In beginning of the semester, my goal was to achieve 95s or higher in all my classes. However I did not achieve that goal in most of my classes, I believe it was because of change and sudden freedom that I expected less from myself, instead of reviewing what went down in class that day or studying for a test. I busied myself with useless things on campus and at home. Even though, I followed my goal of achieve 95+ in all my classes feverishly in the beginning of the semester, my drive that I gathered during my summer vacation and my excitement for college just died down along with the weather. I am not blaming anyone or anything besides myself for letting go of my goals that I set out to achieve, even though I had my ups and downs in my family during this semester in college I do not wish that to be the excuse I am not doing well. Coming to Hunter College is an experience I need, in order to understand what I really want in the future, and it is not lazing around and procrastinating but aiming for a goal, an ideal, and striving hard to reach it.
During my fall semester in Hunter, I really tried hard during in the beginning, listening attentively during lectures and reviewing my notes after class. However I realized that after a while my drive just died away, I started taking this form of education for granted. I realized at times when I should have been studying, I was just having fun instead. I did not do all the parts in becoming a successful college student like utilizing the facilities and taking my education in to my own hands. Unlike in the high school classes, where we have homework that would check up on the materials explain in class. The college classes only used exams as an evaluation of what I learned. It was really hard because I would have no idea what to study on, and when I finally have confidence that I will do well on a test, the result says the opposite. I just realized a week before the final exams that I really had to straighten out my priorities, they were crooked and I needed to focus.
Forensic Biology was my worst subject this fall semester; I expected to learn a lot of forensics during this class. However I underestimated the amount of biology and data that were tested, and the exams count as a large portion of the grade. I’m really not sure what the outcome for my final grade will be.
Pre-calc 125 was a little better because it took place in small classroom and more time for me to ask questions when I didn’t understand, there were also homework due every other day or so, which helped me tremendously because it helped me review before exams. I’ve realized that I’m a horrible exam taker so I took my time to review before them; however often in this pre-calc class I’ve always reviewed the wrong concept for a question that was going to be on the exam.
I have always said that I want to be a nurse because even though I wanted to be a doctor my grades will never let me be one, even now I doubt that I will become a nurse. I am just hoping that during my first college year I will work really hard and get the grades I want, and then get into a nursing program offered at the school.
English:
I am a good idea creator; I have all these ideas in my head about what should be put down on text. However it doesn’t get translated into words, I think even though I’m a good free writer, my final pieces always have some grammar mistake that I didn’t catch. What’s good about being a good writer is to have ideas down on paper and organized, it will help me to be articulate. I learned a lot of aspects in having a good fictional piece, like in order to engage a reader in a story and have it relatable. The ideas presented in my story needs to be universal and emotionally realistic. I think the piece of fictional writing I enjoyed the most would be the last assignment Sudden Fiction, because it allowed us to create a story using all ideas that we learned in class. It would have a big contrast to our first assignment of the year. I think all concepts are understandable to me, I would use the techniques taught in class and use it in my writing. I plan on working on my fictional writing in my journal, as free write as often as possible, because letting my ideas flow out would be great.
By end of the year, I would hope to be an accomplished free writer. I will always writing in my journal at least once every other day, and hopefully get some of the ideas from free write on to paper and final draft. I hope to understand what my real goals are from this pre-college program, I will work and try my best next semester in achieving my goal of 95 and above in all my classes.
This portfolio represents my adversity as a writer, and my ever changing knowledge of fictional writing and applying it to my own.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Sudden Fiction Final: What I Long For.
“Anything in your big sized skull? When you do college application already? Why I tell you and nothing go in your head?” my mom yelled into my ear, with a drop of her angry saliva landing on my nose bridge, her usually already mean looking face now looked horrifying. Words upon words are trying to force their way out of my mouth to retaliate against her, I would maybe yell back saying I don't understand shit she's saying because her of horrible grammar and how her words doesn't comprehend in my awesome brain. Better yet, correcting her sentence into a grammatically correct one. On the contrary, my “big sized skull” is smarter than to let my words flow out, nothing is worse than having the satisfaction of saying what I want and then getting a beating for it later.
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate glance over my steaming bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes, except defining her fine wrinkles around her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight. “So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down from top till the tip.
