In this memory, I am five and my little brother is two. Recently, my mother is mildly troubled by the tightness in her back muscle. Instead of searching for a massage therapist nearby, which is too much luxury for her to even think of, she suggests a new evening activity for me and my brother. […]
I am eight years old in this memory. Every morning, after breakfast, I pick up my rose pink schoolbag on my back and reluctantly leave home for school. School is not an exciting place for me – I don’t feel comfortable being in a room with many people. I would rather stay at home and
In this memory, I am five years old. I’m coming back from our weekly group lesson at a local YAMAHA music school with my two best friends, our mothers and little siblings. Today, my mother is the driver, leading the crowd of nine people inside a five-seater. On the way, the adults decide to meet
A door that flung open Read More »
Waking up to a sore throatYes, I’ve fallen, my dearI’m mildly sick today The list of things I was going to doIs quickly thrown out of the windowToday is my rest day As I rest in my bedI think about the worldThat must be working hard, really hard And here I amFalling asleep in the
In this memory, I am five years old. My little brother is fond of Winnie-the-Pooh, and he has a big plush doll of Pooh bear. I don’t know how his love of this character and the story originally started, but all I know is that he often reads out loud the picture book of Winnie-the-Pooh,
I was ten years old when I made my first trip overseas. My family was not a frequent traveller, but that spring, just one month before my eleventh birthday, my father got a business trip to visit London, England, for about a week. England was the country where both my parents once did their graduate
Amazing Breakfast Bread Read More »
In this memory, I am four years old. On Monday and Thursday mornings, while my mother is out on her work, my father, my little brother and I stay at home together. It usually begins with a lazy TV watching as my father gets up and takes breakfast over newspaper. Then we often move on
FatigueThis thing is realWhen the morning comesAnd your eyes openBut your body refuses to move As you lie down in your blanketYou think about all the peopleWho are already up and workingHard work is the name of the gameYou muster all the energy in your bodyTo crawl out of your bed Once on your feetYou
