Hello guys and welcome to my second multi-chapter story. I've just started this one so the updates may take a little while...Anyways...THIS IS OOC. LISTEN TO MY WARNING DISCLAIMER: The characters, except for my OC, belong to Himaruya-Sama.

Dear Mother,

I will never understand America - the people, the language, the culture - and I don't believe you would either. I'll never understand how so many people could hate one violet-eyed, blonde-haired Finnish teen for an accident that had nothing to do with him.

It was probably the vibes I gave off. I hate to admit to you that I'm a troubled child with a deep history full of abandonment and torture that no one would understand...Not even you, not even me. I'm unpredictable and blunt with no tolerance for troublemakers and a falsely sweet demeanor. People talk behind my back about the "little war monster", the "bipolar freak", and my personal favorite: "the guy on drugs".

I wasn't like so oddly pessimistic until recently so I don't blame you if you think this is a stranger sending notes to you in heaven. I wasn't like that before you died in my arms. I wasn't like that before I saw all of that gore and blood coming from the closest person to me. Not after I was blamed for the worst devastation in my life and sent to your only known relative.

I'm only fourteen, going on fifteen. I shouldn't have to be going through this crap (sorry mom, you couldn't help it that there were drunk drivers on the road). People talk about keeping your childhood in tact until you're ready. Screw them. You're never going to be ready for that burden. I lost my innocence before I could realize it. I haven't gotten used to it, but one thing I know for sure is that I will never be that cheerful, carefree person I once was.

Not even if someone threatened to shoot me in the head.

Anyways, forget that I said that.

Onto my surroundings:

The people suck.

The first person I met compared my eyes to regurgitated blueberries. My next door neighbor is from Denmark, but unlike some of our old neighbors, he's as annoying as hell. You know your own sister...Unfortunately. One teacher stopped me in the hallway and unbuttoned his shirt...Gross. And the last person I will mention is another neighbor who is obsessed with his piano.

But at least the scenery in New York was nice, even if the people weren't. The school I am to be going to is small, but beautifully decorated. The world maps and sheet music made up for its plain plastered walls - not very common but I loved it at first sight. Another thing I should mention is the actual plot of the building itself. Each path diverted into another path but they would always lead to the place you needed to be with no trouble. I was interested on how it worked, but I'd never have to time to investigate.

Too bad I wouldn't actually be taking classes here.

My aunt wanted me to make some money in return for a roof over my head. Unfortunately, she loves pornographic movies and all that shit and came up with the most perverted job idea ever. Luckily, I made a deal with her that I'd try to apply to one other job before I ended up at the harem.

The only reason she agreed was because I almost chased her out of her house with a machete.

So here I was at the bathroom sink in the boy's restroom, making sure I looked decent. You know that I usually look decently good but today I wanted to make the impression of a professional, organized businessman. This was something I loved to do at home in the first place, so why not? You know my great love for helping others, even if it drags me down emotionally. If I got this job, I could actually be doing something I loved for once. It was all in the display.

I dabbed the last bit of foundation onto a gigantic pimple on my forehead and leaned forward towards the mirror.

Who was that?

It took me a while to realize I was staring at myself - an almost-pimple-free, neatly done-over version of myself. This paint was starting to remind me how pale I actually was, plus it felt unnatural and weird. Now I understand why you never wore makeup. How do most girls put up with this every day?! Why did aunt want me to wear this crap?! Did I look that bad?! Sure, my hair was a messy rat's nest usually and freckles and pimples dotted my face, but it complemented my pale features and unusual eyes well. Besides, it was her idea to send me to option number one and there must've been a reason for it. I doubt they'd just take any random person.

"Mr. Vaïnämöinen?" A deep voice resonated from the speaker, startling me from my thoughts. I cringed, tugging at my shirt cuffs. Shit, I guess this was my call either to heaven or to doom...Most likely pergatory. After one last look in the bathroom mirror, I made my way to the ominous door in the farthest corner of the whole school.

My hand trembled on the silver door handle. If I didn't get this job, which I probably wouldn't, my aunt would send me to choice number one. And honestly, I'm too young to...Forget that I said that. Don't worry mom, I'm in good hands. Auntie is the best! We make dinner together every night, and she DOESN'T watch sex tapes while I'm trying to sleep, and I HAVEN'T been beaten up by her, and...Never mind. I won't lie to you. In truth, it's absolute hell.

For better or for worse. It was decided now.

Hiya! Emil here :3

Time to write a fictional/non-fictional biography of myself.

As I said in my profile, I use Tino to write about me, how I think, what I think about.

Tino's happy, normal side that everyone knows is similar to my happy normal side that some people know of. After I took a quiz that called Tino "The little war monster", that idea of a tougher, more disturbed version of Tino took shape. This is what I came up with.

Now you see I said "Fictional"? I do not live with an abusive parent, my mom didn't die, I'm not Finnish and I never will be (no matter how much I want to be), and I'm not a guy. In appearance, we look tremendously different. Tino: Blonde hair, violet eyes, a guy. Me: Almost-black hair, black eyes, a girl. XD

Now for the non-fictional world. I do think like that, actually, though I'm less pessimistic. I want to be a counselor when I grow up as well. If I didn't make that part clear, I apologize. More info on this will be told later...At the right time...-evil laugh-.

As you can see, this fic's a little different. Its a journal Tino's writing for his late mother, Annikki. It's placed a year before TWWMO.

I also wanna give credit for the title to the song "Something Better" by Softengine. If you listen very closely, you'll hear the title and several other references.

By the way, you'll see a lot of Tino in That's What the World is Made of and in the sequel to that, so I hope you get used to him this way :3

Thanks for reading! :)