I was just a twelve-year-old Vietnamese boy.

I was my parents’ love and joy.

I wanted nothing more,

Than to be successful in that side of the shore.

But the day when I moved to United States

was the day I truly learned how to hate.

My grandparents gave me cold embraces,

smiling with masks on their faces.

They were harsh, stubborn, and old.

They play favorite, I was told.

They were absent in all of my life,

And now I’m caught in this needless strife.

We’re not grandchildren in my grandparents’ eyes,

But failures who merely scrape by.

Nothing my parents do can appease their demand,

in this busy, bustling land.

Look down upon us all you will,

Just you wait, one day until

I become richer than they all ever could

And cut all ties with them for good.

A story doesn’t have to start

with a happy beginning,

but I will follow my heart

to make my story have a good ending.