Lucky Number 7_Two words_Who I am_Protest
Catalog Guide:
Lucky Number 7
My son was born on Friday August 13th. Although I didn’t consider myself superstitious, watching the date approach on the calendar, as my wife’s pregnancy stretched past her due date, had begun to arouse anxiety. I masked this from my wife, who grew more miserable and uncomfortable by the day, hoping she didn’t share my worry over the unlucky date. On the morning her water broke, I had been hwww.onedoor.ccome from work, not wanting to leave her side as the imminent labor hung before us like a mysterious storm we had been preparing to weather together. “It’s time,” she moaned, face contorted by the increasin...
Two words
I used to imagine what I would say to my mother if we ever met again. I thought a wave of pain and nostalgia would hit me and overwhelm me, that my voice would tremble, that maybe I would scream. I imagined tears rolling down my cheeks, my throat getting sore. I almost saw her pleading expression as she apologizes to me, and I, after a long and intense conversation, finally, graciously, forgive her. It was always so emotional in my mind.But now I stare into the face of the woman who raised me and instead of deep, meaningful emotions I am hit with a sudden, bizarre realization.That woman change...
Who I am
4:00 Coffee on my desk, thoughts on my mind, I began. I had to get into Harvard. This had been a goal of mine since I was 14、 My fingers clicked along the surface of the keyboard on my laptop. With every keystroke I wrote about my interests and my goals in life. I wanted to study architecture. When I was younger, my dad and I had built Legos together. I loved building with him, and when he passed, I was destined to continue building things. When he died, I was only seven. I remember him, laying there in his hospital bed, his lips moving almost in slow motion, struggling to get words out. These...
Protest
PROTESTIt might have been because I was escaping the misery of a disintegrating home, my father's drunken anger, mother's unpredictable and reversible moods, my brother's exasperating intellect. Or it might have been because at the age of eighteen I was impressionable and sensitive to contentious issues, just because they existed.Whatever, I latched on to the "Ban the Bomb" campaign and sought to become something of a specialist. I listened to the news, read the papers and examined the evidence, not much escaped my scrutiny. I was industrious enough to research ...