小孩子没有手机的年代，让她们不会像现在一样整天痴迷于社交手机的虚拟世界而读书越来越少。五年级那年鼓励她参加一个叫Young Writers of America的诗歌竞赛，当年的诗歌命题叫"The World As I See IT"，她急急忙忙在deadline前一天晚上才交上去，我们也没有看，不知道她写的什么东西。没想到最后竟拿来Grand Prize和奖金，后来我们慢慢一读，才发现的确写得好。从此每年鼓励她参加写作竞赛，年年得奖。
The World As I See It Water rippling by the willow trees, The steady hum of the bees. The sweet smell of pureness hard to resist A light, cool spray of morning mist. A red fox slinking into the shade, The warm sunset starting to fade. Bright laughter helps the dawn break,
Followed by many others, happiness awakes.
Just a smile, holding of hands, Brings humans together, in a chain we stand The deep blue sky dotted with stars, Who knew this wouldn’t go far? The sour smell of gas, Traffic pushing to get past. Starving children covered in tears, The air heavy and tense from so many fears. The murky water making a silent splash, Filled with oil and filthy trash. The sorrow, the disbelief, the lies, In this world happiness isn’t something you can buy. But just when this world is at its brink, Things finally start to link. New things invented, new things found, The world has eventually turned around. Some things lost forever, but some things great, It all comes back, only a little late. The humans have shaped this world, again and again, The world will never stop changing, and neither will men. This is the world as I see it, And I'm ready to uncover it bit by bit.
在许多地方比如饭店吃饭逛商店旅途中她总是手捧小说在读。后来的写作天赋是大概六年级写诗获奖以后我们才发觉的。她对亲身经历的事情非常敏锐，都写得很好。比如她跟一个很老的有名教练学游泳，就写了一篇很好的日记"for the love of swimming"，记录她如何在游泳中经历挫折，如何得到老教练认真耐心的帮助和鼓励。后来那个老教练去世，我们把她的文章发给教练女儿以作怀念，她们全家都很感动和喜欢。她给Rice一个老教授学钢琴多年，为此专门写了一个小说“between the white and blace keys”讲述老教授在钢琴教学中的乐趣和投入。她自己五六年级突然突发奇想开始写一篇长篇小说Dark Sun，反映地球环境的污染情况。内容大概原型是小时候看的葫芦娃动画片，她构思了很长时间，有段时间天天回家就爬在床上构思创作，非常的投入（很怀念那时的情景，没有手机和社交网络的干扰，非常热心的喜欢做一件事情）。设计了整个故事的结果和情景发展。故事写的有些长，有不少章节，我们都一直没有看完。大概的意思是地球母亲突然生病了，是因为邪恶的魔鬼（人类对自然污染）对她攻击的原因。她的几个孩子，名字大概对应中国五行元素金木水火土以及空气，想要拯救地球母亲，打败污染恶魔。但孩子们开始不合力，都不能靠自己的能力打败敌人。最后合作起来才打败了污染恶魔，让母亲的身体健康起来...等等的写作动机故事背景很多。有机会我可以公布一些她的写作的网站，是我们给她整理起来的，从小学一直到高中。
Have you ever sat and stared at the window to the world beyond? At the sound of a bird, the taste of sugar melting on your tongue, the touch of a cracked stone wall. But did you know that it is this world’s simple colors make every day something new?
Blue is the color of the vast, pure ocean and endless sky. It’s the color of peace, a mind at ease. But did you know that blue also stands for open sorrow, knowledge that some days happiness won’t fly by?
Green is the color of blooming life. It’s the light hitting the surface of a lake, lush forests, droplets of dew on a spring leaf. But did you know that green is slowly disappearing, stolen away?
Red is the color of undaunted courage, vigorous passion, and fierce energy. It’s the warmth in our fingers, the core of what humans truly are. But did you know that red is anger and never ending strife, the color that can leave everything ashen?
Purple is the impossible. It stands for people’s wildest dreams and that secret spark of magic. But did you know that it shows the folly of fantasies that cannot be reached?
Yellow is the color of a bright sunny day, true happiness, and unbreakable love. It’s hope in a ratty blanket. But did you know that it also stands for confusion, like being trapped in an endless maze?
White is the color of unselfish kindness, unclouded light. It shows new paths, new beginnings to take. But did you know that it’s often misunderstood as the end of a road, when really it’s a chance to begin anew?
These colors may seem simple, but they are full of complexities good and bad. They show us common things, like a sunny day, or a heart full of energy. But did you know that when we weave these colors together, we discover the true meaning of life?
It was a beautiful field. Overgrown with tangled, unrecognizable weeds and small, snaky vines, it became a safe haven for me as I grew older and older. When I was out there, there was no rainy day. The sun always beat down onto the dry, cracked path that my grandpa and I created, ceaseless and unending. Time itself seemed to stop and watch the little six year old girl in messy pigtails and her white haired grandfather coming back day after day. The summer days were always the best. On the hottest possible days, we would go outside, carrying huge nets, containers, and licking popsicles. Walking the small distance across my neighborhood to the field gave me the greatest joy. When I got there, the wailing of the sirens from the distance seemed to fade until nothing, disappearing with everything I had ever worried about. There was only the quiet left. However, the more I came, the more I realized that the quiet I heard wasn’t even close to silence. Standing in the long grass and scratching the numerous mosquito bites on my legs, I heard the true song of nature. The buzzing of unseen bugs, the sway of the leaves, and the hum of the birds created the perfect balanced harmony.
