Went to a class get-together yesterday. Karaoke, food, messing around...it was supposed to be the last time we go out as a class, since people are going away for their college. There weren't any sobs, and tears. I wasn't even suprised. Now, former class six, in year seven, when their class had to be broken up, the students cried like crazy. They've only been together for a year, and there're still in the same school, but somehow it was too overwhelming for them.  

    Not to blow our own horn, but our class is a talented one. In every field too, except for sports. Teeming with thinkers, studiers, and ambitioners, our class is one with vast potential. But it always lacked unification. No one cared about class glory, no one was willing to sacrifice a little bit for the rest of the class. There is no bond, no love. I am in no way pointing fingers and saying it's bad. It's not. When an individual is smart, ambitious, and focused, of course they are gonna spend time perfectioning themselves. It's not selfishness, it's selfness.   

   Anyone care to moniter the process of pain? I tried. We all had bad things happen to us right? Sometimes they come without warning. And when it strikes you you're left with this feel of emptiness. You don't feel the pain all of a sudden, because you're still having trouble making sense of it, and accepting it. Is it true? Could there be a mistake? Is this really happening to me? Why? Is this real? Maybe I'll wake up...The bad information itself is not complex, but our mind is no cpu, and our sub-conscious wishfulness rejects the info that we wish is not true.

   And after some time, as the shock fade away, the pain comes crashing in. It suffocates us, and I mean it literally. You seem to breath out dense fumes, which makes your breath heavier, and your mind loses clarity. Your mind is occupied by a single information, which is rare, and can only be acheived through dramatic emotions.

   As the first wave of pain dies down, a second comes in. This one is weaker, and leaves space for thought. Emotion and logic are conflicting elements, one increase while the other decrease. You begin to think back how this occured, how you could have prevented it, the consequences this fate brings, and what your options are. In this stage we are controlled by our emotions, and our thoughts tend to be irrevelent: Why does this have to happen to me? why do bad things happen to good people? Is it becaused I didn't pray enough? Is this a punishment? Should I kill myself? Friends and family, at this stage, would do better if they leave the subject ( the person) alone, because taliking logic would do no good.

   One of the things people say is: it already happened. Move on. Note this: it is impossible for the subject to not think about it. It is impossible to not feel sad. So, if a friend of family want to comfort the subject, do not try say: "you're being sad has no use" and such, because there is no way you can make the subject share your view and feel better all of a sudden. This is an emotional problem. While logical problems can be solved instantly by been shown the right way, emotional problems can not. What a friend can do, is simply be there with the subject, listen tentively, and steering the conversation away from negativity. A simple presence would be enough.

   Each period of pain can only last a few hours. After then you may feel temporaily better. You may suddenly have a postive view, or simply say: fuck it, I don't care. But bear in mind that the negative thoughts will come back with force, so be prepared.

   As days turn into weeks, your pain will lessen, but do not dissapear. It is important to contain the emotional damage. Protect your confidence and self esteem. Also, know that whatever happened to you, you're not the first or last to endure it. knowing cases worse than yours or knowing how people got out of it is a great help.

   Last of all, think. About the whole thing. Experience may only be gained if you dig hard. Do not try to forget it. Injuries that are not healed properly effects us the rest of our lives...

 

To be continued...

  

  Is anyone out there? ...

  I am lost. Lost in darkness, a place familiar yet unknown. Time stops yet the clock is ticking, and the countdown continues. A countdown to what? The end or beginning?

  For the last eighteen years I have lived my life as I pictured. I  am what I always thought I was: a kid, a carefree child, and most importantly, a student. But as judgement day draws near, i am forced to re-evaluate my identity, and the person i seek to be. What I have found is that I do not known myself. I do not know what I want to major in. I do not know what I want to be. I am a traveller who does not know his destination.

  Lost.

  I have no habit of thinking about the future. The principle according to which I live my life is to make the best of NOW. I believed if each stepping stone is perfect then the road will just take me to where I want to be.

  But it doesn't. And now I know that for the last twelve years that I spent in school, it wasn't leading to my future. It was leading to this.

  I am tired. I sleep ten hours a day, but what's tired is my soul. With the walls suppressing I am condemned to silence, but inside I crave for freedom. The freedom of taking it easy. The freedom of been truly happy and not feel guilty about it. The freedom of going out to enjoy the sun.

