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A place for Writing 12 students to read each other's writing, to critique, to suggest, to improve.
About Me
- Brad
- Former adult teacher who loves island beaches. Happy homebody and family man; once devoted dog owner, now without Tashi, my Tibetan Terrier. I prefer the absurdity of the imagination to the absurdity of imagining nothing.
8 comments:
“You know what to do, right?” asked my sister when she dragged me to laundry room to do the dry for her.
‘Oh, no! How can she expect me to do this?’
I began to sweat because that was the first time I operated any machines ever.
Of course, I had seen the dryer, but I just didn’t know how to do it.
After a few minutes later, my sister found me in front of the machine not knowing what to do.
“What on earth are you doing, don’t you know how to do it?”
“What do you expect from her to do, she doesn’t know how to do it.” interrupted my mom.
“What?! Do you mean… she doesn’t know? I thought she knows” and my sister began to laugh hard.
“Of course, she doesn’t know… She is the ‘PRINCENESS!’”
They both laughed and I left the room quietly.
A Well Bad Thing
Eight years ago, I was still an ambitious newly married wife who thought marriage was just like playing houses. I was still determined to act my best on my roll. So a few days after we returned from our honeymoon, I was planning to give my husband a huge surprise—prepare him a good dinner.
I left my office two hours earlier than usual. I brought two big eggplants and some pork strips. I wanted to make eggplant noodle fro him which was one of my favourite cuisines.
It took me two hours to chop the eggplant into slim strips, and I found my knife wasn’t sharp enough—I cut my fingers twice and they didn’t even bleed. I put all the possible flavours into it, as it should be salty to mix with the plain noodle. I put soya sauce and chicken powders (a salty power too) and salt.
I got everything ready and dressed the table and waited my husband to come back. He was quite surprise when he noticed that I prepared dinner—he always thought and treated me as a useless person.
I brought him a huge portion and watched him eating, soulfully. He’d taken only a small bite, like testing something deleterious. Then he frowned and rushed into the bathroom and spited the eggplant. “What’s wrong with you?” I just hated him when he reacted like this.
“Try it yourself. Whaton earth did you put into the eggplant?”
I tried a little; it was terribly salty, even after mixing with the plain noodle. But I immediately imagined the soap plays, the men always ate the terrible food their lovers prepared them and pretended that they enjoyed. But my husband, exaggeratingly drunk a lot of water and defined me—“this is murdering, I will get hear disease if I eat this.”
I couldn't say a word at all, sat there along and the tears just dropped into the eggplant—I wasn’t a good fighter yet eight years ago. “Did you ever make this before? Or you simply think that everybody can cook? I can help you to turn it an eggplant soup if you want. . .” he just didn't know when to shut up.
I poured everything into the toilet and shut myself into the bedroom, when my husband still had no idea why I was so angry.
We just ate outside for eight years before we moved to Canada. Somehow his stomach just cried when he couldn’t approach some particular Chinese food which wasn’t available in any Vancouver restaurants. So I never felt guilty when he made himself busy in the kitchen; our immigrant life even figured him a good cook. See, not a badly bad thing at all.
Her skin was dark and was melting in the heat of the summer wind like a chocolate left lying barenaked and half-eaten in my bed.I came over to her, and licked her-from top to bottom. I wasn't hungry but I was eager to taste the new found flavor.The moon was shining up high and it casted out our shadows on my bedroom wall. She was on top and was seated on my lap. My face was on her chest. Her breast was soft like a balls of cotton candies. My mouth was full of flesh.My mind was stuufed with desires.She was the girl whom every friend of mine dreamed of. She was the woman every men wished they had on their pockets. She was too much for a first timer.
Meeting by chance
We, a group of young assistants and the bachelors, walked to the canteen talking and laughing.
“Eyes left!” little Wu ordered and elbowed me. And I did obediently.
“What did you see?”
“Miss Sun!”-- She was a close friend of ours, but worked in another faculty.
“I mean the other one!”
“A young lady I have never seen.”
“That’s it. She is your fiancee!” Little Wu stressed.
“No sense! I haven’t any girlfriend!”
“I’m serious. She is your fiancee! If you wish, the wedding could be in next month.” Little Wu emphasized.
“But I don’t know her—even her name.” I murmured.
“That’s not the problem at all. Our “Bachelor Committee” knows her almost everything, and she knows you very well too. We did it about a year, while you were leaving our college in errand.”
Awaking what happened, the scene of “meet by chance”, all the other members of the Bachelor Committee laughed with a knowing look.
Words: 156
The first ...