I would sit there listening, thoughtfully licking the last bit of my popsicle and wiping the cherry stains on my shirt. And then, the real fun would begin. The nets my grandpa and I carried made sense as the last part of the nature harmony fit in. The butterflies. Catching butterflies became more than just a game to us. It was a sport. We would always start off simple, carelessly capturing the foggy, white butterflies. Even with my chubby legs, I got them easily as they landed on the rightest wildflowers or on the ground.
We would carefully place them into the basket my grandpa was holding, where it was already filled with dried grass and flowers. After a while, we would occasionally spot a rarer yellow butterfly. Faster and smarter than the white, it danced gracefully out of reach almost every time we tried to get it, but that didn’t mean we stopped trying. Laughing, my grandpa and I would run until we were both sweating under the fiery sun. We would stay out there at that hastily-made, abandoned field for hours, finding it hard to part. It would be late afternoon by the time we finally were ready to go home, the sun just starting to sink from the newly-born horizon. I would listen the natural harmony one last time, and my grandpa and I would slowly, carrying our basket full of mélange butterflies and the occasional dragonfly, home.
We would open the basement door and come in to the dim coolness, breathing in a sigh of relief at the air conditioner. Afterwards, we would open the basket of insects, and one by one, they would slowly fly out of their cramped prison. They always flew to the open window , where the light was the brightest. My grandpa and I would count our catch for the day as if it were an extremely vital job, sorting each fluttering butterfly out by color. Sometimes, when we had enough time, we would each pick out a butterfly or dragonfly, and take it to the far end of the basement, and let it go, racing to see which one would get to the window faster. I would be rubbing the powder from the butterfly’s flaky wings over my eyes and onto the furniture for hours afterwards, to the dismay of my mom.
But at sunset, when the day was about to be over, my grandpa and I would gently collect the insects back into the basket, and take them outside. One by one, I would release them gently into the air, where they were hesitant at first, but quickly grew in speed. It was an almost perfect image, watching the chain of butterflies steadily fly off towards the setting sun.
This happened for the next two years. Some days, we were too busy to go. And over the winter, it was impossible to go at all. But I found myself thinking of that place every day, that messy, beautiful field. People thought I was crazy for wanting to go to such an unruly place. They couldn’t see why I would want to do the same thing every day, catching butterflies only to let them go. But my grandpa always understood. To us, there was something different in every day going out to the field. There would be a new sight, a new sound to hear. No one could understand the joy we felt of capturing a particularly big butterfly, or just being out there an hour longer, but us. Most of all, we listened to the quiet, and the beautiful sounds that came from it.
I remember clearer than anything else the day the field disappeared. It was only a couple weeks after winter ended, after the snow finally melted. I ran towards the field with my grandpa close behind me as fast as I could. It had only been a few months since I’ve seen it, but it could’ve been years. I needed to see the field again, to let it fill me with the sounds and peace I never felt anywhere else. But when I got there, I only saw yellow. Not the yellow of the small, dainty wildflowers dotting the field, or the yellow of the quick butterflies. Only the yellow of the construction trucks. For a moment, I just stood there. The loud sounds of construction sounded like nothing to my ears. I could only listen to the silence.
When life gives you lemons, sometimes they never go away.
My great aunt had never had an easy life. She was born the second child of a family of five kids, and she never went to bed with a full stomach. When she was barely ten, her father was forced by the government to do military service.
He tearfully left his kids and wife. None of them knew they wouldn’t see their father again for twenty years.
“Of course, it was hard when my husband left,” said her mother. “But it didn’t mean we weren’t a family anymore. I still have five kids I can be proud of.”
For the rest of her childhood, my great aunt was raised by her mother, who scraped an earning working at the local bank. She worked hard for her mother at part time jobs, often in late hours. Because of that, she was bullied in school for her dirty clothes, and she struggled to keep up with her homework. Still, she didn’t give up for her loving family, pledging to be there for them no matter what happened to her.
“She’s just…really kind,” said one of her brothers when they were younger. “She would always give us her meal first, and she worked through entire nights for us.”
When her mother could no longer support her, my great aunt married her childhood sweetheart at a young age. However, her mother never approved of the marriage.
“He isn’t the right man for my daughter,” she used to say. “I don’t trust him.”
But my great aunt stubbornly refused to listen.
“I love him,” she had insisted. For the first couple months, she lived her fairy tale, touring China with her new husband. But over time, resentment grew between them. They had a bitter divorce, and he left soon after, leaving her with her newborn son.