  I look outside and I see people. And I wonder if they have ever felt what I feel now. I search their faces for answers they shyly turn away. Maybe we're all meant to bleed in one battle field or another. But those tears and sorrow, deppression and pain, they're memories for each individual to treasure.

  I am weak. I know. Others bite down hard and swallow, when I weep and sob in comforting arms. I pour it out when a real warrior stays silent.

  Sometimes we live for years like it was a day. And sometimes we live for a few days as if it was a year. In those days we are baptised and reborn, and as we look at the day with brand new eyes, we have grown.

   And the term is about to start. So how's everyone's vacation? What? Yeah, we did actually have a vacation...oh, you've been working. Now why doesn't that suprise me? Behind the desk from dusk to dawn? And then from dawn to dusk? Occasionally getting to brush off the dust that's been settling on your shoulders and allow blood to flow back into your legs? Is that it? You dissapoint me.

   But I see some of you having a good time. Don't make me kill you. Going sightseeing, seeing mother nature...taking photos with your leg on your shoulders(it's like watching scenes from a horror movie). Ah, the wonderful days of being pre-senior.

   But the rest of you, studying til you're spitting blood...YOU PUT PRESSURE ON ME! See what you've done? You've turned me into a paranoid psychopath!!! WAAAAAA! Take out straitjacket and throw me in a rubber room.

   So, how was everyone's new year?  How about the fireworks? Ones that contribute to noise and air pollution, and also the injury of 150 people and the death of one? Whooo, festive...the people demand fireworks ! It's a weapon of mass destruction alright.

   On the bright side, I got eight hundred yuan! For new year of course( I've been unemployed for many years now, it's a disasster...). Those of you seeking to scorn at the amount be warned, I bought a 9mm pistol and enough ammo. i also spent 500 on a pair of jeans. I could of saved 200 starving ethiopian children with the money, but I decided the way I dress is more important.

    Oh, I got a hair cut today. Apparently, since it's been quite long since my last haircut, they've changed the names of hairstyles. Now, "A bit shorter" is the name of what we used to call "egghead", which is what I got when I said "a bit shorter". On the way back my cab driver asked me if I was going through chemo-therapy.

    And in that spirit...i set forth on the journey.

  Apparently, flowers can be categorized into two categories: one that grew in flower pots, and the other in the wilderness. See, I never knew that. All i see are those pretty dainty ones in shops. Now, most people can't tell them apart, and let's face it, not much people want to take the time to differentiate them. I mean, they all look the same, right?

  The ones in shops grew up in a warm, sunlit greenhouse. Greenhouses are palaces to a plant. So these flowersgrew up nourished and plum, and then they were put in shop windows like mannequin models.

  Then, there's ones that grew up in the wilderness. From cliff edges to damp caves, in the blazing sun or a raging storm. These flowers grew up in the face of "hardship". And then, they were put into shop windows too. And they look just like the greenhouse ones.

   So, when the buyer comes, all he sees is a row of pretty flowers. That's why he's gonna judge them equally, and pay for them equally. But every flower has it's own story, you know? Some of them are boring, some are true epics.

   I used to walk straight past flower stores. I bet you do too. We think they're the same. We think they're barbie dolls. We prefer cactuses(...ok, maybe that's just me). But they're not the same. And they deserve all the praises and respect in the world.

    I went to the gym today. Yeah baby, THE GYM. I love saying "I went to the gym." It makes me sound so manly. When I say that I like you to think of me wearing a tanktop, really working the equipment, sweat pouring off of me. But in reality going to the gym for me is to try a equipment, find it way to hard for me to lift, push, whatever, and then spending the rest of the time watching the little TV in front of the cycling machines. As to not look too pathetic, I brush off fake sweat each time someone walks by.

    Saw theses training instructors, these pumped up balloon-people, walking around in there tight pants and shirt. So muscular that I bet they can't turn around to get the toilet paper when they're on the loo. And they're so competitve and energetic too! I was trying hard to lift some weights, minding my own business, and one of these goons come over with chests like a nuclear warhead, and roared into my ears (not exaggerating): " YES SON! Come On SON! YOU CAN DO IT! WORK THOSE BICEPS, BE A MAN!" If he had said "put hands on your head, this is an armed robbery." I would instantly obey.

