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My Mom said Joyce’s decision to let her and my Dad #adopt me was the greatest #gift anyone ever gave her. Joyce trusted my Mom and Dad to give me a good #life, which they did.

I’m glad my parents were always honest with me about the fact I was adopted, I knew from an early age. Joyce passed away in the early 90s, and I never got the chance to meet her. And I don’t know who my biological #Father was. I wish I did and at some point I am going to take further steps to try and find out.

But again, I just wanted to thank Joyce for giving me life. I love you. And I know a part of your soul has always been with me and I thank you for watching over me all these years.

This photo was originally posted on Instagram.

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PHOTOS 2-5 (UPPER RIGHT HAND CORNER): I was a tiny #baby! And my adopted Dad, the only Dad I’ve ever known, he was Joyce’s doctor and as such, he was the doctor in charge of my delivery. Which I always thought was so cool. Not many can say that. I wish he was here today so I could thank him for it. I miss him everyday. I love him.

I was born Steven Robert Han Lee, and I forget why (I’ll have to ask my Mom why). Anyway, my adopted Dad was Korean. He came to Canada in 1952. Some of his family, including his parents were stuck in what became the North. He wouldn’t be able to contact his family in the North until the 1980s. I can’t imagine going thirty years without talking to my folks and unfortunately he never got to talk to them again, but he did reconnect with his siblings who were in the North. But when they wrote him - it was always addressed “Hanju Lee,” not “Han Choo Lee.” Apparently when he came to Canada, immigration services screwed up his name and recorded it as “Han Choo,” not “Hanju.” Many who know me today, know that I go by Steven Hanju Lee. I changed it legally as a teenager to get rid of Robert, which from what I recall, had no deep meaning in terms of say, representing some kind of a personal family history, and I chose to use Hanju as my only middle name as a way to honour my Dad’s birth name, that his parents gave him.

These photos were originally posted on Instagram.

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PHOTOS 6-12 (LOWER LEFT HAND CORNER): April 15, 2020: An assortment of photos of baby me. The fifth photo is of me with my adopted parents, from birth - my parents, the only parents I’ve ever known: Hanju and Beverly Jean Lee.

It’s been 1 day since my last emotional breakdown.

And this #photo is a part of my subverted selfie project of 2020, photo 106/366, originally posted on Instagram.

#selfies #SubvertedSelfies #366daychallenge #2020Selfies #livingmybestlife #pansexual #bodyneutrality #selflove #selfacceptance #growth #iweigh #light #love #acceptance #stayhome #dailyinspiration #dailymotivation #day #postoftheday #instagood #empowerment #male #introspection #lookinginward #photooftheday #baby #babyboy #babylife

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PHOTO 13 (LEFT SIDE, LOWER RIGHT HAND CORNER): It’s my #birthday and I should feel on top of the world but don’t. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve had a lot of great moments and breakthroughs lately. But I still feel like I let others down, maybe even creep them out. I dunno.

I know I’m not a creep. I know I have so many amazing people in my life that care deeply for me. I know I’d never hurt another soul intentionally. I’ve let people down, but I wouldn’t ever look to cut another person down. I have love and reverence for all people, I always have. What I haven’t had was self-love. In fact I had years of self-loathing. There were times I couldn’t stand the skin I was born in. It’s why I’ve had suicidal ideation in the past and have attempted it in the past, and came close to wanting to try again this year. I even found Tuesday morning on my browser that I’d googled it the night before. I don’t remember doing it. But I want people to know and trust from the bottom of my heart that while I’ve had a history of difficulty loving me, I’d never hurt someone else. I could never harm someone else. It’s not who I am. If I ever had to, I’d never have a second thought about laying down my life to save others.

I want everyone to know this.

I’ve been talking to people about things in the past where I’ve let them down, as part of my healing. I’m slowly getting around to many people. I’ve had some amazing conversations with many already and those have been wonderful.

On another hand I have a history of spoiling my friends. And I’m learning more that none of that matters. A heartfelt homemade painting given as a gift resonates more because of the passion I put into it than say giving a camera or even a stuffed toy to someone I care for. In some of my past relationships I’d buy them half a hallmark store to try and to express my love but it didn’t result in love staying because I was filled with doubt and fear. The gifts I have were karmically tainted because of my sense of unworthiness. This is what I’m struggling to resolve by shifting my reality - that I know I’m a good man, a strong man, someone with lots to give the world. I’m tired of being afraid of rejection. I’m tired of rejection. I’m tired of feeling lost and alone.

This photo was originally posted on Instagram.

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PHOTO 14 (RIGHT SIDE, LOWER RIGHT HAND CORNER): There’s a deeper problem I’ve kept hidden, for two months now. For years now. I was so sick in January, with bronchitis and high fever. It took almost two months to get over. I thought I was over it at one point but it came back and knocked me down again. Overall my teachers were all great and were very accommodating to help me succeed. All but one.

I’ve had trouble in the past with this one, we just don’t always communicate well I guess. My education over the last decade has been up and down. I know at times it likely seemed I didn’t give it my all. After my ex left me, I ended up bombing out altogether and I know I let teachers who cared about me down.