For years afterwards, she raised her son alone in a small apartment. Even as she struggled financially, she never failed to visit me, always bringing a huge packet of snacks and toys along with her.
“I love you.” There was a recording of me saying. “You bring me lots of stuff!”
The next time I saw her, her hair had turned snowy white and she had lost weight. Her mind had also changed, finally wearing down from years of heartbreak and difficulties.
“There’s a man following me,” she always whispered, looking nervously over her shoulder.
The sight of her saddened me. This was no longer the lively woman I knew when I was little, carefree and loving, never worrying about anything. Her old self was almost gone now, leaving only her bitter memories of her old husband and her grown son that abandoned her.
Still, she brought me the same snacks and toys she had over six years ago, this part of her never changing.
Just a year later, I found out my great aunt had gotten breast cancer.
“We can’t help her,” said my relatives in China. It shocked me that they barely tried, barely wanted to help. She passed away alone and isolated in the apartment she lived in most of her life.
It hurt that I was too far away to help, but also comforting that she was in a better place. I hope she still remembers the words I said when I was young, that she will always remember. “I love you.”
🔥 最新回帖
🛋️ 沙发板凳
不过那个什么National Honor Society是不是Scam啊？
收到很多电邮说邀请加入，都被俺扔垃圾桶里了
其他的小中男女都有，不会让ao眼前一亮吧
CommonApp的Essay她通过回顾她的写作日记记录她多年来的成长历程和心灵感悟，文本格式也挺有创新的。她给P写的的Essay是有关火锅的故事，反映生活在美国的自己无论如何也逃不出中国的文化和根。除了写自己一直喜欢每周一次在家里吃火锅，家人然后做火锅如何配料使用不同调料等等以外，更主要的是在每次的火锅旁边听大人讲中国的历史，地理，文化，风情，典故，政治，经济等等，她也因此潜移默化的学到很多知识并融入到那种文化和风俗之中，并变成为她生命的一部分。两篇Essay给老师看了都觉得很好，没有什么可改动的。
http://bbs.wenxuecity.com/kids-writing/3110288.html
跟着父母做，跟着祖父母做，各种回忆，各种体验，呵呵
太有希望了。谢分享。
国家奖如果是11，12年级拿的更好。祝好运！希望能回来分享结果。
小孩子没有手机的年代，让她们不会像现在一样整天痴迷于社交手机的虚拟世界而读书越来越少。五年级那年鼓励她参加一个叫Young Writers of America的诗歌竞赛，当年的诗歌命题叫"The World As I See IT"，她急急忙忙在deadline前一天晚上才交上去，我们也没有看，不知道她写的什么东西。没想到最后竟拿来Grand Prize和奖金，后来我们慢慢一读，才发现的确写得好。从此每年鼓励她参加写作竞赛，年年得奖。
The World As I See It Water rippling by the willow trees, The steady hum of the bees. The sweet smell of pureness hard to resist A light, cool spray of morning mist. A red fox slinking into the shade, The warm sunset starting to fade. Bright laughter helps the dawn break, Just a smile, holding of hands, Brings humans together, in a chain we stand The deep blue sky dotted with stars, Who knew this wouldn’t go far? The sour smell of gas, Traffic pushing to get past. Starving children covered in tears, The air heavy and tense from so many fears. The murky water making a silent splash, Filled with oil and filthy trash. The sorrow, the disbelief, the lies, In this world happiness isn’t something you can buy. But just when this world is at its brink, Things finally start to link. New things invented, new things found, The world has eventually turned around. Some things lost forever, but some things great, It all comes back, only a little late. The humans have shaped this world, again and again, The world will never stop changing, and neither will men. This is the world as I see it, And I'm ready to uncover it bit by bit.will have even better chance.
不长个发愁，我们个子都不低，她的这个子将来也是个大问题。我们打算让她明年开始学习打篮球继续游泳并学中文。她的中文听／说是我们这里中国孩子中最好的，她从小在家一直到现在就不给我们说任何英语，这点和别的美国长大孩子很不一样。但她不会读／写。我们一直鼓励她将来大学要好好学习中文，因为世界的未来在东方。呵呵
best luck.