The first time that my sister made all of us cry and laugh for her son is a memorable day for my family. My nephew, Joseph, eight or nine months old, started toddling around the home. My mother was busy with knitting a sweater for him, and his mother, Sara, bought some beautiful buttons for that sweater. After sweater finished, my mom asked about buttons to add them to her hand-made. My sister looked everywhere for them, but she didn’t find any.
Suddenly, we heard that she started to cry bitterly. All of us came out from our rooms, looking at her questioningly. My father asked her with fear to know what happened, and she sobbed:
“How would you shit them all?”
My dad confused. We all looked at each other. Joseph, on the floor, with his big glowing eyes, the most confused person about the story, was looking at us if we want to play with him a new play. Sara repeated again:
“His intestine will tear into pieces! Oh, my God! Oh! Your ass will be slitting!”
We, with fear and rush, started looking for buttons while she was crying. Our unsteadiness and her cry scared little Joseph. He cried in harmony with his anxious mother. Sara hugged him. Now both were crying, and we were looking anywhere to find those damned buttons.
Lastly, my mom found them in the layer of the sofa. Suddenly, all tears and fears vanished and turned to a boisterous laugh. Joseph stopped crying and looked at us with wondering, wet eyes. He was just a new comer to our life. Still we have many stupid moments of Sara’s fear for him, but that one was the first one.
I have never seen a parade before I came to Canada. When I knew a parade would be held in Downtown, I was very delighted and determined to go to see it and imagined what my first parade would look like. Since I learned many people would gather there and finding a good spot to see was very important, I decided to go Downtown earlier. That was a perfect sunny day. You’ve got nothing to complain about, enjoying the sunshine and a wonderful parade. It lasted about two hours. Everyone on the street was cheerful, including me. Apart from a little bit of discomfort caused by turning my head for a long time to see the parade, everything was terrific. I have been home before it was dark. After eating my dinner, I sat by the computer table. “What happened?” I thought. “My face is itchy and hurt”. I rushed into the bathroom to look at a mirror. Oh, my face was red and a little swollen, especially the left side of face. “I probably ate something wrong at dinner” I said to my mom. “I don’t think so. It looks like sunburn.” Mom replied with full confidence as a doctor. Yes, mom was right. I had a long exposure under strong sunlight without wearing sunblock when I saw the parade. It was my first parade , enjoyable and painful.
My First Day at the Swimming Pool
In the summer of 2004, I went swimming for the first time at Metrotown swimming pool. My niece and I swam in the kids’ pool for half an hour because we were not good swimmers. From there, I saw another pool where a man jumped off a plank and splashed in the pool. We loved that and thought it was fun, so we headed there.
My niece ran on the plank, stood and stared at the pool below her and backed off the plank.
“It seems wider and deeper than the one we were in. I am not jumping in there,’ she said. “You go if you want.”
“Of course I will,” I said as a stepped onto the plank. I hesitated for a minute and then jumped off into the water.
I went deep on the bottom and popped up again and again. I tried to stand, but it was so deep that I wouldn’t be seen even if I were standing. I screamed for help every time my head popped up. I was dazed and hopeless.
Then a splash came from behind and some strong hands reached for my arms. In a minute, I was lying on the surface, breathing heavily. Thank God, there was a lifeguard. I could say nothing, but thank my savor.
For two days, I had nightmares about the pool; and would smell the chemical of the pool.
That was my first day at the pool. I am still undecided whether that day should also be my last day.
First Awareness of Death
“How about you stay here for the dinner?” my grandma said.
“No, I promised my mom to go back dinner” I am on my way to the door.
“Ok, come next Sunday, tell your mom you will be staying for the dinner”
“Ok, I will, see you next week” I answered.
The next Sunday, I grandmother died, she had a sudden stroke causing massive bleeding in her brain, Sunday morning, she was discovered on the floor after my uncle came back from night shift work. She never got the chance to say good bye to anyone and pass away in the hospital.
When all of us arrived at hospital, I saw my mother was wiping my grandma’s body with a towel. She gave me the towel and asked me to wash it with water. I hold the towel in my hand, that was cold - that was it? - Death.
At age of seven, I never realized people will die one day. I started to remember all the happy moment I had been with her - her warm arm wrapping around me tightly at the chilly cold night - her kind voice and happy face. Sadness flooded my heart, following a feeling of helplessness. There is nothing you can do to wake her up, she has left us. I cried and cried during the funeral. Death! A whole new word to me; why is that; any happy moment of your life will finally meet an end; what can I do?
I kept on going back to my grandmother’s place, but she was no longer there.
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