Since I returned though, it’s been largely positive. With the odd exception I’ve gotten grades in the A range, between A- and A+. Up until the reading break, in spite of my bronchitis I was getting similar grades again, on track to getting through a full course load.

But as I’ve documented here, in addition to my bronchitis the depression has loomed over me. And in one class, I ended up being late with one important assignment. It was when the fever came back. I thought well, the teacher docks a certain percent per day so I thought I’ll take the hit and hand it in late as long as I got better. But then I didn’t get better. And two became three days, three became five, and then after seven days the assignment is worth nothing. It’s what has happened before with the same teacher and I know this teacher hates excuses and I retreated. I ignored them. But I saw my doctor for the physical and bloodwork, the first since 2017... and I even got a note just for that one assignment. And I reached out to them. I laid my case bare with honesty which is all I knew to do.

And I was rejected. I was told it was inappropriate to have told them what I had been going through. They were referring me to Kwantlen’s early alert. They were cancelling a meeting cause they felt unsafe and I was not to contact them until I spoke with counselling. This was something they did before years ago. And at that time counselling got back to me within like 48 hours. I actually genuinely like and respect this teacher, and wanted to do well. I got “A” range grades on the first three or four assignments for them. I feel like I’ve just let them down again.

Anyway, I didn’t hear from counseling. I went to the class, but sat at the back And kept mostly quiet Although I answered a few questions during class discussion, and the teacher acknowledge me whenever I raised my hand, letting me talk. But I was absolutely terrified.

Another week went by, and I had still heard nothing from the university about the situation. I actually wondered if she had even sent anything to the early alert. So, as I was finishing the homework for the next class, I received an email from the professor. In the email, the sharply told me that they were failing me in the class, As they had not received the outstanding assignment (even though I had attached what I had completed in my email to them the week before, along with several doctors notes: the ones I received from the walk-in clinic in January when I was originally very sick; and a new one from my primary care physician, written directly for them and asking that they grant me allowance). In their email, they said the decision had been made in consultation with the Dean, and the Office for Student Support. It’s funny, because after I got her first email the week before, I had thought about approaching the Dean, but didn’t. I decided to wait for counselling to contact me about the situation, as I didn’t want to be seen as going over their head. They finished their email by also saying I was to not contact them again about this situation, as that would be viewed as a violation of Kwantlen’s Student Code of Conduct. They then unfriended me and blocked me on social media, including Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter.

So this latest run-in with this teacher just brought back a flood of insecurity, doubt and depression. I stopped going to my other classes, and I slept a lot. At one point I even ended up on the phone with the suicide hotline, which I’ve spoken to before on my feed, also sharing about the attempt during a Kwantlen speaker’s series. I also got into Kwantlen counselling, who I called immediately the same afternoon I got the professor’s email. I was heartbroken and in tears when I finally went to counseling for an assessment, the same week I spoke.

And sadly, I can’t take these classes with anyone else as this professor is the only person teaching the upper level courses I need. But what upset and disturbed me the most was how the professor said that they were afraid of me. That sentence was like a knife to the gut, tearing it open like a Japanese warrior would tear themselves apart during Seppuku, a ritualized suicide by disembowelment. I remember telling all of this to my aesthetician, and when I mentioned they were scared of me, she exclaimed, “What?! You’re the biggest teddy bear I know!”

So I let March and April slip away. I did start on the final project for this class. I should have reached out to the Dean, but I really hate confrontation. Which has made me feel spineless, and asking myself when I became so weak… I’ve just never been good at confrontation, I fucking hate it. What’s worse is that it’s mainly rooted in the fact I’ve never been good at standing up for me. If I can’t get this class, I can’t even graduate. Which pains me, because if I had been able to get this class done, I’d be on track to graduate in spring 2021 (COVID concerns aside). But now, all that’s in limbo.

Counselling said I should appeal to the Dean. Everyone I’ve discussed this with has said I should fight it. But I haven’t. I build up resolve, and then crumble. I build up courage, and then crumble. In fact, today is likely the very last possible day to appeal to the Dean… having said that, I have been able to reach out to some of my other teachers, one of whom has already given me an incomplete contract, to finish outstanding work over the next month or so. Getting that did boost my confidence.

But still, I’m paralyzed when it comes to approaching the Dean. School is supposed to leave you feeling inspired, and ready to take on the world. It’s not supposed to leave you feeling broken, stupid, and suicidal. It’s not supposed to make you hate yourself even more than you did before you started. It’s not supposed to make you feel like you’ll never succeed if you don’t get that piece of paper that says Bachelor of Fine Arts. What’s worse is how this has just in general, clamped down hard on my desire to create new work. I’m devastated, and so angry at myself for not having handled any of this better. I even lied to my counsellor about having already approached the dean. And I felt so guilty doing that, and I ended up skipping a session because I was so embarrassed.

I sadly see no positive outcome for any of this. And that breaks my heart.

This photo was originally posted on Instagram.

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