疗法。另外学化学也不错，可以进生物制药公司，化学公司，油公司。我们认识好几个新进大油公司的毕业生都是大藤MIT学化学的。
我眼中的世界 看见柳树边的水面上微微泛起的涟漪 听见蜜蜂持续的嗡嗡声 纯纯的甜香很难抵抗 一缕早晨明亮的薄雾冷冷的喷洒在大地 一只红狐狸偷偷摸摸的消失在阴影中 温暖的日落开始慢慢褪色 明亮的笑声让天变亮了 笑声一个接一个，幸福的人们起来了 一个微笑，手牵着手， 人们站在一排，连在一起 星星点缀着深蓝的天空 谁知道这美好的世界会走多远？ 我闻到了污浊的空气的味道 我看到了人们争先恐后拥挤着穿过 我看到了饥饿的孩子眼泪迷住了眼睛 我看到了人们的恐惧使空气弥漫着凝重和紧张 我看见了无声的溅起黑水 充满了油腻和污秽的垃圾 伤心，怀疑，谎言 这个世界上快乐是买不到的 但是，当这个世界到达它的边缘的时候 事情终于开始联系起来 新的东西被发明了，新的东西被发现了 世界终于改变了 一些东西永远的失去了，一些东西很伟大 世界又有生机了，尽管有一些晚 人们已经在改变这个世界，而且不断不断地改变 世界不会停止被改变，人类也不会 这就是我眼中的世界 而我已经准备好了一点一点的揭示
考试成绩在亚裔进打藤的只能算中等；没有过硬的全国大奖。
在许多地方比如饭店吃饭逛商店旅途中她总是手捧小说在读。后来的写作天赋是大概六年级写诗获奖以后我们才发觉的。她对亲身经历的事情非常敏锐，都写得很好。比如她跟一个很老的有名教练学游泳，就写了一篇很好的日记"for the love of swimming"，记录她如何在游泳中经历挫折，如何得到老教练认真耐心的帮助和鼓励。后来那个老教练去世，我们把她的文章发给教练女儿以作怀念，她们全家都很感动和喜欢。她给Rice一个老教授学钢琴多年，为此专门写了一个小说“between the white and blace keys”讲述老教授在钢琴教学中的乐趣和投入。她自己五六年级突然突发奇想开始写一篇长篇小说Dark Sun，反映地球环境的污染情况。内容大概原型是小时候看的葫芦娃动画片，她构思了很长时间，有段时间天天回家就爬在床上构思创作，非常的投入（很怀念那时的情景，没有手机和社交网络的干扰，非常热心的喜欢做一件事情）。设计了整个故事的结果和情景发展。故事写的有些长，有不少章节，我们都一直没有看完。大概的意思是地球母亲突然生病了，是因为邪恶的魔鬼（人类对自然污染）对她攻击的原因。她的几个孩子，名字大概对应中国五行元素金木水火土以及空气，想要拯救地球母亲，打败污染恶魔。但孩子们开始不合力，都不能靠自己的能力打败敌人。最后合作起来才打败了污染恶魔，让母亲的身体健康起来...等等的写作动机故事背景很多。有机会我可以公布一些她的写作的网站，是我们给她整理起来的，从小学一直到高中。
The Color, the Life
Have you ever sat and stared at the window to the world beyond?
At the sound of a bird, the taste of sugar melting on your tongue, the touch of a cracked stone wall.
But did you know that it is this world’s simple colors make every day something new?
Blue is the color of the vast, pure ocean and endless sky.
It’s the color of peace, a mind at ease.
But did you know that blue also stands for open sorrow, knowledge that some days happiness won’t fly by?
Green is the color of blooming life.
It’s the light hitting the surface of a lake, lush forests, droplets of dew on a spring leaf.
But did you know that green is slowly disappearing, stolen away?
Red is the color of undaunted courage, vigorous passion, and fierce energy.
It’s the warmth in our fingers, the core of what humans truly are.
But did you know that red is anger and never ending strife, the color that can leave everything ashen?
Purple is the impossible.
It stands for people’s wildest dreams and that secret spark of magic.
But did you know that it shows the folly of fantasies that cannot be reached?
Yellow is the color of a bright sunny day, true happiness, and unbreakable love.
It’s hope in a ratty blanket.
But did you know that it also stands for confusion, like being trapped in an endless maze?
White is the color of unselfish kindness, unclouded light.
It shows new paths, new beginnings to take.
But did you know that it’s often misunderstood as the end of a road, when really it’s a chance to begin anew?
These colors may seem simple, but they are full of complexities good and bad.
They show us common things, like a sunny day, or a heart full of energy.
But did you know that when we weave these colors together, we discover the true meaning of life?
