it is in response to the same prompt, "our environment and our experience influence how we make sense of the world" i have took some stuff out and added stuff in. I'm in mainstream English, and i wasn't sure where to post this. thanks VN. word count: 900
I loaded the gun and pointed it to my head and squeezed on the trigger but nothing happened. I realized that I still had a purpose here on this earth. Tears rush down my face like a vigorous waterfall as I sit in the dark in the corner of my room feeling nothing but misery. I am worthless, like a bicycle without its wheels. I am defenceless like a snake without its venom. My body was shaken, bruises covered my entire body, blood oozing from my right knee, bruised and battered I sit in the corner crying tears of pain and sorrow, I cried all day until I could cry no more. I’m sick and tired of it; I have had enough of this cold hearted world, I want to be somewhere else, at a place far away where I can escape from this horrible nightmare, I just want to wake up. Mixed emotion run through my entire body. I looked upon the bruises and the scars that these cowards have left behind, I was furious, not at them but at myself. How could I let them abuse and humiliate me like this, I was so angry so full of rage like a volcano ready to erupt. I clenched my fist and began throwing punches at the brick wall until my knuckles would bleed; this was my way of dealing with my emotions. Sometimes I just wish that I would be able to build up some courage to stand up against these ruthless thugs instead of running away all the time.
Every single day I would come home beaten and every night I would cry myself to sleep. Sometimes I would pray to my god and just wish that he would make them all disappear or perhaps send these bastards to hell. It wasn’t so much of the physical punishments that tormented me the most but rather the name calling that I’ve had to put up with. Mother used to tell me that “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” she lied; I found out the hard way that words would hurt me just as much.
I’m not the most attractive looking kid in the world, I couldn’t run very far and my English wasn’t any good either. The kids at school would make rude comments about me and call me all sorts of names. Some of which I didn’t really care about because I knew they were true, such as; Fat Chin, Four-Eyes, Train Tracks, and Brace Face and the list goes on and on. There was one name however, that really hurt me the most and I absolutely hated it when they called me it, that name was Chin Chong China. How could these kids just stereotype me as a Chinaman? Not ever Asian person is Chinese. I am from Tibet and I am proud to be one. I guess I can’t really blame these kids; after all I’m the very first Asian student that has enrolled at this school. It really hurts me every time I hear them call me that name. I hated China and the Chinese Government not because I am racist but because Chinese soldiers murdered my parents and my brother during their invasion of Tibet.
Every time I walked past the big front gates at the school, it always seemed to remind me of those memories of Tibet, memories that will never leave me, memories that will haunt me for the rest of my life, memories that I will be sure to take with me to the grave. I remember the day like it was yesterday, Chinese soldiers rushed into the house and brutally murdered my parents showing no mercy what so ever. I managed to escape but my brother was captured and suffered the exact same fate as my parents.
Why is the whole world against me? Did I commit an unforgivable sin in my past life? Why is this all happening to me all over again? Haven’t I suffered enough already. I shouldn’t have to go through this pain again; school should be a safe and secure learning environment not one that is full of pain and misery. School for me is like hell on earth. What had I done to deserve all of this? I had thought that this country would have offered me a better life then the life I had in Tibet but by the looks of things, this country is just as bad or perhaps even worse.
I never really understood why the kids treated me this way. Was it cause of my appearance? Did I offend them in some way or was it simply because of my nationality? Perhaps if these kids gave me a chance and got to know me a little better than they might have treated me differently, sometimes I wish that at least one person from the school would take some time just to get to know me a little bit, if I could make just one friend from this cold hearted world then I would have one less enemy against me. I will not stop until I heal this poisoned world. Every day as I walk through the big front gates, I will always think of Tibet, my Mother, Father and Brother. People need to know about the Chinese, I will make it my life’s mission, I will prevail.
Chin Zu
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