    You get all sorts of people in gyms. See, I never knew that. But apparently, it's not always Sylvester Stallone working the weights. I saw this old geezer, gotta be sixty at least, coming over and sitting right next to me. No pressure for me at all. Then he started working the 140 pound "pull thingy", and all I can think of is: I'll come back in thirty years.

    But the real bright spot of the gym is this dancing room. Wooden floor. Mirros covering every wall. Perfect. But then I saw something that is totally out of place-three brightly coloured rubber balls half my height. What the...? Here is a perfect place I could practice and out jumps these "blobs" to distract me. I tried to ignore them. I tried not to look at them. When it pops into my mind I quickly think of an image of Gang Yang topless, which made me sick and would momentarily put the balls out of my mind. It didn't work. In the end I unbelievably merged to two images together: A pink ball with Gang's face on it. A hideous creature which would haunt my dreams for eternity. Then, I gave in to temptation. The instructors found me sitting on one of the balls and boucing around the room. They said they were for yoga and I was thrown out.

     So, to sum up: Don't go to gyms unless yo're VIn Deisel. If you do go, then beware of the pink balls...they are cursed.

    This might be my only entry for a very long time to come...I don't know what senior 3is gonna be like. I don't know what I'm gonna be like. Anyway, this entry is NOT about studying, so...here it is.

    I played ball with Mao a few days ago. We played with a bunch of twenty-year-olds, they weren't much talent...anyway, we took a break and they lit up their cigarettes and started to talk amongst themselves. They were in their early twenties, but none of them are in school or have a job. They live with their parents( it's funny, when we were playing they called us kids, but I really don't see how they are grown compared to us). One of them started talking about getting a job, and said he wanted to be an interpreter for a company. That got my interest. Here is a unemployed, "un-universitized" guy talking about being an interpreter. There's alot of university graduates who doesn't even consider English as a job option. Then he carried on and said he wanted to be one of those oral interpreters in actual meetings, not the type that translates documents. He said that an average university grad could do that. He said his advantage is spoken English, and if some slang was used he could understand while others could not. That's when I asked him if he has stayed in the U.S. He said 8 years.

    8 years...an advantage given to few. Yet here he is, unemployed, living with parents. An absolute stand-still, not going anywhere, not doing shit with his life. I could understand if he came from an undereducated, low-wage family. Not if he came back from the U.S. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying by staying abroad you're set for life (sometimes you have to work even harder). But at least it means he had a good family background. Yet he let himself slip this low.

     Have you ever seen a older person and thought, shit, that guy's like me. I wonder if I'm going to end up like him. It's like looking into the mirror and seeing your future self. It's an unsettling feeling. Imagine if you meet a janitor and he said he graduated from our school.

    There are times in our life where we get to choose what we want to see every morning in the mirror. Theday after tomorrow is the start of such time. It's not the only time, but it is nevertheless. What do we want to see? How do we make it happen? We do anything we could. Believe me, there is nothing more happy than seeing exactly what you want  to see in the mirror. Imagine if you're everything you want. It never happens, but at least we could try to get as close as we could.

      So the question is: What do you see now? What do you want to see in the future? How do you get from now, to the future? At the moment, our image is blurry. We get to sketch the outlines, the frames, we get to colour our eyes and lips...

      Starting from...now. 

    

   A few days ago I saw this kid and his mom in a restaurant. The mom was a very formidable woman, and the kid was a chubby, bespectacled kid about ten or eleven years old. They were waiting for their food, and the mom was checking on the Ehglish words the boy had learned. You know, the mom says a word in Chinese and the kid says the English translation then spell it out. All of this seemed normal. But then their food came, and I was suprised to see that the kid was sent to another table by his mom to finish the "test" before he could eat. The mom did the "testing" while she ate.

   Ok, I know a lot of you guys think that the mom was just being strict, and that she meant good gor her son. I'm sure that's true. But that doesn't make this right. I see the kid (he was not upset, and acted quite natural), and I know exactly what he will be like. He will be a good student, probably going to 人大 or something. He will be in the ''good class'', getting good grades. No ups and downs, his school life will be pretty much inturbulent.