“No ma, I don't want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry and cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn't do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom's demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it's because she's nearly 70, she's probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara's breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we've always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, she's more or less like a second mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with her small petite fingers wiped the build up of tears off the corner of my right eye, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “They say that every tear has it own reason, every smile has its own season. Don't take it to heart, what you are and nothing she say should ever change the way you feel about yourself.” She glanced the stack of paper on our desk. “I've been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance at me sitting up in her bed, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, Dara finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in need. Selfishly I've always hinted that her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having her with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn't have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she was studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my desk, clearing the stack of paper off the table to use the computer. I lifted almost all the papers off and set it on the floor with a grunt, on the desk I left a sheet of paper, which I didn't manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, the time of my birth, and finally listed my birth mom.
Dara Chan.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sat front row next to Dara, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a beige flower on top of my 'mom's' casket. Avoiding eye contact as the person turned around to sit back down. I laid my eyes on a pot of delicate orchids, the evergreen leaves and tainted fuchsia on the pale translucent petals looks as if a cloud of mist looms over it, this eye popping colors surely do not belong in that lonely corner, let alone a funeral house. Men in black suits brush past the petals as they hurried to leave after setting down her casket. Upon closer look, the pot of delicate exotic orchids is nothing more than a twisted bunches of plastic, coated by dust from years of display. I envied its resilience.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech to honor my 'mom' that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with her, there weren't much moments to choose from. I have to admit. I have always hated her for yelling and scolding me. It was the constant bickering that left an impression as I moved on to college, it was the emptiness that I didn't long for.
Sitting next to me, my sister Dara, my mortal support Dara, my mom Dara. She gave my clammy hands a squeeze, as I made my way up to the stand and stood behind the microphone.
The buzz of conversation lingered for a moment and then ebbed down, someone blew their nose with a honk. I sucked in my stomach and said: “May my grandmother rest in peace…”
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate glance over my steaming bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes, except defining her fine wrinkles around her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight. “So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down from top till the tip.
“No ma, I don't want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry and cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn't do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom's demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it's because she's nearly 70, she's probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara's breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we've always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, she's more or less like a second mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with her small petite fingers wiped the build up of tears off the corner of my right eye, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “They say that every tear has it own reason, every smile has its own season. Don't take it to heart, what you are and nothing she say should ever change the way you feel about yourself.” She glanced the stack of paper on our desk. “I've been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance at me sitting up in her bed, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, Dara finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in need. Selfishly I've always hinted that her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having her with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn't have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she was studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my desk, clearing the stack of paper off the table to use the computer. I lifted almost all the papers off and set it on the floor with a grunt, on the desk I left a sheet of paper, which I didn't manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, the time of my birth, and finally listed my birth mom.
Dara Chan.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sat front row next to Dara, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a beige flower on top of my 'mom's' casket. Avoiding eye contact as the person turned around to sit back down. I laid my eyes on a pot of delicate orchids, the evergreen leaves and tainted fuchsia on the pale translucent petals looks as if a cloud of mist looms over it, this eye popping colors surely do not belong in that lonely corner, let alone a funeral house. Men in black suits brush past the petals as they hurried to leave after setting down her casket. Upon closer look, the pot of delicate exotic orchids is nothing more than a twisted bunches of plastic, coated by dust from years of display. I envied its resilience.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech to honor my 'mom' that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with her, there weren't much moments to choose from. I have to admit. I have always hated her for yelling and scolding me. It was the constant bickering that left an impression as I moved on to college, it was the emptiness that I didn't long for.
Sitting next to me, my sister Dara, my mortal support Dara, my mom Dara. She gave my clammy hands a squeeze, as I made my way up to the stand and stood behind the microphone.
The buzz of conversation lingered for a moment and then ebbed down, someone blew their nose with a honk. I sucked in my stomach and said: “May my grandmother rest in peace…”
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
My Bedroom, Journal entry
I tried hard to not lay my eyes on anything in my room, walking with my back towards the beast in the cage he made me take care of, I made my way to the neat pile of folded clothe stacked next to it, I picked my shirt and walked out the crammed house without even putting it on. Even after de-cluttering all weekend, my dorm room is still ransacked as ever. No, not because of me, the neatest person in the whole dorm building, but because of my roommate that keeps inviting his band mates over to practice late into the night. Walking to the bathroom across the hall, I made up my mind to never let him take advantage of my easygoing personality every again.