颜色，生命
你曾经坐在窗前凝视着窗外的世界吗？
当你用耳听着鸟的声音，用舌尝着糖的味道，用手摸到开裂的石头墙的时候，
但你曾是否想到这个世界简单的色彩使每天的东西变得新奇？
蓝色是浩瀚无边的纯的海洋和无尽的天空的颜色，
它代表和平，安心，
但是你知道吗，蓝色也代表了公开的悲伤，知识，有些日子幸福不会飞的吗？
绿色是怒放的生命的颜色，
它是光照到湖面，茂密的森林，一片春天的树叶上露珠的颜色，
但是你知道吗，绿色正在慢慢从我们身边上消失，被人偷走？
红色是无畏的勇气，蓬勃向上的激情和燃烧的能源的颜色，
它代表着发自我们手指的温暖，代表着我们人类真正的核心价值的颜色，
但是你知道吗，红色也代表愤怒和无休止的纷争，代表着把一切都化为灰烬的颜色？
紫色是表示不可能的颜色，
它代表人类的最疯狂的梦想以及魔术出来的秘密火花的颜色，
但是你知道吗，它也显示愚蠢的幻想和不能达到？
黄色是阳光明媚的日子，真正的幸福，和牢不可破的爱的颜色，
它代表绝境中存留的一丝希望，
但是你知道吗，它也代表好像被困在无尽的迷宫中的那种迷惑？
白色的无限美好，晴空无云的光的颜色，
它显示一个人要开辟新的道路，新的开始，
但是你知道吗，它经常被误解为当有机会重新开始的时候走投无路？
这些颜色看起来很简单，但他们是充满了复杂性，充满了好和坏，
他们向我们展示了人间常有的事情，就像一个阳光明媚的日子，或者激情澎湃的心情，
但是你知道吗，当我们把这些颜色编织放在一起，我们就会发现生活的真谛？
亚裔有这些national啥啥啥的太多了。怀疑能拿到P。文理学院应该会更喜欢这样的。至少在灾区是没很大希望的。
怎么会已经拿到州大录取了？那么快
就是Top 25%也不能保证能进的，竞争实在是非常激烈。提前拿到州里大学的通知是因为她申请的Priority处理，11／1截至日期刚交上材料，11／3通知就到了。另外学校Top 7%学生是自动进本州最好的公立大学，如果申请的话。
一件小小的儿时抓蝴蝶的活动竟然令女儿有如此深刻的印象和感受。那时我们住在加拿大卡尔加里市的西北新区，我们的房子侧面不远曾经有一块长长的空地，满地的野草野花的土坡，夏天的时候竟然成了女儿最爱玩耍的地方。那时候我们都嫌外面热不想出去，而女儿和她的姥爷却确常常拿着抓蝴蝶的网子篮子到那里乐此不疲，每次满头大汗带回来许多的蝴蝶蜻蜓。那种美妙的感觉也许是女儿创作这篇文章的缘由，她的写作老师对她的这篇获银奖的作文其实更加欣赏，而我第一次读完之后竟没有多少感觉。女儿说她想表现的不仅仅是抓蝴蝶那种乐趣的本身，而是想表现她内心感受的那种寂静之声的美。今天终于一字一字的翻译细读之后我好像明白了一些她的意思，我姑且认为它是一篇形散而意不散的散文吧。
Catching Butterflies
It was a beautiful field. Overgrown with tangled, unrecognizable weeds and small, snaky vines, it became a safe haven for me as I grew older and older. When I was out there, there was no rainy day. The sun always beat down onto the dry, cracked path that my grandpa and I created, ceaseless and unending. Time itself seemed to stop and watch the little six year old girl in messy pigtails and her white haired grandfather coming back day after day. The summer days were always the best. On the hottest possible days, we would go outside, carrying huge nets, containers, and licking popsicles. Walking the small distance across my neighborhood to the field gave me the greatest joy. When I got there, the wailing of the sirens from the distance seemed to fade until nothing, disappearing with everything I had ever worried about. There was only the quiet left. However, the more I came, the more I realized that the quiet I heard wasn’t even close to silence. Standing in the long grass and scratching the numerous mosquito bites on my legs, I heard the true song of nature. The buzzing of unseen bugs, the sway of the leaves, and the hum of the birds created the perfect balanced harmony.
I would sit there listening, thoughtfully licking the last bit of my popsicle and wiping the cherry stains on my shirt. And then, the real fun would begin. The nets my grandpa and I carried made sense as the last part of the nature harmony fit in. The butterflies. Catching butterflies became more than just a game to us. It was a sport. We would always start off simple, carelessly capturing the foggy, white butterflies. Even with my chubby legs, I got them easily as they landed on the rightest wildflowers or on the ground.
We would carefully place them into the basket my grandpa was holding, where it was already filled with dried grass and flowers. After a while, we would occasionally spot a rarer yellow butterfly. Faster and smarter than the white, it danced gracefully out of reach almost every time we tried to get it, but that didn’t mean we stopped trying. Laughing, my grandpa and I would run until we were both sweating under the fiery sun. We would stay out there at that hastily-made, abandoned field for hours, finding it hard to part. It would be late afternoon by the time we finally were ready to go home, the sun just starting to sink from the newly-born horizon. I would listen the natural harmony one last time, and my grandpa and I would slowly, carrying our basket full of mélange butterflies and the occasional dragonfly, home.
We would open the basement door and come in to the dim coolness, breathing in a sigh of relief at the air conditioner. Afterwards, we would open the basket of insects, and one by one, they would slowly fly out of their cramped prison. They always flew to the open window , where the light was the brightest. My grandpa and I would count our catch for the day as if it were an extremely vital job, sorting each fluttering butterfly out by color. Sometimes, when we had enough time, we would each pick out a butterfly or dragonfly, and take it to the far end of the basement, and let it go, racing to see which one would get to the window faster. I would be rubbing the powder from the butterfly’s flaky wings over my eyes and onto the furniture for hours afterwards, to the dismay of my mom.
But at sunset, when the day was about to be over, my grandpa and I would gently collect the insects back into the basket, and take them outside. One by one, I would release them gently into the air, where they were hesitant at first, but quickly grew in speed. It was an almost perfect image, watching the chain of butterflies steadily fly off towards the setting sun.