    Isn't that what a student should be like? At times, I do want to be like that. I wished I had strict parents, guiding me step by step through my childhood. That way I wouldn't have gone astray, and end up where I want to be a lot easier and faster.

    In reality, learning things on your own, by the hard way, is actually good, I think. I think one needs to go down the stray road, hit the dead end, turn back, and then travel on along the right way. A strictly guided child might be told by his parents ''That's the wrong way.'' and be spared of making a mistake. But he will always wonder what it's like to go down that road.

     First term of Senior 2, I got into dancing. And that was all I thought of. My parents knew it was gonna affect my studies, but they just stood back and waited. There were times when I went to practice when I got home straight from school. They never stopped me. Now you may think them irresponsible, but in reality they want to let me learn by myself. They want me to feel the mud in my mouth when i hit the dirt. And I did. I got the worst grade in my highschool years that term. I was depressed for like a week.

    Sometimes I say, why didn't you stop me? But imagine if they did. Sure, I'd have gotten good grades, but I would always look back, and wondered what it would like to be to stand on stage, in that spotlight. I' probably wonder for the rest of my life.

     I thank God for the unstrict parents I have. I may not be in a very good form, or stature due to this, but I'll be proud to say, the little that I have learnt, I learnt on my own.

     I can imagine that kid in the restaurant looking at me and say: ''What a loser. I'm better than you.'' He's probably right. But I wouldn't switch places with him. At least I know the feeling of paying the price for my mistake. At least I know what it felt like to go down a dead end road.

     i would rather be bruised all over than not knowing the feel of pain.

      许尘，京都人也。为人简素，待人谦恭。非有群逸之才，而颇有宏远之志也。身五尺有六，发如荆棘。

  So, I never thought I'd be standing on this brink of destiny. All these years I have denied, I have made believe that the day is still young. And for a while, it was true. But it came nevertheless, ruthlessly, with vengeance. And I am paralyzed. One year left, and we hold the key to our future in our own hands.

  I was never a good student. You can always tell the good students from the bad students. From the way they talk, the way they look, and the way they think. They have that steadiness, that grown-up and self-centeredness that we see often on successful adults. We feel small and immature in their presence.

  On the other hand, there's me. And my kind of people. Happy-go-lucky, fun-loving kids who think they're cool. I didn't learn shit in primary school. I still have trouble writing chinese. I was always looking up at the good students, envying them, wanting to be them. Being in a good class for two years, you'd think I fit right in. I don't don't. Looking around, I see so much difference. I have no will, or self control when it comes to sitting down for long periods of time. I could never muster enough concentration to dip into the books, to really see the life in those seemingly boring books. Mathematics, physics, even chemistry, I don't deny they have their charisma and charm, but I just fail to see them.

  Even when I am studying, a deeper part of me still wants to listen to music, to watch movies, to dance, or simply enjoying the sunshine. Studying was always a pain. I envy those who see studying as pleasure, like real scientits. I  really do. I wish I could foprget everything that I thought of as fun, and just concentrate on studying for just one year. But I can't. It's like tasting heroin. Once you know the taste, even when you've won over the addiction, you still lust for it. The mere memory of it haunts you. Now, I may be exaggerating, but in this critical period, fun is poison.

  In life, the real winner is not always the one with the best ability. Sometimes it's the one that looks like a winner. And if we don't treat ourselves as a winner, we will never be one. Modesty is important, it allows us to see our faults. Yet we must see ourselves as a winner with faults. A winner with faults will always be a winner, but a loser with ability will always be a loser. I see some kids not taking themselves seriously these days.They're smart, but do not work hard, but get okay grades, and it emphasizes their intelligence. I envy them. I'm nowhere near smart, and had to work to be where I am. But in life, sometimes it's not the most intelligent that succeeds, but the most mature. Maturity allows us to see ourselves as a winner. With that understanding, we allow more choices for us, and we believe in ourselves. We believe no mountain is too high to climb, and no lyrics is too hard to rhyme.

  So this is me. An immature kid who wants to grow up in a hurry. Maybe one day I can look back at this and laugh. But until then, I fight on.