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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.
16 comments:
“Get back here, you!” I still remember those words as if it happened yesterday.
Whenever it was harvest time, my family went to countryside, my dad’s hometown, to see his distant relatives. As usual, my dad bought a new car again and he couldn’t wait to show off his new car. Since my relatives didn’t have any cars, my dad was so proud of his new car.
And so, the annual trip began, and every time it was horrible.
When my family got there, it seemed the whole neighbourhood was there to greet us, but it seemed to greet the new car rather than us. We didn’t mind at all because I, for one, it was so amazed to see the countryside, and so odd to see live animals in my life.
Being a city kid, like me was so easy to trick and so naïve to think about the countryside life. And so whenever my distant cousins dared me to do something stupid, I did it. If not, my cousins called me ‘chicken’ until I cry and ran over to my mom.
I still remember one sunny day; as usual, my cousins dared me to do something bizarre. And of course, I had to do it for the youngest kid among my cousins.
The dare was to mud all over my dad’s new car and of course, I was scared because I knew how much he loved that car, but I had to do it because if I wasn’t, they were definitely going to call me ‘chicken.’
And so, the dare began on the sunrise because they thought everyone, including my dad was sleeping and if I did it, no one could see it. But boy, was I wrong because as I was about to do it, my dad’s younger half brother saw what happened.
I was so scared because if dad found out what happened, I’d be toast, and made me cleaning his car. Since I knew he couldn’t tell my dad on me, I kept doing it and doing it until I made masterpiece out of the mud on my dad’s new car.
Whenever it happened, it was so funny to see my dad’s face; all wrinkly, and mumbled to himself.
Of course, I, for one, thought it was hilarious to see, and couldn’t wait to do it again. My cousins, however, made me to stop until my dad knew it.
One day in a broad daylight, I did it without thinking, and of course, my dad saw it. He started to yell, and run towards me. Of course, I started to run as fast as I could.
Thankfully, my dad didn’t catch me, but we had to buy another one, and we never talk of it ever again.
-464 words.
The River in My Hometown
My hometown is Tianjin, the one of four municipalities, and the population of 11 millions, in the north of China. Like the Seine in Pairs, my hometown has a famous river named Haihe river, flowing through the centre of the city and down into the sea. Besides its importance for shipping and providing water to the city, it is proud of the magnificent view, the bridges museum and the largest public place of recreation.
The Haihe river is a long green belt laying on the earth of the city centre. The wide river fills with the green-tea coloured water. The breeze keeps on stroking the waves which sparkle and make sounds of lapping against the bank. The river-banks are decorated with various parks and thick trees. When the night comes, all of the lamps along the banks are lit up brightly, and their shadows, like thousands of tiny full-moons, are thrown on the dark-green water, the river becomes a light-river brilliantly against the dark-blue sky.
Fifteen old bridges in different styles, which are still using on the river, consists of the unique bridges museum. All of them are well-maintained by the city government. They are the witnesses to the city growing, and the samples of the bridge construction in the early time. Beside each of the bridges, there is a stone inscription that tells the bridge’s age, the builders, and the history events happened on the bridge. Because of the special bridges on the beautiful Haihe river, the river has gotten famous; as the one of the main sightseeing place, it attracts thousands of visitors every year.
The two sides of the Haihe river-banks are the largest public place for leisure and recreation in the city. Because of Speaking loudly being considered a warm-hearted speaker in my hometown, many people find the best place ---the river-banks to train their voice as loud as they can in the early mornings. They face to the river shouting “a” or “o” loudly and lasting the sounds much longer. The still of the city is broken by those early birds. Then the shops and free markets open, and the river banks are bustling of people who do exercise, practice painting, have talking, buy and sell goods.
The Haihe river has always fascinated the people of my hometown. Using the river’s name “Haihe” as company’s name or organization’s name has become the fashion. I have heard an association named “Haihe” in Vancouver, and I know the association numbers are all from my hometown. They are the same as me---the fondness for the Haihe river.
----436 words
My mom had told me once that she cried for days when we first moved into our current home. I was only four years old and my brother was just a baby. She said that It was badly kept and she didn't know anyone in the area. Compared to the beautiful house we had previously downtown Vancouver. Eventually this place we have come to know as home grew on her.