This happened for the next two years. Some days, we were too busy to go. And over the winter, it was impossible to go at all. But I found myself thinking of that place every day, that messy, beautiful field. People thought I was crazy for wanting to go to such an unruly place. They couldn’t see why I would want to do the same thing every day, catching butterflies only to let them go. But my grandpa always understood. To us, there was something different in every day going out to the field. There would be a new sight, a new sound to hear. No one could understand the joy we felt of capturing a particularly big butterfly, or just being out there an hour longer, but us. Most of all, we listened to the quiet, and the beautiful sounds that came from it.
I remember clearer than anything else the day the field disappeared. It was only a couple weeks after winter ended, after the snow finally melted. I ran towards the field with my grandpa close behind me as fast as I could. It had only been a few months since I’ve seen it, but it could’ve been years. I needed to see the field again, to let it fill me with the sounds and peace I never felt anywhere else. But when I got there, I only saw yellow. Not the yellow of the small, dainty wildflowers dotting the field, or the yellow of the quick butterflies. Only the yellow of the construction trucks. For a moment, I just stood there. The loud sounds of construction sounded like nothing to my ears. I could only listen to the silence.
抓蝴蝶
这是一个美丽的地方。满地长着纠缠一起的无法辨认的杂草和小小的弯弯曲曲的藤蔓，随着我一天一天的长大它变成了我的一个安全的乐园。每次我到那里的时候，天总是不会下雨。太阳总是炙热地烧烤着我和姥爷踩出来的干燥的破裂的小径，而这小径弯弯曲曲无休无止。时间自己好像在驻足观看一个留着杂乱辫子的小女孩和她的白发姥爷爷天天来来回回往返在这片野地上。
夏天的日子总是最好的。在可能是最热的日子里，我们会到外面去，提着大大的网子篮子，边走边舔着冰棍。走过那段穿过邻居到野地的小小距离总是给我带来最大的欢乐。当我到了那里的时候，远处的尖啸警笛声似乎隐约到什么也听不见了，消失到没有什么我可以担心的了。野地只留下来安静。然而，我来的次数越多我越意识到我听到的安静不是那种接近于寂静的声音。站在高高草从之中不断抓挠腿上被无数蚊虫的叮咬痒痛，我听到大自然的真实乐曲。那看不见的虫子的嗡嗡声，挥洒摇摆的叶子声和鸟儿的哼鸣声创造了一首完美平和的自然交响曲。
这时我会坐在那里听，若有所思地舔完我的冰棍的最后一块，擦去滴在我衬衫上的粉色污点。然后，真正的乐趣就开始了。我和我姥爷拎的网子使得完成大自然交响曲最后一节变得有意义了。是，抓蝴蝶。抓蝴蝶对我们不仅仅是一个游戏，它是一种运动。我们总是从简单随意地抓捕雾状白色的蝴蝶开始。即使我有小胖腿跑不动我也很容易抓住那些落在明亮的野花或在地面上的蝴蝶。
我们会将抓捕的蝴蝶小心翼翼地放进姥爷拎着的填有干草和鲜花的篮子里。过了一会儿，我们偶然又发现一只罕见的黄色蝴蝶。它比白色蝴蝶更快更聪明，他优雅地飞舞着，我们试图每一次的抓它但抓不着，但我们依然没有停止努力。我们笑着跑着直到我们在火热的太阳下大汗淋漓。我们一直在那杂草丛生的遗弃野地呆上几个小时，不舍得离开。到傍晚的时候我们终于准备回家，而这时太阳刚刚开始从新生的地平线下沉。我这时会最后一次聆听一下大自然的交响曲，然后我和我的姥爷慢慢地拎着我们充满各种蝴蝶和偶尔还有蜻蜓的篮子，回家。
我们打开地下室的门，进入昏暗冰凉的房间，呼吸一下空调房间的凉气。之后，我们会打开篮子把昆虫一个接一个的放出来，让它们慢慢地飞出自己局促的监牢。他们总是飞到光线最敞亮的窗口。我和我姥爷会数一数我们当天抓捕的蝴蝶，从颜色来分辨各种飞舞蝴蝶的种类，好像是在做一天最重要的功课。有时，如果我们有足够的时间，我们将各自挑选出一只蝴蝶或蜻蜓，并把它带到地下室的一头，让它们飞，看看哪一个会更快地飞到窗口。随后几个小时，如果妈妈允许，我会将蝴蝶翅膀上呈片状的揉粉抹到我的眼睛和家具上。
但在暮色已晚当天即将结束的时候，我和姥爷会轻轻地将昆虫们采集回来放回篮子里，然后把它们带到屋子外面。一个接一个，我会轻轻地将它们放飞到空中，开始它们还会在哪儿稍作迟疑，然后它们很加速地飞走。这是一幅近乎完美的景象，一串串的蝴蝶链稳健的飞了出去，飞向落日的方向。
抓蝴蝶这事一直进行了两年。有些日子，我们太忙了去不了。而在冬天，我们是不可能去的。但我发现每一天我都在想着那个地方，那个杂乱美丽的野地。人们以为我是不是疯了想要去这样一个不守规矩的地方。他们不明白为什么我每天想要做同样的事情，抓住蝴蝶只是为了让它们飞走。但我的姥爷总能理解。对我们来说，每天去那个野地总有不同的收获。每次去哪里会看见一个新的景象，听到一个新的声音。没有人，除了我们，能够理解我们捕捉一个特别大蝴蝶，或者只是想着哪里多呆一个小时时所感受到的喜悦。除此之外最重要的是，我们在聆听那种安静，那种从那里发出来的美丽的声音。
我比什么事都记得清楚那个野地突然消失的一天。那是个在冬天结束后的几个礼拜的一天，雪已经完全融化了。我带着紧跟在我后面的姥爷飞快的跑向那片野地。几个月前我还看过这里，我确认不可能是几年前。我需要再次看看这个野地，好让它充满不可能从别的地方感受到的声音和平安。但是，当我到了那里，我只看到了黄色。不是那小的纤巧的野花点缀的野地的黄色，也不是快速飞舞的蝴蝶的黄色，而是施工卡车的黄色。那一刻，我只是站在那里。建设工地的隆隆响声在我耳朵里面什么都不是，我只听见寂静的声音。
