All rights reserved by Kent (njxkb@163.com)

I've decided to write something down in English, finally, after a long period of time. During this month, I just get by with my textbooks. I thought I would be thrown into the abysmal depravity; I thought I would be a bad jackass, knowing not what to do. My parents were pissed off by my irresponsible alienation—cut off the communication between us, giving no definite reason. Fortunately, I now realize what to do! At least, I really have something to annoy me.

I am now preparing the GMAT exam, which will grant me a chance of going abroad if the score is congenial. I like challenging. This test is absolutely the greatest burnout I've ever encountered. It requires a lot—time, perseverance, patience, flexibility, and efficiency. Who the hell knows whether I can pass! Anyway, I got to fight for once, truly. The words in the reference books for GMAT are totally unfamiliar to me. There is a Master Word List in that book, which has listed out 3,5000 high-level vocabulary, and which press upon me the biggest shock ever in my lifetime. See these vocabulary, you’ll know what I am talking about. Acrimonious; acidulous; abstemious; abject; adjuration; adjutant; abjure; agnostic; alimentary; amalgamate...so on, so forth.

I was planning to fly down to Shanghai to take a course in New Oriental School, which required a month off the campus. Innocently, I strode into the teacher's office, and told him that I wanted a month leave. I thought it was only a mere request that need no further affirmation. The condition turned out to be extremely different. They made me take a crusade through the departmental building, and finally, just like the Christian, I failed mutely. And they were just like the Muslims, laughing and scorning me on my shoulders. I was like a child, knowing nothing about the way the world run.

I was confused. Why they didn't allow me to go to another place to study? I am not going to set up a bomb on the plane. I am not going to walk into the pubs in Shanghai, getting plastered. Neither am I going to share a romantic night with someone there. I know perfectly well that I am there for study—a course that our school cannot provide. I have my future, but they seem to have some ideas about it. So they say what they do is for my benefit. Maybe they are right. In their view, who can I be? That's a stupid question. I risk my life forgetting this impolite request. That's what they've told me. Maybe I will play truant. But I am not sure about that. Maybe I will delay the time for going abroad. Maybe I will get a job in the southern China first, and then go to another country. Maybe I will never go out for a look, just like when I abdicate the PLA dream. You see, that is life—too many "maybes." 

It has been a hard time for me to forget the one I loved. Every time we met again, every time I fell in love again. I don't know whether I will do the same next time. But now, I nearly forget that, only some time, I would feel a little bit sad about the past sweet memories. So, I don't want anything to interrupt my happiness acquired after a long time's aimless and abortive effort that at last yield "fruits". No one knows how much trouble I've got since then, and nobody wants to know, because they think I am the happiest, most innocent guy in the world. “You kid, get out of my face” is a code I decoded from their face. What I mean is that I cherish the quietness these days, which may vanish in another second.

One of my classmates felt unfair for me, because she thought that some one had stolen my scholarship--a considrable sum of money. She really got a high pitch when talking to me, talking to everyone. She is  kind to me, although sometimes I feel uneasy under her roaring voice. I just explained nothing to her, because I didn't want to compete with others in those fields. I've wasted too much time, and I don't want to waste more.

I am pretty damned sleepy now... talk to you later. Good night!

Nanjing, not only famous for its historic scenic spots, but also the extremely hot weather when summers falls upon this land, is now showing its great power against people who has to go out to fulfill their missions, or plans to obtain a jubilant emotion but fails.

Walking without you is like something strange in the city. I really feel that I am actually not a member of this city where I was born 20 years ago. I hardly can understand their dialect. I tossed 2 coins into the slot while the bus just priced for one. I laughed to my friend, embarrassing that I had done such a folly. Amazing. I can understand the northeastern dialect, and sometimes imitate them, showing that I am, to some extent, a townsman of that region.

Every place we visited could remind me of your smile and the happiness I had. But all has gone. Hopelessness. Loneliness. 

 I won't smoke any more, unless I would talk to my friend about you with the help of it. But it seems that I will have no chance to say.

The third cigarrete. The only thought in mind, always...

Somking is really a recent development occurs to me. The first puff of smoke I blew out of my mouth has gone with wind in another province, to which my friend and I paid a visit. I knew nothing about smoking before that night, really, and I still cannot figure out why I started smoking, leaving my friend in that dingy hotel. Maybe I just wanted to have a try, feeling the smoke that had contributed to our country's revenue. There was legend about smoking that it could sovle everything that baffled, bewildered, and even burned men's wits. So I think I must have a go. Being a person who really regard the importance of learning novelties, I definitely have to try for once.

