I attended Nikan School from grade 5 to 8. On average I was being expelled from there about once a week which was completely fine with me as I wanted to get out of there although each time my dad managed to convince them to give me another chance. I finally managed to get out at the end of 8th grade when they gave us a surprise admittance exam for high school and I intentionally bombed it just so they wouldn't accept me. I ranked 30th out of 35 students. I'm not sure how the hell 5 students ranked worse than me unless they were doing the same thing as me.
"My parents, brother, and I left Iran in 1980, shortly after the revolution. After a brief stay in Italy, we packed all our belongings once again and headed west to the exotic and the unknown: Vancouver. We had recently been accepted as landed immigrants, meaning Canada graciously opened its doors and we gratefully accepted; we arrived at Vancouver International Airport on my 10th birthday, three suitcases and one sewing machine in tow. After respectful but intense questioning at immigration, we were dropped off at a hotel on Robson Street, which was then still a couple years shy of becoming the fashionable tourist hub it is today. We were jetlagged, culture shocked, and hungry, so that first night, my father and brother courageously ventured out into the wild in search of provisions. I fell asleep before they returned. The next morning, I woke up at 5 a.m. and ravenously feasted on a cold Quarter Pounder with cheese and limp French fries that had been left by my beds...

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