Burnaby is a very green place. There are many trees and plants giving it a feeling of wilderness. Which is very nice to have given the business of life. Rain is also a very common thing to occur down here. As much as I personally dislike rain in general, It does have a few redeeming qualities. This area has such a beautiful smell after a rainfall. It smells so fresh and clean. Many areas can smell musty and thick after steady rain. That is definitely not the case in this area of Burnaby. There is also a beautiful big tree that grows directly in front of my door, this creates a large umbrella from the sun during the scorching days of summer.
There are also many trails to be walked through for leisure purposes down by Byrne Creek. My aunt and I would always take her dogs for walks down there. They would run around and play in the greenery. Many different berries can be picked down from those trails during the summer as well. Those made delicious treats to have while winding your way through the many pathways. At the end of most of the paths you could large grassy fields for dogs to run around in. Perfect places to play ball with them, or to just simply lay down a blanket and have a small lunch. The smell of the grass on a warm summer day is invigorating and soothing. I remember spending many a summer day relaxing out on those warm green fields.
There isn't much wildlife around these parts. Aside from the occasional squirrel running up and down trees. As well as a few coyote sightings in the creek areas. A few would sometimes wander closer to populated areas, but would eventually be scared back into its natural habitat. During the summer you can hear different birds then you do during winter. This is when the more pleasant sounds come out to play. Many types of bluebirds will start hopping and chirping up in the trees. Also the loud thumping sound of woodpeckers can be heard higher up in the sky.
Many children can be seen running around and playing here as well. Most of them on different bicycles, riding around and laughing as they race each other. Occasionally hearing a parent yelling at some of them to stop something dangerous. Adults tend to stay inside and keep to their own business, while still keeping an eye closely on their children at play.
The memory of my hometown
A beautiful lake area, nearby the city wall of Beijing, was the place I had lived for five years in my golden childhood. Now it is a park.
Pushing up the window, we could survey the scenery, for my house was built on a high altar. Under the golden light of the sunset, the lake rippled and shined. In the summer, red lotus flowers blossomed and the green leaves covered on the surface of the lake. In a sunny day, the white clouds floated both in the blue sky and in the water. In the rainy day, we could hear the raindrops tipped the lotus’ leaves rhythmically. What a pastoral scenery! What a excellent water-painting! No wonder the ancient scholars stood a huge stone tablet, saying “the haven of peace in the city”.
On the waterfront, reed leaves waved in the wind. My mother used to coil it to be a trumpet. And I blew it all the way, while we walked around lake.
We also collected many leaves home for the Festival. Forming a fresh reed leaf to a hopper shape, feeding in the glutinous rice and dates and wrapping it, a delicious Dragon Boat Festival eating “Zhong-ZI” was made.
The lake was abundant for many other seasonal foods, such as lotus roots, seedpods, water chestnuts, water nut, and many fruits. Did you ever think of using the lotus leaf to make faint scent rice gruel? Mom did.
With my playmates, we did some special: picked mulberry, found bird nest for the eggs, caught dragonfly or cricket, the cicada or searched for their slough, and so on. Even a frog leaping across the road could make us a lot of fan. We turned him over, whipped his berry with a willow branch. So the frog annoyed and angered–his belly swelled bigger and bigger like a white balloon. We all laughed and satisfied. And then we let him go. We never killed anyone of these living things, but we were naught enough.
Sometimes, we climbed up and had a long trudge hike along the city wall. Outside of the south-wall of Beijing was the endless great plain of the Northern China. Puffing and drawing a long steam tail behind, the steam train was heading to south.
The breeze carried the indistinct bell sound unhurried and leisurely. It was the camel train that could be seen dimly in the distant among the moat willows. They came from the Inner Mongolia. Now only some statues stand on the position of the moat to tell the young about these past events.
That was my home town many years ago. The memory is still vivid as if happened yesterday.
Words: 445
Old Hometown - Shanghai
City in the wall, called circle city, we had only one bus called number 11 that went around the city. We have big east gate, small east gate, big south gate, small south gate, west gate and north gate. When city built more roads and highways, some of the historical buildings have been remained. I don’t know when this city was built - maybe few thousand years ago. The river has been there for ever, I still remember we walked on the bond, sitting on the mud road, watching the boats sailing away.