We had a tiring journey in Shenyang. We visted by train the International Horticultural Exhibition 2006, where we walked 5 hours without having any type of food, except several bottles of drinks, and a sharing of one coconut, which at last turned out to be nothing special. This was a common point comparing with smoking. You think something was fascinating before you saw it, but after a glimpse of it, you find it had nothing worthed seeing. That's what we did, what I did.

I shall shed some light on how we have traveled in the province I am earning my degree, at least, in the first place.

He, who had been given a nickname by my wicked roommates, came to my campus, with a hope of traveling around with me through three cities we had planned: Anshan, of course, the first city we had to have a look; Shenyang; and Dalian, where we hoped to see the seashore and beach that had more often than not filled up our senses. Growing up in an inland city down in the southern part of China, we stereotyped that it would be perfectly romantic when we having a walk with the ones we love, and sitting on the beach waiting for the sun-set, or looking up at the polychromatic sky and clouds. Not luckily enough, we had no girlfriends yet.

After all, these were just our dreams. My friend and I take them very seriously, or else we would not have had sweated so much.

After a brief travel in Anshan, and my final examination of the sixth term in college, we left our hotel, and headed for Shenyang. We spent two nights in a cheep hotel, where the light was a little bit dim and the pipes were stuck for once. We washed our clothes by ourselves, using the washing powder I brought with me from my dorm. Everything went just too good. Merely did we talk about our life in the past half a year, and the only fun was seeing the novelties that our hometown didn't have. What made it worse was the hot, stifling weather that we happened to have as a close friend, fortunately enough. Yet, that day when we took dozens of photos in the EXPO 2006 zone, we found it was not so fortunate. I think we were burnt out, nothing inside our body could agitate an uprise of excitement. I thought we could be very very relaxed when traveling. The reality turned to be just in the other direction. Because we were too tired (that's the only reason I could find), we talked no more than ten sentences. That's OK with me. It doesn't no matter.

That night, when I went to the cyber-room near our hotel, leaving him in the room, and lying to him that I was to meet one of my classmates, I decided to smoke a cigarette, a long-planned program that I dared not to fulfill. This time I was brave enough to  do it in a strange city.

I walked out the cyber-room (westerners may call this a cyber-cafe. It doesn't match most of China's), inhaling the fresh air in the street. There were not many automobiles in the street, which reminded me of the congestion of traffic in some cities like my hometown. I strided on the concrete path to the cigarrete store in the opposite side of the street. I walked pass the zibera-lines, slowly mounted onto the steps, and finally, with a weighty, pressing heart, went into the store. I had the money in my hand, and asked for a pack of NANJING, which was produced in the city I lived. When I walked out of that store, I was still at loss whether to smoke or not. Anyway, it would be my first cigarrete in lifelime. Shortly after seeing the racing taxis, and passing pedestrians, I trod into the darkness of a residential area. The buildings were out of fashion, out of place. I squated on a concrete rectangular platform near one building, and began to tear away the plastic package, and open the lid to take one cigarrate out of the box. I was surprised to find my hand in peace, no signs of shivering or trembling, although I was still in feeling sinful at that historical moment.

PA...the sound of the lighter. I took an effort to breathe in the air through the filter, and the tabacco began to glow, while the paper around started to turn grey. I saw these in the dim light of the streetlamp, under which some passers-by would look at me, showing no akwardness to me. For the first time in life I was thanking for not being an alien. However, I couldn't breathe the smoke into my lung. Just could not, not because I didn't want to. Maybe I was not thinking about smoking, but one popular phrase on the Internet I knew from my chap GAOGAO:"Write on the paper of the cigarrete the name of my lover, and breathe it into my lung, keeping you in the nearest place of my heart."(in Chinese it said "把心爱的人的名字写在烟上,抽进肺里,把你留在离心最近的地方")

I bought some "junk food" in the KFC, and took them to the hotel for my friend. I didn't expect him to have eaten the instant noodle we had brought with us. He ate little. But I didn't care about that. I was still thinking how to smoke better...

[story continues...]

