CC's Vision Chocho's World ♬♪ ♫

這星期一~大概是我最後一次站在舞台上
唱歌跟吹長笛了吧
有點感慨
因為…我都沒時間練習 =______=

Today is our badminton championship
emily, my partner and i played first double
after 7 hours of waiting and playing...finally...

suddenly realize..we dont hav that much time left...32 days?
AP tests, badminton championship, ringtea, senior junior dinner,prom,... and then?
graduation?

最近不知道是因為快畢業還是怎樣
大家感覺變得更團結

shxt i need to cut my bang....:(

-->my life these days is balck and white...

okay...lets start with my title...

xmas break

錢櫃

i have three finals in a role today...
dont know wat to say...anyway...its over!!
i was drinkin redbUll and monster like water these days...

time flys...
i dont feel relistic about how SAT and all those collegeprocess is nearly toward the end
(although still bunch of work are needed...)

"Stop throwing stones at me!" The little white American boy kept throwing stones and dusting flour at me. His mouth kept saying words that I had never heard or learned in English class back in my hometown; however, I knew he was not praising me. I had lived in this campus in New Jersey for two weeks. The first week I was busy dealing with my jet lag, so I did not have a chance to notice those unfriendly judgments from white American children. Eventually, I felt the cold attitude from others; it started with the girls living in the same room with me. I was always missing something, or my bed was constantly being rummaged. The reason those girls gave me was I was not organized enough and they were 'helping' me to be organized. I was not smart enough at that time to know they were making a fool of me. I was only ten years old.
"Don't you ever throw those stones at me!" I could not remember how many times had he thrown little stones at me. I guessed it almost became his habit to throw stones at me. It was my last week in New Jersey. I was going on the plane in three hours, going back to my home, Taiwan. I knew that little white boy was reaching my limit for this one last day. The next second, people around that area heard a keen cry. My hand was shaking; my brain turned blank. I gave him my first and last fist of my life. Of course, with a little assistance-- a big, sharp stone. The little white boy's nose immediately turned red, and then black, or perhaps he bled. The boy was too shocked to react; otherwise, he could have given me a souvenir on my face, too. Without surprise, I was later called to the office. The administrator asked me to apologize for my violent action. "I refuse to do that" was what I quietly said. I did not know where my courage came from, but I remembered how astonished the teachers in the office looked. I then walked out of the office and jumped on the bus to the airport. I did not even turn my head back to take one last look. I thought I would not have connections with New Jersey, with America, anymore, but the time in New Jersey was just a starting relationship with America and me.
Five years after the summer in New Jersey, I was once again on my way to America, a place that has the furthest distance from my home. After flying half of the world, I finally stepped on the territory of the United States. To start my study at San Domenico High School in California. Like most newcomers, I felt excluded and terrified during my first full year in America. I was afraid to speak English because I thought people would laugh at my accent. I was even too frightened to raise my hand in class to ask my teacher to go to the restroom. I felt like an alien from a different planet. However, after a period of assimilation, I felt California was a more open-minded place compared to New Jersey. I could gradually blend in the community in San Domenico. I started to think immigration was not as painful as what people said, but after having that thought, I then really started to realize and suffer over the real inside issue of immigration-the disconnection with family.
I seldom called home after the first school year started, and sometimes I even did not call home for months. When I went back home for the next two summers, I felt disconnected from my parents and siblings. I even did not know which grade my brother was in and how old he was. I did not know what I should say to my parents, and how to communicate with them. I felt like a stranger in my family. I wanted to find a way to be involved in discussions with them but I did not know what I should do. Finally, I gave up and ignored the detachment between my family and me. I did not know this would cause me so much and led me into my hardest year of school.