Unfortunately, the house I lived in for my entire childhood and adulthood before I moved to Canada has been torn down by the ruthless caterpillar trailer; the place has been turned into central business district in shanghai.
The traditional architecture, “Shi Ku Men”, is made of stone gate and black wooden door. It is usually two storeys tall, above each gate, carved stone bridge like frame has been placed. Inside the frame, there is the name of each house. The place I lived called “Zhi Yuan Fang”: it means your ambition will be great. I still remember the name of my neighbour is “RengJu”: it means the dwelling of the virtue.
Behind each door, a wooden latch bar fitted in a slot is placed. The door will be closed by the older in the house after dinner time, but you don’t need to knock to have somebody open the door for you in case you come home late. In fact, there is a small hidden box on the door, and you just need to stick your hand into the box and slide the latch from the slot from behind the door. It may be not that safe, but the grating sound between stone and wood door reminds every one on the dark night that somebody is coming. In Fact, the street is completely quiet when everyone went to bed before ten o’clock, and you would not miss the chance to wake up after the rooster declares the dawn, and everyone started making the noise of morning routine at six in the morning.
We used to have freedom of my childhood. I still remember going on a night trip at grade six with my classmate around the walled city. I went on a first date at grade seven with a boy on hot summer night, walking all together; let imagination fly with the conservation – intimacy.
Walking on the stone bricked little alley, I could see the warm home light at the second floor. Realizing the home will be always there for me, that is what the child ever needed, and it was given.
449 words
My Home Town
I spent sometime of my childhood in Paghman, a small and green town about 30 kilometres west of the capital Kabul in Afghanistan. My home town has hills, and the houses are mostly on the top of them. Sitting in the house, you could see everything around as though you were in a plane.
The surroundings were green; the air was fresh and colder than neighbouring cities. Trees were mostly of mulberries. Looking back, I see myself as a five years old child setting on a brunch of a mulberry tree, and choosing sweet little fruits from it.
Paghman was also famous for its variety of flowers- “The Colourful Town”. It used to be a picnic place for people living in the capital. Moreover, Kings of Afghanistan had a special hill for their vacations. It was visible from all over the town. From the hill where we lived, we could see the rich gardens of king’s hill.
All people living in this town knew each other for generations. They could tell who your great grandfather was. The people of the town even knew me as a child, since I was the grand daughter of the leader of the tribe. Even if I did not grow up there, they definitely know me by my name even now.
A small number of the locals had jobs in the capital; others had their farms, gardens, shops, restaurants which mostly worked for those coming for picnic.
On Sundays you could hear drums playing somewhere. People will perform the national dance “Attan”. Since the life was slow, people might stop doing whatever they did and watch the dance from distance. Later, locals would chat about it with their friends, and say if the performers were good at it.
295 words
Beijing-- My Hormone
The aircraft was slowly orbiting and landing to Beijing Airport. Watching out of the window, the busy road and orderly cubic houses became bigger and bigger. The time when the plane landed, my tired, floating heart landed too. Stepping outside the airport, the rafferty smell and the restless crowds devoured me. Our friends were waving and smiling from far away. The warm happiness was rising from the bottom of my heart. This was my Beijing, my home.
Driving home on the highway—six driving lanes in both direction—from the airport to downtown, for six months without seeing Beijing, she changed a lot. We passed the Bird Nest; particularly, the iron monster stilly stared at me, like how I stared it. Countless vehicles drifted on street and we joined them, like a handful of dust being poured into desert. The skyscrapers stood besides the street, more than before I left.
We were too excited to felt any tiredness even after a 12-hour-flight. Eating started immediately. Beijing is such a city for anybody to find their food. No matter typical Beijing roasted duck or traditional hotpots; no matter four clock in the morning or three clock in the noon, no one gets starved in Beijing. Fangzhuang and Guijie are the two hottest areas for Beijinger’s favourite restaurants gathering one by one. No one can really tell how many restaurants available in Beijing. From western to eastern, from Muslim food to vegetarian, you can change food from all over the world without repeating for years.
After dinner, we wanted to sing badly. My throat was itchy for keeping quite for half a year. There were some new karaoke opened with better equipment. It was difficult for my Canadian friends to imagine one Karaoke could have hundreds rooms and buffet areas in each floor. Party Word is one of those places. Room isn’t small like cells in Vancouver. We—twelve people opened a party room—big enough for us to dance and sing, even to sleep. I was out of date after leaving China for six months, but my friends ordered only old songs gently for us.
