diaryentry._2800字

　　Dear Diary　

　　Ever since I came to US, I act more like a loner (of course I have a roof over my head and food to contribute to my growing weight), but I’m talking about something deeper, you can’t see it hear it or smell it. You could feel it, in some mysterious form; it’s just there, every time you take a glance.　

　　Sometimes I can’t understand how I ended up in this mess. So I look back at my footsteps and seek for the tiniest details that might have been the cause.　

　　I was born in Changchun, Jilin province of China. And I lived my life there extremely peacefully and quietly, without any distractions or important events. Plain and ordinary. How ever, I did not like to be an ordinary child. That explains why I was never quite in school. Not talking. Not screaming. Not entertaining myself but crying. Every time I cry, I attract most attention; teachers all rushed to me and asked what the problem was. I would have said I longed for home. But I was too exhausted to speak. No one knows why and they all think I’m ridiculously childish and hopelessly spoiled.　

　　That’s not important. What’s important now is that I rarely cry, especially in front of others. Because there’s nothing to cry for and no one to see me cry or care whatsoever.　

　　As they put it, I’m not sad. I’m just regretful.　

　　My grandma panics every time I cry or complain in the lightest tone. She always tries her best to satisfy my whatever unreasonable desires. That’s why I lover her a lot more than my parents, they are simply too strict for their and mostly my own good.　

　　Once I slipped and crashed my knee on the solid ground when we were shopping. I was about six at that time. I burst into tears. Mum gave me a cold stare and continued walking. Then I cried louder, signifying she should carry me home. But no, she scolded me for my carelessness and insisted me to walk home. So I did, but unwillingly. And I thought that some day, when I have my own child, I would not be as mean a mother. 　

　　By the time I got home, right in the door way, grandpa came to my rescue. I burst into tears once again and exaggerated my disability to walk. So he carried me in. (Actually I handled it just fine before grandpa came along.) So that was a lesson mum taught me: don’t leave another road for yourself, or you’ll never get pass this one. 　

　　There’s nothing much to say about my dad. Yes he is a scientist. Yes he studies chemistry. Yes he is smart. And yes he does stuff better than I. But no, he’s not very successful in being a father. As much as I hate to say, my Dad does not know how to live his life or treat the people around him right. Sometimes he supper happy for one minute, and the next minute he’s angry for no reason. (Or babyish reasons that has nothing to do with the person he’s angry at) It’s not that he’s mean or anything, its just the way he was raised. You know, as the youngest among the 3 siblings, he practically has everything his own way. And that contributed to his volcanic temper (explodes at any time anywhere anyhow). So sometimes I just choose to keep out of his way, especially when I see the dark clouds over his face. In a situation like this, you have to watch the weather forecast (if there is any) and know how to survive better.　

　　I was never popular at school. The teachers would have hated me if it wasn’t for my grades. One teacher threatened to chop my head off if I continued crying. (An old near-the-end woman with a horrible disgusting face. I wonder if she’s dead by now.) And I never got along with the others too well for I was quiet most of the times. I was a lot more talkative after I went to Sweden, and things became easier. But my unstable status made it harder to earn long-lasting friendship. It is either I leave or they leave, gone off to somewhere else. And we would be gloomy for a few weeks or so and never bother to send emails to each other even though we promised. 　

　　I was never a teacher’s pet in primary school, not even in Sweden where people are dumb like hell. They couldn’t even memories their times tables. I was in the best math group (we get a privilege of not participating in the ordinary class word and get to brag about this special honor.) And once I worked on my advanced class work while the teacher was giving a lesson to the rest of the class. Somehow her brain did worked right and called on me to answer her previously asked question. Of course I wasn’t paying attention. So I asked, “What’s the question?” And she flushed and blushed, told me to stay after class and discuss about how rude of me to say that. She insisted me to say “pardon” instead of what. Come on! That was in Sweden for god’s sake! But still, she made a great deal about it and told my dad and surprisingly he took my side. She was a British teacher. So that explains pretty much everything.　

　　The teachers in middle school liked me much better. Probably due to my change in personality, or at least it seems to be. See, in china, we do not define popular as how pretty you are how wealthy you are or how many boyfriends you have. But what grades you have and how the teacher much likes you. Which is pretty suckish.　

　　And probably because I couldn’t get use to the way things work in china; I made a terrible decision in coming to America. That reminds me of the phrase: out of the frying pan and into the fire. At least, I had friends in china. But here, noooo, everyone is too busy minding their own business. Well, that might be my fault. Because I came here with a feeling that I will have no friends, and I kept thinking about it and worrying about it and acting as if it’s true until it finally becomes true. Now how great is that? 　

　　To speak the truth, (I mean real truth) I never intended to make friends here. I never wanted and I never tried. That’s why. I don’t know, when I get to this age, and at a totally different place, I just can’t expect to fit in very well and I never wanted to fit in. Especially when those narrow-minded Americans have conversations with me such as:　

　　“Do Chinese eat snakes?”　

　　“No.” 　

　　“I saw that in a movie!”　

　　“……” (Well I saw that the Americans are all fat and lazy and eat too much junk food in the cartoons! What you see isn’t necessarily the truth.)　

　　OR.　

　　“Do you email your friends in china?”　

　　“Yes”　

　　“Do they have internet in China?”　

　　“Yes.”　

　　“Oh they do???KOOL!!!”　

　　“……” (What the heck???)　

　　OR.　

　　“China is seriously overpopulated; they are using up all the natural sources!”　

　　“That’s why we are having birth control.”　

　　“But that’s against the human rights!”　

　　“……” (So what do you want us to do!???)　

　　OR　

　　“So why are you here at the united states?”　

　　“To experience.”　

　　“So you’re going back?”　

　　“Yes”　

　　“Are you here with your parents?”　

　　“Yes.”　

　　“Do they work?”　

　　“……” (DUH! So what, we begged our way to the United States?)　

　　Gosh these people take themselves too seriously. What pisses me off the most is what M once said: “Well you can’t blame the Japanese for killing Chinese; china is simply overpopulated, they need to start getting rid of some of that people.” If this was Japanese I wouldn’t say anything but curse her guts out but gosh she’s from Hong Kong! Yes she rotted, among with all the others around her. And that’s why I do not want to stay here too long.　

　　So now you see the point. To tell more truth, not only that I’m feeling self-abased to fit in this group but I also came with some sort of pride. I know I am special and I sure am. I know what I had and what I lost. I know what if feels like to possess something that others took granted for. I’ll always have my memories. That is what makes me stronger, that makes me stand alone. 　

　　I can’t see the future for the past is always blinding my eyes, telling me that I should have been left to the past. But as long as I’m still alive, everything is okay. As they say, tomorrow is another day.