Sudden Fiction Draft 3 ( they say every tear has it's own reasons, every smile has it's own season.)
“Anything in your big sized skull? When you do college application already? Why I tell you and nothing go in your head?” my mom yelled into my ear, with a drop of her angry saliva landing on my nose bridge, her usually already mean looking face now looked horrifying. Words upon words are trying to force their way out of my mouth to retaliate against her, I would maybe yell back saying I don’t understand shit she’s saying because her horrible grammar and how her words doesn’t comprehend in my awesome brain. Better yet, correcting her sentence into a grammatically correct one. On the contrary, my “big sized skull” is smarter than to let my words flow out, nothing is worse than having the satisfaction of saying what I want and then getting a beating for it later.
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down till the pointed tip.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom’s demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it’s because she’s nearly 70, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara’s breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we’ve always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, more or less like a mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with tear filled eyes, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “They say that every tear has it own reason, every smile has its own season. Don’t take it to heart, what you are and nothing she say should ever change the way you feel about yourself. It’s okay because I love you. I’ve been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, she finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in. Needless to say, her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having Dara with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she is studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my computer desk, 2 piles of paper blocked my way, I lifted both off the desk and set it on the floor with a grunt. On the desk I left a sheet of paper I didn’t manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, and finally below all the numbers for the time of my birth, listed my birth mom. Dara Chan.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sat front row next to her, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a beige flower on top of her casket. Avoiding eye contact as she turned around to sit back down, I lay my eyes on a pot of delicate orchids, the evergreen leaves and tainted fuchsia on the pale translucent petals looks as if a cloud of his looms over it, this eye popping colors surely do not belong in that lonely corner. Men in black suits brush past the petals as they hurried to get van for the removal of her casket. Upon closer look, the pot of delicate exotic orchids is nothing more than a twisted bunches of plastic, coated by dust from years of display. I envied its resilience.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech honored my mom that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with her, there weren’t much moments to choose from. I have to admit. I have always hated her for yelling and scolding me. It was the constant bickering that left an impression as I left for college, it was the emptiness that I didn’t long for.
Sitting next to me, Dara was my support, my sister, my mom.
Gave me clammy hands a squeeze, as I made walked up to the stand behind the microphone.
“My grandma once said,
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down till the pointed tip.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom’s demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it’s because she’s nearly 70, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara’s breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we’ve always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, more or less like a mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with tear filled eyes, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “They say that every tear has it own reason, every smile has its own season. Don’t take it to heart, what you are and nothing she say should ever change the way you feel about yourself. It’s okay because I love you. I’ve been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, she finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in. Needless to say, her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having Dara with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she is studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my computer desk, 2 piles of paper blocked my way, I lifted both off the desk and set it on the floor with a grunt. On the desk I left a sheet of paper I didn’t manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, and finally below all the numbers for the time of my birth, listed my birth mom. Dara Chan.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I sat front row next to her, surrounded by family members I never really cared to remember, I watched as my distance cousin or aunt laid a beige flower on top of her casket. Avoiding eye contact as she turned around to sit back down, I lay my eyes on a pot of delicate orchids, the evergreen leaves and tainted fuchsia on the pale translucent petals looks as if a cloud of his looms over it, this eye popping colors surely do not belong in that lonely corner. Men in black suits brush past the petals as they hurried to get van for the removal of her casket. Upon closer look, the pot of delicate exotic orchids is nothing more than a twisted bunches of plastic, coated by dust from years of display. I envied its resilience.
I fumbled with my cue cards that outlined what I should say for the speech honored my mom that passed away, according to movies right now I should be wearing dark sunglasses and weak in my family members arms from crying. I tried my best to remember the good times I had with her, there weren’t much moments to choose from. I have to admit. I have always hated her for yelling and scolding me. It was the constant bickering that left an impression as I left for college, it was the emptiness that I didn’t long for.
Sitting next to me, Dara was my support, my sister, my mom.
Gave me clammy hands a squeeze, as I made walked up to the stand behind the microphone.
