At Such Short Notice

The arrangement of the final exams has finally come out.
All will be done on 13th Jan. and I will be entirely free from the heavy-burdened semester.
But what's worrying is that the exams of Comprehensive English and Spanish will be conducted on 7th and 8th , which means I only have about a week to prepare them.
And what's worse, I am still engaged in my long paper writing which will be handed in on 30th of this month. It's really a torture to write an academic paper. I am always distracted in the course of writing the paper. It's hard to concentrate.
Hope I will make it done tomorrow.
Good night, everyone.


27th, Dec. ,2008

Literature and History

English Corner Series


Suddenly a man offered a topic and asked a question when we were talking about our paper writing.
"Since you guys are talking about literature, I guess you must all be interested in literature. But, what is the function of reading literature works? Do you think literature is a faithful record of history?"
The first words popped into my mind was "It can purify our mind." which later I found was so simplistic and ridiculous to say it that way.
It was not a simple question, quite tough, instead. I had barely thought of it before.
As an English major, like many other students who pursued praticalism, I wasn't that much fond of literature, but it is compulsory for us to learn English literature and American literature.
In the first class of English literature, Professor Li asked us why we needed to learn literature. I was the most active one to answer the question. I still freshly remember my answer.
"Because literature is a very important part of culture. Only by learning English literature, can we better understand the culture of English speaking countries."
However, the answer should have been more futhure. I ignored the relationship between literature and history.
Is literature a faithful record of history?

Partly, literature can reflect upon the times the writer lived in. Faithful or not, it depends on what kind of writer is. Generally speaking, most literature works are an exageration of the times. As a cliché has been going, art comes from life, while it goes far beyond real life. We indeed could peep into a time in the perspective of the writer in his literary works. But usually, what he wrote is mostly too personal and could not objectively represent the time genuinely.
We cannot entirely trust literature works. All we need is to be wise enough to pick out the truth from them. It's not easy, though.

About Christmas in China

Perhaps it is somewhat out dated to say that because I am not a Christian, Christmas has nothing to do with me. It appears inevitable that Christmas has already become a festival for all people to cerebrate orgiastically regardless of what belief we hold. I am not sure whether it is a gospel or not laudable phenomenen for us.
In China, the biggest oriental country with thousands of years' history, a cult of Christmas is spreading among young poeple all over the country. I believe a lot of poeple don't know at all what Christmas mean in Western culture, where Christmas originated. People are blindly following it as a fashion. It is pathetic that some Chinese children innocently see Christmas a traditional festival for Chinese people.
This evening, a calling of friends and I went out for a feast to celebrate the termination of our examination of medical terminology and by the way to feel the atmosphere of Christmas Eve.
It was really in a mental dilemma. The air in the street was full of sweetness of Christmas. People all flocked to the first-rated restaurants. I guess even in the Spring Festival people are not so addicted to the gathering as it was in Christmas.
Meanwhile, I got some text messages from my friends. All of the messages were doubtlessly concerning Christmas.
What's wrong with our culture? Or is it I who am too conservative to accept this western festival? Is it really unavoidable that Western are going to conquer the whole world by means of culture?

The Death of the Sunflower

The First Day

I was a sunflower. I was the most beautiful and most special one among all the sunflowers. My life was simple. Every morning, when the sun jumped out of the horizon, I raised my smiling face to greet him. At noon, when bees visited me, I generously shared my pollen with them. At dusk when the wind flirted with me, I slowly swayed with him.

Although I was nice to them, I didn't love them, for I knew I was waiting for some one, the one I was destined to born for and destined to die for. So every day, I smiled my brightest smile so make sure when he met me, he could see the most beautiful side of me. All of my sisters called me crazy. "All we sunflowers need is sunshine, others being luxuries." "How dare you to expect that kind of dream." "Who do you think you are?" "I am who I am--I am the special one! You can't understand." I said proudly. Sooner or later they would find out where my true fate lay.

 

The Second Day

I finally saw him! When I was facing the raising sun as usual, a tall and thin figure suddenly cut off the ray. I could barely saw his appearance because he was against the light. But his fiery-red hair immediately attracted my attention. It was like a flame, shouting and dancing frantically in the wind. When I saw that, my heart began to beat faster. When he squatted down, I got so close to him that I could even feel his breath. Then, in the twilight, I saw his face. It was a plain one with many freckles on it. But his eyes were so wild, if not crazy, that I could almost see fire raging in them. I sensed that something inside my body was invaded by those eyes. Then he smelled my petals, caressed my leaves and kissed my floral disc. All of my self-protection collapsed. I was in love with frenzied eyes and the extraordinary man! So when he picked me, I remained my smile and did not struggle.

The great pain made me nearly faint. I knew I was going to die, but at the same time I knew I could be with him, no matter how short time it was. I didn't regret. Then he took me home.   

 

The Third Day  

     I was put in a beautiful vase. All the day, I was suffered from the overwhelming pain. I perceived Death was approaching, but I wanted to hold on a little longer to be with him.

     The man began to draw me on the canvas. Through the way he looked at me, sometimes child-like and sometimes madman-like, I could feel his softness, tenderness, and, above all, love to me. I was dizzy, thinking I would be vaporized by the fire in his eyes. Yes. I was well on my way toward devastation, but I wanted to remain as charming as now I looked. So I strived to show the most fascinating beauty to him, and to cast the brightest golden yellow into his mind. At that time, I was the happiest flower in the world.

     The man tried to take care of me, but without my soil and root I could not survive. I was struggling. I didn't want to leave him. Did you see a trop of water on my one of my leaves? That was not dew. That was my tear! I was desperately in hope of staying with him forever and ever. But the reality was, both of us knew it, that eventually he and I would be separated by the impassable river. When seeing my color fading and petals withering he became crazy. Finally I saw him cutting off his ear and putting it beside me. What a lunatic love it was! I was dying for this man, and he was dying for me! Though I would die in a few seconds, I knew I would be eternal in his heart. At my last gasp, I murmured my lover's name," Vincent Van Gogh."

 

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