女儿13年暑假在杜克Tip夏令营写作课堂上的一篇练习作文，得到了老师的好评。文章有真实经历。女儿的姨姥那时候刚刚乳腺癌去世不久，她一生生活不幸，早年离婚，多年来一直独身把儿子抚养长大，而儿子在结婚后也不太认她。女儿在很小时候由她姨姥带过一段时间，有点印象，后来的许多事情都是经我们经常叙说，给她可能留下很深印象。她的题目和内容意境挺好，想表达的是人的一生尽管有酸有苦，但也有非常美好的东西令人难忘。后来她查阅了一些当年反右运动和文革的历史资料又重新以此创作了更长篇的一个故事，名字叫Wilted Flowers枯萎的花，并加进了产生她姨姥不幸命运的背景原因，一些和她姨姥的父亲一个被关牛棚二十年的老知识分子右派的故事，来反映那一段给很多家庭带来痛苦磨难的不幸日子。
Sweet Lemons
When life gives you lemons, sometimes they never go away.
My great aunt had never had an easy life. She was born the second child of a family of five kids, and she never went to bed with a full stomach. When she was barely ten, her father was forced by the government to do military service.
He tearfully left his kids and wife. None of them knew they wouldn’t see their father again for twenty years.
“Of course, it was hard when my husband left,” said her mother. “But it didn’t mean we weren’t a family anymore. I still have five kids I can be proud of.”
For the rest of her childhood, my great aunt was raised by her mother, who scraped an earning working at the local bank. She worked hard for her mother at part time jobs, often in late hours. Because of that, she was bullied in school for her dirty clothes, and she struggled to keep up with her homework. Still, she didn’t give up for her loving family, pledging to be there for them no matter what happened to her.
“She’s just…really kind,” said one of her brothers when they were younger. “She would always give us her meal first, and she worked through entire nights for us.”
When her mother could no longer support her, my great aunt married her childhood sweetheart at a young age. However, her mother never approved of the marriage.
“He isn’t the right man for my daughter,” she used to say. “I don’t trust him.”
But my great aunt stubbornly refused to listen.
“I love him,” she had insisted. For the first couple months, she lived her fairy tale, touring China with her new husband. But over time, resentment grew between them. They had a bitter divorce, and he left soon after, leaving her with her newborn son.
For years afterwards, she raised her son alone in a small apartment. Even as she struggled financially, she never failed to visit me, always bringing a huge packet of snacks and toys along with her.
“I love you.” There was a recording of me saying. “You bring me lots of stuff!”
The next time I saw her, her hair had turned snowy white and she had lost weight. Her mind had also changed, finally wearing down from years of heartbreak and difficulties.
“There’s a man following me,” she always whispered, looking nervously over her shoulder.
The sight of her saddened me. This was no longer the lively woman I knew when I was little, carefree and loving, never worrying about anything. Her old self was almost gone now, leaving only her bitter memories of her old husband and her grown son that abandoned her.
Still, she brought me the same snacks and toys she had over six years ago, this part of her never changing.
Just a year later, I found out my great aunt had gotten breast cancer.
“We can’t help her,” said my relatives in China. It shocked me that they barely tried, barely wanted to help. She passed away alone and isolated in the apartment she lived in most of her life.
It hurt that I was too far away to help, but also comforting that she was in a better place. I hope she still remembers the words I said when I was young, that she will always remember. “I love you.”
Maybe lemons can be sweet, after all.