The second day mom took me to foot massage as we did as a ritual before I left. Soaking my feet into the herbal soup until my body stated sweating, I relaxed totally. The green tea savory made me fall into sleep. My feet weren’t treated nicely for long time except I bared them and walked on rocky beach in Vancouver.
Having a couple of latte beside the “Back Sea”—a manmade lake as a part of royal garden and meeting my schoolmates was so quiet and enjoyable, even it wasn’t the season for lotus blossoming.
I used to travel a lot, but never as long as this time. Feeling like an outsider in other cities made me homesick within three days after leaving Beijing. I slept best with the night noises of and the polluted air of Beijing. Like hormones can make women relax and delighted, Beijing is my hormone.
507 words
Lofa, Sweet Home
I moved to Lofa, a county in the northern part of Liberia, West Africa, when I was eight or nine year olds. The roofs in Lofa were very insecured. I remembered one, very grim, rainy night when the wind blew off the roof, soaking us all wet. My grandma put me on her back, and covered me with a heavy, big blanket, without knowing as she rushed with the others to the other building.
I remembered one ritual that happened every day. We didn’t have to find out the prayer time to know it was set in. The Imam (a person who leads a prayer in Islam) called on a big microphone, loud enough for the whole town to hear, for prayer whenever each of the five prayers time set in.
In addition, we set no alarm for waking up in the morning. The chickens woke us up at dawn, so we didn’t bother about oversleeping.
Many different languages (dialects, actually) were spoken in Lofa, like Kissi and torma, for example because all kinds of different tribes lived there. However, the two languages I found fascinating were Gbandi, my mom’s language and Mendae. Fascinating because a person who speaks Gbandi understands and it’s very easy for he or she to learn to speak Mendae, but a person who speaks Mendae can’t understand when spoken to in Gbandi.
Another memory that I remembered is, every morning, after breakfast (or some would take breakfast with them) people, with a basket full of baked rice bread and some, a cooler full of a food we called “monie” (made of rice flour), would be rushing in every direction of the small town to their farms. I would follow my grandma to her farm, but all I did during the harvest of peanuts, was to eat any root of peanut I struggle to pull. I would refused to stay home until one day I saw a snake, and my grandma didn’t beg me to stay home anymore. I begged her that I stayed home!
I would meet an old man, sitting by the mosque and reciting Qur’an, if I wander around my sweet hometown. My grandpa. The memory of him, smiling as my younger sister and I run toward him, is like watching something recorded on a tape. And, all those memories are what made Lofa my fecund, sweet hometown.
398 words
My Hometown
There may be several conceptions of “home town” according different understands, the place you getting birth, the place you parents lived or the place you got through your childhood etc. However, in spite of which understanding of hometown, the answer to me is same, Beijing.
Beijing, located the northeast of China, with nearly 200 millions permanent residents, is one of the largest cities of China. As the capital of China, Beijing is the political center of China. It is not only reflected that the headquarters of NPC (National People’s Congress) and all government ministries locate at there, but also shown by the residents who concern politics and like to talk about the political issues in their daily life. Sometimes maybe you can see several senior persons are talking about the “situations of Middle-east” or “crisis of world food” while they do their body exercise in parks. And when you get into a taxi, the driver may ask you “what your feeling about the visit of the US Secretary of State” or “what the possible changing in world situation after Obama became the President of Unite State”.
Beijing is the financial center as well. There are hundreds of world famous companies’ headquarters and China branches. There is one of tow stock market in China. There is the Asian largest shopping mall. Ever year, thousands upon thousands workers come Beijing to look for their career dreams.
At the same time, Beijing is a culture center of China and the world. With more than 2,000 thousands years history, Beijing possesses a rich multi-culture basis. From the Great-wall which was built in Qin Dynasty 2,000 years ago to the Forbidden-city of Qing Dynasty to the modern Bird-nest thousands culture heritages and modern building, these make Beijing sparking in the world. From Beijing opera to temple fair to Beijing duck to hundreds famous snacks, Beijing absorb both Chinese and foreigners to enjoy the colorful life here.
I love my hometown Beijing. No matter how old I am and where I am, it will be my best favorite place for ever.
