Bullies: Bane to rabbits' existence.

Buzzfeed, what don't you complain about? This company fulfills everything on my checklist for "The Stereotypical 'Cool' Company Politics."

Is it me or does media make bullying an epidemic like SARS/ or MERS?

Here's my profile: Asian. Ethnic minority in my school. Parochial schooling for 12 years. Classmates were mostly low to middle class. Midwest location.

Now was I bullied? No. I was teased now and then in grade school for my bizarre hair texture, but that was from a couple of girls who were with me at band, and I knew it was more of joke. Did it hurt my feelings? In a way yes. I'm now sure how many hours I spent researching shampoos and conditioners to make my hair less frizzy and puffy. If you 'knew' my hair during my 6-7th grade years it was bizarre; I won't lie. I got over it.

In high school my freshmen Spanish class I was called C^3 (C-Cubed), which stood for Ching Chong Charlie, for a few days. I'll admit that was a little clever. I was a bit irritated, though, but I eventually got over it after a week.

During my sophomore year I was standing near the main entrance of my high school. Across from me was a couple of other kids, one of which was in my year and knew me through our history class. He walked over and asked to see my clarinet case; I said no. He, being much bigger than I was, slowly pried it out of my arms, opened it and eyed the parts. He then mocked me for my diminutive stature, saying I probably would get drunk after one sip of alcohol. It all ended rather anti-climatically. He gave me back my clarinet case, the contents as it were after he pried it out my arms, and walked back towards his group.

That's it. None of these has scarred me or made me bitter. My hair isn't as bizarre as it was back then. I now look back on C^3 with a chuckle. The guy who pried my clarinet case out of my arms was probably the closest to an actual bully that many seem to confess to when it comes to personal bully stories, but in the end I hope he's doing okay. I don't think his home life was as solid or as peachy as mine. In fact, I want to pick up the clarinet again and I know I need to work-out my arms, so there you have it.

I won't be holding up any "look-at-me-now" signs with a look of self-righteousness on my face anytime soon. I don't want to. I don't need to.