©All Rights Reserved by KENT (njxkb@163.com)

One of  my friends came up to my school this summer before I took my summer vacation in my hometown. He went there for several reasons that sometimes still baffle me. He said it was I who invited him to my school and promised to buy him an air-ticket, and the acommodation in hotels. I can't really remember these "freebies."

During our trip to several cities in Liaoning province, he really gave me some kind of shock that now still echoes in my mind.

I was a man of no plans. I did almost everything at will. Plans, as I perceive them, are for idiots. Haven't all of the adults heard that "Changes arrive earlier than plans?" This was also a complaint my professor shared with us before he depatured for USA. Plans have taken us a lot of time in changing my time schedules, and repeating apologies to persons that were arranged to meet in the first place. After a while, I developed a habit. I began to make no plans, or if really impossible, to make less plans. What occurs next , can you believe this, was a possession of more time. I could do more things that truly interested me. In most cases, I did them to the best.

What I am saying is not that we need no plans. I just want to declare that in life plans in effect have taken a lot of freedom out of our lives. The art of no plans, and procrastination are as important as plans and punctuation. For my best friend, life would seem to be busier and more exhaustive than mine. It's annoying to hear him saying this to me, "Damned you, can you just do something orderly? This will destroy you in the future! I am helping you." Every time he says this, I will reply in a high pitch, "Hey, brother, do you know the meaning of life? You CONFORMIST!" Although we always talk for leisure purposes, when I say "conformist", I really mean something. This word reminds me of my professor, who in one of his lessons, adressed us that "to be conformist is self-destructive."

We have strided into an era of innovation, self-reliance, and distintiveness. The point is that not every person who plans ends in a successful outcome. As a matter of fact, there are many successful men boasting their non-conformities. What's the essence of success? It is not merely consists in punctuation, but in the daring of being different, and at the same time, being conscious of his mission which he must go all out to achieve--the only disparency lies in the road the two types of person choose to follow. Different approaches, but equal results.

My friend is a policeman. Maybe it is because of his job, and my profession as an English major that creates the gap between us. Friendship also needs differences, distinctive characters, not to mention tolerance.

Sitting in the working compartment I rented in our library several months ago when I started a new semester, I am suddenly refreshed by the realization that I am going to graduate from this school, to which I sent my application three years ago, and I begin to believe the saying: Time passes in a wink of eyes.

I still remember how energetic and naïve I was when I was a freshman: I went out to read English nearly every morning where I could clearly hear the birds chirping, watch the buses moving from stop to stop, and feel the pronunciation of my spoken English. Those days, I took every chance given by someone I considered to be mature but hypocritical. They organized the activities I cared about. Sometimes, out of expectation, I even got some kind of prizes from these programs. The “most glorious” time was when I took the leading role in a short play show. I was the leading actor! After what it was seemed to be a long time on the stage, I was awarded the Prize for Best Actor. When I was still enthralled in the excitement of this, I found myself coming onto the stage again, and accepting the Prize for Best Pronunciation. I refused to take all those as real. For me, the prizes and applause were something remote in my dream that had been too quiet for years, as if they were waiting for a chance to get loose from the abyss that had trapped me. The abyss, I now dare to say, is the educational system of our country, if I am right. I just feel that if I was in another country, like USA, UK, where they treat the children for what they like, not just what they need, maybe I could be much smarter than I was. Those smart guys were destined to go into the most magnificent Ivory Tower in China, where most of the others, like me, have to be at the threshold—a threshold that tells me to leave it alone.

After the National College Entrance Examination, in some kind of depression, I chose a university I knew little about it, which was far from my hometown. My father was happy and proud of me, though the university was not good enough to be the vanity for parents to show off before the villagers and colleagues. He invited our relatives to our house to cheer for me, because I was, as they said so, the first to get a university pass in our ancestral history. Sometimes, my father would tell them how good my English was. A 130-point (the grand slam being 150 points) English test-paper was something beyond their imagination. At that time, I even didn’t know where I was going, and the city I was to go to was consciously abstract. I guess I was too young to fear anything that I had never seen and known.

It had not been too long for me to set out packing my stuff and stooping down into my father’s private Volkerswagen since the certificate of acceptance reached me. It was 4:00 in the morning. My father, my mother, one of my father’s friends, the driver—my father’s elder brother, and I commenced the journey to my university which was located 2000km up in northeastern China—Anshan, a city that was famous for its iron and steel. 

[To be continued…]

All rights reserved by KENT(njxkb@163.com)