345words
Nabha
I would like to introduce my home town Nabha. Nabha is an old and historical place. It was formerly capital of the princely state before 1947. It is a small sized city, but it has approximately 100,000 people. The town is divided by the river called Nangal. One side is old Nabha and the other side is new Nabha.Nabha and each side has some very interesting and exciting things to offer.
The town has many old building. One of the most important buildings is called Heera mahal (palace). This palace more like a cabbage; it is covered by other buildings and park. It is a residence of the royal family situated at the heart of the city. It is an old design building that is made of red small bricks. It has more than 200 rooms and four big assembly halls. Those are used by the royal family for different purposes. This huge building is surrounded by another building named Qila mubarak.It is a secure place for royal family. It has house various government officers including the court, army, and police station. On the boundaries of the qila starts a beautiful park called Heera Park. It also boasts a beautiful craft statue of King Heera Singh. In the park one side is the royal tomb and the others Rolls Royce Park in the shape of animals. The qila is covered by forest and there are many animals like black deer, turtle, monkeys, peacocks, and snakes. There is a tunnel that start from Heera mahal and is attached to Heera palace to the other part of city, but it is a restricted place. Only royal family and government officers can go through this tunnel.
In the new Nabha are no royal reflections anymore. This part is developing in industries and education .New town is first place that manufacture more than20, 000 harvests combines every six months. A factory of Glaxo Smith kline is in new Nabha.The new part is busier than the old Nabha.I never saw this city sleeping. People love to honk at each other even as a greeting .In India, honking is not rude. people honk when they turn on the winding road for safety. People are very friendly they love to talk. . Most important after a long conversation they ask each other‘s name.
This most important city is secured by five doors like many other cities of India .in Nabha these are named Patiala gate, Alhoran gate, Duldi gate Mehs gate and Bouran gate.There is a colony named Purani Nabhi which is a veritable mage of narrow winding alleys which astonish you by emerging at most unexpected place some streets are so narrow that a car can not pass through. Dogs, cats, and cows are running on the streets.
Nabha is justly famous for its delicious winter time sweets Gajarpak (like carrot fuge) and Bhugga (like sesamefuge) and its matchless all season favorite Khasta kachori (lentil filled pastry balls) are prepared by local shopkeepers.
Old Nabha and new Nabha are different than each other.But it is a wonderful place, where you can see the coexistence and old place.
My Home Town
Can you recall the view from a plane close to landing? You can see everything below: houses, lakes, gardens, cars on the roads like small squares, and people like little dots. That was the way it looked like setting in our living room in my home town since it was located on the top of a hill.
I spent sometime of my childhood in Paghman, a small and green town about 30 kilometres west of the capital Kabul in Afghanistan. The town is full of green hills and mountains.
The surroundings were green; the air was fresh and colder than neighbouring cities. Trees were mostly of mulberries. Looking back, I see myself as a five years old child setting on a brunch and eating mulberry from a tree, “Don’t have too much, you’ll destroy your appetite,” my grandmother will say, “lunch will be ready soon.”
Paghman was also famous for its variety of flowers- “The Colourful Town”. It used to be a picnic place for people living in the capital. Moreover, Kings of Afghanistan had a special hill for their vacations. It was visible from all over the town. From the hill where we lived, we could see the rich gardens of king’s hill.
All people living in this town knew each other for generations. They would refer to you by your parent’s- “the grand daughter of the leader” was my name. My grandfather was the leader of the tribe. Even if I did not grow up there, they definitely know me by my name even now.
On Sundays you could hear drums playing somewhere. People will perform the national dance “Attan”. Since the life was slow, people might stop doing whatever they did and watch the dance from distance. Later, locals would chat about it with their friends, and say if the performers were good at it.
311 words
Revised version of
My Home Town
Can you recall the view from a plane close to landing? You can see everything below: houses, lakes, gardens, cars on the roads like small squares, and people like little dots. That was the way it looked like setting in our living room in my home town since it was located on the top of a hill.
I spent sometime of my childhood in Paghman, a small and green town about 30 kilometres west of the capital Kabul in Afghanistan. The town is full of green hills and mountains.
The surroundings were green; the air was fresh and colder than neighbouring cities. Trees were mostly of mulberries. Looking back, I see myself as a five years old child setting on a brunch and eating mulberry from a tree, “Don’t have too much, you’ll destroy your appetite,” my grandmother would say, “lunch will be ready soon.”
