My Road of Literacy
Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2018 8:15 am
Story 1
Feeling upset, irritated and indecisive, and sitting on my bed, I locked myself in my bedroom and was unwilling to go out, even though my mom had asked me to go out of my room for two times. I knew she won`t do it for the third time, since she always did so. Surprisingly, "Will you go out or not on earth?" I heard my mom shouted with a high decibel. The anger and rage from her which made me shiver could almost through the door of my room. I did want to rush out of the room and have a thorough argue with her, but I didn`t. "Calm down, calm down, I need to calm down." I murmured to myself, but still didn`t go out. I stood up and tiptoed to the side of door, and put my ears against the door to see what would happen outside. Amazedly, I heard she crying. Suddenly, I felt all the guilt, self-accusation and regret came over me, and I struggled in it again--Whether should I apologize to her? How? When? Maybe it is me who were wrong. A few minutes later, it struck me that I could write a letter. So many sentences expressing sorry and regret emerged in my mind. I wrote a letter of apology for here, and put it on her pillow secretly when she was not there. In the second day, we reconciled as expected.
From that moment on, I realized that I could express the feeling and emotion which could not be spoken out but through writing. No matter what kind of problem I meet, and no matter when I meet them, I write them down on my diary. Later, I will feel being released, since my diary has become my one true friend.
Story 2
She was my Chinese teacher in high school of the second year, a woman who always made us laugh by using vivid teaching pattern. She was of medium high and weight, usually wore a overknee dress with crimson color, a khaki coat, and a pair of black pumps. There was some grey hair hiding in her long hair, and she often wore it up in a bun. When she smiled, some small wrinkles would appear on her face.
My Chinese teacher assigned compositions to write to us weekly. After finishing it, we would exchange the composition with other classmates, and wrote some comments on it, so that we could compare notes, and learn something from other people. After that, she would select some good ones to read for us, and analyse them sentence by sentence. I really enjoyed the part, indulging myself into them, and imagining the scenes our classmates created in their work.
Is there anyone who does not like such a good teacher? If I could, I really want to back to my high school, and take her class again .
Feeling upset, irritated and indecisive, and sitting on my bed, I locked myself in my bedroom and was unwilling to go out, even though my mom had asked me to go out of my room for two times. I knew she won`t do it for the third time, since she always did so. Surprisingly, "Will you go out or not on earth?" I heard my mom shouted with a high decibel. The anger and rage from her which made me shiver could almost through the door of my room. I did want to rush out of the room and have a thorough argue with her, but I didn`t. "Calm down, calm down, I need to calm down." I murmured to myself, but still didn`t go out. I stood up and tiptoed to the side of door, and put my ears against the door to see what would happen outside. Amazedly, I heard she crying. Suddenly, I felt all the guilt, self-accusation and regret came over me, and I struggled in it again--Whether should I apologize to her? How? When? Maybe it is me who were wrong. A few minutes later, it struck me that I could write a letter. So many sentences expressing sorry and regret emerged in my mind. I wrote a letter of apology for here, and put it on her pillow secretly when she was not there. In the second day, we reconciled as expected.
From that moment on, I realized that I could express the feeling and emotion which could not be spoken out but through writing. No matter what kind of problem I meet, and no matter when I meet them, I write them down on my diary. Later, I will feel being released, since my diary has become my one true friend.
Story 2
She was my Chinese teacher in high school of the second year, a woman who always made us laugh by using vivid teaching pattern. She was of medium high and weight, usually wore a overknee dress with crimson color, a khaki coat, and a pair of black pumps. There was some grey hair hiding in her long hair, and she often wore it up in a bun. When she smiled, some small wrinkles would appear on her face.
My Chinese teacher assigned compositions to write to us weekly. After finishing it, we would exchange the composition with other classmates, and wrote some comments on it, so that we could compare notes, and learn something from other people. After that, she would select some good ones to read for us, and analyse them sentence by sentence. I really enjoyed the part, indulging myself into them, and imagining the scenes our classmates created in their work.
Is there anyone who does not like such a good teacher? If I could, I really want to back to my high school, and take her class again .