“My grandma once said,
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Sudden Fiction Draft 2 ( Who should I kill off? Dara? or the 'mom'?
“Anything in your big sized skull? When you do college application already? Why I tell you and nothing go in your head?” my mom yelled into my ear, with a drop of her angry saliva landing on my nose bridge, her usually already mean looking face now looked horrifying. Words upon words are trying to force their way out of my mouth to retaliate against her, I would maybe yell back saying I don’t understand shit she’s saying because her horrible grammar and how her words doesn’t comprehend in my awesome brain. Better yet, correcting her sentence into a grammatically correct one. On the contrary, my “big sized skull” is smarter than to let my words flow out, nothing is worse than having the satisfaction of saying what I want and then getting a beating for it later.
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down till the pointed tip.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom’s demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it’s because she’s nearly 70, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara’s breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we’ve always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, more or less like a mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with tear filled eyes, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “Don’t take it to heart, you know you are better than that. It’s okay because I love you. I’ve been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, she finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in. Needless to say, her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having Dara with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she is studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my computer desk, 2 piles of paper blocked my way, I lifted both off the desk and set it on the floor with a grunt. On the desk I left a sheet of paper I didn’t manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, and finally below all the numbers for the time of my birth, listed my birth mom. Dara Chan.
I gave my sister Dara, a desperate look over my bowl of rice. She in return gave me a knowing look and a weak smile that never reached her eyes. There I was, just sitting at the dinner table avoiding all eye contact, making myself as invisible as I possibly can until the end of dinner. That impossible feat was almost achieved, but no, my mom has to bring me into her spotlight.
“So you applied to all top ranking universities yet?” she interrogated pompously setting down her pair of chopsticks with golden dragon engravings snaking down till the pointed tip.
“No ma, I don’t want to apply to some of them.” I replied softly running my fork across the over baked turkey sized chicken leg.
“WHAT YOU MEAN NO, YOU HAVE TO. YOU HAVE NO CHOICE.” In her anger fueled scream attack, more spit landed on my dry cracked mutant sized chicken drumstick.
“Okay, I will.” I replied, knowing I wouldn’t do what I just said. Sticking my fork into the drumstick, I tried to pry it apart to get to the inner meat avoiding where I thought her spit landed.
“STOP DOING THAT, JUST EAT YOUR CHICKEN” she threw me a dirty look with her deep setting wrinkled eyes that never seemed to rest, darting me a look that would just kill.
I went to my room after loading the dishwasher, compelled to at least try to understand my mom’s demeanor. I ran all the possibilities in my head, maybe it’s because she’s nearly 70, she’s probably in her late life crisis where she needs to get all her rage out on me, or the end of her menopause that drives her.
Many late nights, I just stare at the ceiling listening to the rhythmic hiss of Dara’s breath. Wishing it were only Dara and I living together, even though we are 14 years apart, we’ve always bonded in a way that other sisters never have and never will, more or less like a mom to me. Today she looked down at my face in her lap with tear filled eyes, running her fingers through my hair, she said: “Don’t take it to heart, you know you are better than that. It’s okay because I love you. I’ve been wanted to tell you this for a while--”
BEEP BEEP, her pager sounded with an emergency call from the hospital, with a sorrowful backward glance, she grabbed her car keys and rushed out the door.
After studying tirelessly to be a doctor for six years, she finally achieved her dream of helping others when they are in. Needless to say, her time alone with me has been scarce and it made me realize the importance of having Dara with me. She works at a public hospital near by and lives at home sharing a bedroom with me, not because she doesn’t have the ability to move out and get her own place, but because I begged her to not leave me in this hellhole by myself. Maybe it was my selfishness or persistence, I managed to make my sister stay with me for the past 7 years even when she is studying to get her doctorate. She and I will finally have a breathe of freedom after I go off to college somewhere far, beyond reach from my parents.
I dragged my feet to my computer desk, 2 piles of paper blocked my way, I lifted both off the desk and set it on the floor with a grunt. On the desk I left a sheet of paper I didn’t manage to get, upon closer look it was a copy of my birth certificate. With cursive letters spelled out my name Bonny Jamie Chan, my birthday June, 6, 1993, and finally below all the numbers for the time of my birth, listed my birth mom. Dara Chan.
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