All people living in this town knew each other for generations. They would refer to you by your parent’s- “the grand daughter of the leader” was my name. My grandfather was the leader of the tribe. Even if I did not grow up there, they definitely know me by my name, even now.
Paghman was also famous for its variety of flowers- “The Colourful Town”. It used to be a picnic place for people living in the capital. Moreover, Kings of Afghanistan had a special hill for their vacations. It was visible from all over the town. From the hill where we lived, we could see the rich gardens of king’s hill.
On Sundays you could hear drums playing somewhere. People will perform the national dance “Attan”. Since the life was slow, people might stop doing whatever they did and watch the dance from distance. Later, locals would chat about it with their friends, and say if the performers were good at it.
311 words
I was sweating hard, I remember. Under the sun, my childhood friends and I friends were playing, with our bare foot stumping , running on the surface of the sun-stricken grassy grounds. The dusts from a quarry nearby was visibly floating with the swirling winds, reaching every corner or our face. We climbed trees and rested in their branches when we got tired. And I remember, before we went home into our own houses we spent a little more time to relax and cool our soiled and worn body in the river. When I got home, I didn’t have anything else to do-there was no computer, no videogames no cell phone etc.- so I went straight to my room and played my guitar or maybe read a book or two.
Now I look at this modern town, and without giving a second look at certain places, I wouldn’t recognize them. My childhood Eden has turned into a Concrete Jungle. Commercialized and over-populated, my Paradise has become. Tall and mighty buildings replaced the trees that I used to climb. Sky-scrapers above a dead river, asphalt and concrete streets replaced the grassy grounds, in this place my old hometown is nowhere to be found. The kids are now either wandering and shopping on the malls or sitting and few breath away from dying in one corner of a street. They are either a student wearing a clean and ironed uniform, learning in a school or a beggar covered with a abominable garb in a park. Moving forward, development and augmentation really has prices to pay.
I am alone
It was a mango tree in middle of my village, the happiest place in the village. A huge and tall tree which tree’s branches was loaded with green shiny leaves. Specially sweet and ripe mango I can not forget forever.
In the summer old and young people love to sit under the tree. Kids loved to playing, running, laughing and climbing on the tree. Old people enjoyed to playing card and talking with each other. Outside of the house shadow of the tree was the best place for meeting. The Shadow of tree was like an assembly hall in the village. In the roots of the tree there was a stage that was used as a meeting place. The trunk of the tree was covered with the name of the young lovers were engraved on the thick and brown trunk. When it was windy leave start murmured like, they are talking with each other. The vendor who came to the village always stopped near the tree. Then woman came out side there to shop.
One full moon nights every one heard a loud and sharp noise. All people came outside from their houses; it was terrible scene under the tree. A car hit the tree. People were screaming trying to get people out of the car. But the two men sitting in the car were died. People were superstitious. They believe bad spirit stayed on the tree.
From that day, I never saw children playing; elders having meeting, and vendor selling anything under the tree. I just saw the tree alone and try to tell everyone it was not my fault they were drunk.
Words 278
My home town
Whenever I walk on a street in Canada, I feel home sick and alone. This is because I cannot find anything here like back home. The placed called Nabha is a small town that is too busy. This is my home town.
I never saw this city sleeping. People love to honk at each other even as a greeting .In India, honking is not rude. People honk when they turn on the winding road for safety. People are very friendly and they love to talk. More important after a long conversation they ask each other‘s name.
In my home town there are no side walks. I remember when we went to school on narrow and winding streets; we never cared if someone was behind us. Most streets are so narrow that a car cannot pass through. So if a car was behind us, the car would be at the same speed as we walked. We always left early for school because we had an excuse. Our most important excuse was we couldn’t be late for school. It is a common thing in my city if anyone is going to be late, he or she just says sorry there was heavy traffic.
Something I really liked in my school was prayer time .Every morning the peon rang the bell. Then all the teachers and students come in from the school ground. The teachers stand at the front and students stand in rows. Everyone places their hands together and sings the national song. Also every Monday the teachers and students have to wear a white uniform in my school.
After twenty years the Monday white crowd still flashes in my mind.
Word count 282
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