair, listening to her moaning as men and sometimes women come in and out like marketplace. She was selling her body, and I was nothing more than an accessory that followed by. Was I scared? Of course I was. How could you not? Maybe, I was never her son. Maybe, I was a mistake. A horrible mistake. But I chose not to believe in such things. I am too much afraid of my bubble getting popped by the pin of reality.
The time that I was sent away from her has been a few soft notes in my life. In there, I made a bunch of good friend there. But more than ever, I saw the unconditional love. Unlike mother, these strange men and women do not required any their love in exchange of something nor expecting anything coming from their child. All they ever want is to take care one. To feel the meaning of love. And every day, seeing men and women, coming in and out of the orphanage raised hope in me. When they come in, they have nothing. But when they come out, a child hand was within their palm. And I could swear to you, that would be their greatest smile. For now,they would never face the loneliness ever again. They would have someone to tend them; someone to feed them; someone to take them to those places that people show on TV where they take “picnic." And without realization, I found myself indulge in thinking myself in that boy or girl’s position. The image of my hand in my father and mother's arm always soften my heart back then. And how much I long for that moment during those time, I wonder.
After 3 years staying in that orphanage, the woman I thought to be dead after abandoned me in that valley returned with a man beside. “Oh, I forgot" was all she said as she dragged me to her new place. It was a relatively better house, with good instillations, enough food in the refrigerators, and a tv. At that age, TV to me was something mesmerizing. I had only looked from afar with the desire of laying my hand on one of those things. So of course when I found out that my father had one, he became my most beloved person on this world. And he did his duty. He provided me with care, takes me to school, sometimes taking a day off to take us to somewhere new. And I tried my best with my mother. Comforting her when she is on high, restraining her from going outside in the dark, and doing common activities where the three of us could do together.
But it seems like the life of a family could not held a noble woman like her. So on that normal day, she left us. No letter. No pictures. No notes. Just a simple phone number that always lead us to her voicemail. I never bother keeping her phone number. The idea of betraying of her family caused me to hate all the bond that I have to her. So I crumbled it, throw it on the floor, and move on like nothing had happened. But Father was different. He carefully picked that yellow note before placing it in a glass container on his table. Beside him, a rose, a love letter, and the first tips that confirmed mother and Father’s date I assumed were by his side. And then the man weep from the bottom of his heart until it too filled with ashes of what once was.
She died 2 years later, just on the day she passed away. We were there as Father's closed her coffin. Turn out, she was not that far away from us. Still the same city, just on a different ends. She died with a smile on her face, despite the fact that she had got AIDS. It was a painless smile that etched perfectly on her soft and white skin. It blended well with her closing eyes and her parted lips. Only now did I saw her past self. Of a woman whose had lost all. But what thing I never understood. Why a smile? What was she thinking off? Were me and father in there? Or was she happy for getting out of this horrible dream? I never know and guess I prefer it that way.
Life went by like a snap of a finger. Tomorrow, I will move out from here, to a land of freedom and liberty. Father's brother was able to accomplish his immigration documents. And I hoped this would be a new chapter for me.
Goodbye Mother. May you found happiness in your dream. And I find mine.
▼ A B I L I T I E S / S K I L L S:
The positive things when you have no idea who your father is that you can blame your bad traits for him
//ABILITIES:
//SKILLS:>list>
//LIMITATIONS:
//WEAKNESSES:
◼ Illusion Manipulation| Test
: User can create, shape and manipulate illusions, causing targets to see, hear, touch, smell and/or taste things which do not actually exist or cause them to perceive things differently from what they truly are.//SKILLS:>list>
| Test
//LIMITATIONS:
◼ TBD | Test
//WEAKNESSES:
◼ TBD | Test
▼ N O T E S:
//SUPPORTING CAST:
//STOMPING GROUNDS
//PARAPHERNALIA
▼ ALLIES
▼ FRIENDS
▼ ENEMIES
◼ TBD | Test
▼ FRIENDS
◼ TBD | Test
▼ ENEMIES
◼ TBD | Test
//STOMPING GROUNDS
◼ TBD | Test
//PARAPHERNALIA
◼ TBD | Test
Status: Incomplete
Reason: Rush. Lack of idea
Doton. 