甜柠檬
当生活给你柠檬时，有时它会永远会伴随着你的一生。
我的姨姥就是这样，一生中永远都生活的不容易。她是家里五个孩子的第二个孩子，她小时候从来没有在上床前吃饱过肚子。当她差不多十岁的时候，她的父亲被政府送到农村去劳动改造。她父亲流着眼泪离开了妻子和孩子们，没人想到这一去他们竟然二十年都没有见到父亲。
“当然，当我丈夫离开的时候，我们生活非常艰难”，她母亲说。“但是那并不意味着我们再不是一个家庭了，我依然为我的五个孩子骄傲。”
在我姨姥随后的童年时期，她是她的妈妈在一家当地银行零星打工把她和其他孩子抚养大的。她也抽时间非常努力的帮助她妈妈
工作，经常忙到深夜。她经常因为在学校穿的很脏而受到嘲笑和欺负，但她依然努力的完成她的家庭作业。是的，她依然没有放弃她心爱的家庭，尽力和他们在一起，无论发生什么事情。
“她的确非常...好”，她的一位弟弟回忆起当时年轻时的情景说。“她总是在吃饭时先让我们吃，而她为了我们常常忙碌一个晚上。”
当她的妈妈不能在支持他们的时候，我的姨姥和她童年时的甜心结婚了，这时她还很年轻。然而，她的母亲从来都不同意那门婚姻。
“他不是我女儿所应该要的男人，”，她母亲常常这么说。“我根本就不信任他。”
但是我姨姥听不进去母亲的的意见，固执地拒绝了她母亲的反对。
“我爱他，” 她坚持说。在开始的几个月里，她过着童话般的生活，和他的新婚祝福周游全国。但慢慢地，他们之间产生了相互的不满。然后，她就痛苦的开始离婚，而他丈夫很快就离开了她，留给她刚刚出生不久的儿子。
在随后的日子里，她住在一个小小公寓里，含辛茹苦的抚养她的孩子。即使在她经济最困难的时候，她从来没有说不来看我。每次她来的时候，总给我带一包小吃和玩具。
“我爱你。” 我的脑海里总记得我对她这样说。"你又给我带来了这么多东西！“
后来又一次见她的时候，她的头发已经变得雪白了，还瘦了许多。终于，经历多年的伤心痛苦和艰难生活，她的精神好像也出来问题。
”总有人在我背后跟着我“，她开始常常低声的说，不时精神紧张地往后看。
她的情景使我非常难过。她已经不再是我小时候所认识的那个活泼的女人了。她一下子衰老了许多，她的前夫给她留下了痛苦的回忆，她慢慢长大的儿子也抛弃了她。
然而，她依然每次来看我时给我带来同样的小吃和玩具，前后六年多，重来没有改变。
一年后，她被查出了乳腺癌。
”我们帮不了她。”，她中国的亲戚们都说。我很震惊他们中没有人尝试着帮她。不久，她孤独地在她住了大半生的公寓里面去世。
我非常伤心，我离的太远了，帮不上忙。但我总是心里安慰自己说她到了一个更好的地方。我希望她一直记得我小时候给她说的她永远不会忘记的话。“我爱你！”
也许，柠檬也有甜味。
划归到Art Talent里面的。其中要求的Writing Portfolio，一个写作范文，课外老师推荐信，简历等。孩子都提交了。这个课外老师的推荐信是可以公开的，我们都觉得写得非常好。它可能不像别的推荐信那样说孩子如何如何优秀等等的套话，它主要回顾她们两个五年左右的时间里在一起的相处的生活点滴，由此表现孩子写作成长的经历等等，真实朴素，反而我们很喜欢。我们很幸运也非常喜欢和感谢女儿的课外写作老师，一个典型的白人优秀女士，思想开放乐观，总是笑嘻嘻。她大概就教过这么一个学生，她们从一开始就变成朋友，每次在一起的时间主要是谈论一些小说名著电影生活等等的，或者一起看电影去博物馆文化节一起吃饭等等。我们觉得这些东西潜移默化的对女儿的写作都有很多的帮助。
女儿SAT1570／ACT35，SAT2 两门780以上，全年级八百学生排名第四，National Merit Final还在等待中。National AP Scholar Award， National Honor Society，Junior Varsity Tennis, 网球拿过本地比赛一次第一名，科学竞赛本地二等奖。学校学生会成员，环境和数学俱乐部成员。钢琴坚持练了十二年，Cello四年，乐器全是本地小奖项。女儿最强的应该是写作，她从小非常阅读和写作，多年一直没有间断，她对许多题材都有兴趣写，包括任何经历的过的事情，看过的电影，参加过的活动。因为一个兴趣项目，她还专门预约采访了本市一个有名的退伍军人流浪汉，聊了一个多小时，最后写了一个帮助无家可归者提供住宅计划的报告，这个报告最后也获了奖。目前为止写作上她一共获得National奖一金四银，西南地区州奖九金四银三个荣誉。另外她高中这几年年年暑假都参加科学竞赛和大学(Brown和Johns Hopkins)夏令营，以及Volunteer和Internship。她对未来专业的主要兴趣是生物／化学／写作／历史，她月初已经拿到了本周最好公立大学的录取书。报了Princeton EA，上上周已经面试过。现在我们都在焦急地等待，看她有没有运气跨进去。查了她们学校上P的情况，最近三年有三个被录取，去了两个，听说都是西班牙裔。