A Piece of Writing of Myself

[Ella]

This is a composition written by myself. I hope to have some of your
suggestions :)


Trilogy of Home


Ⅰ I’m a big, big girl, in a big,
big world
When I was small, home was easy to approach. I’m intimately
concerned and accompanied. Dad would take off my heavy schoolbag,
while mom would carefully cook a delicious meal. Life was like this,
simple yet snug.
Now I’m tall and a college student, living far away from my
little home. As long as a several-day vocation on the way, there will
be a message appears on my cell phone, “Will you go home? When? Are
you alone or accompanied?” Home became a symbol, an abstract and misty
concept in my mind.
One of my room mates goes to Yongjing Country on Fridays and
back on Saturdays to take a part-time job. Sometimes she sends me a
message in the distance saying, “Is it going on well back home?” Home
is the dorm where I’m living in with those pretty, lovely girls who
are closest to my heart.
How many “homes” do I actually possess, in this big, big world!

Ⅱ It’s not a big, big thing, if you
leave me
It is painful for every young student who went on such a journey
in universities, being far away from anything or anyone which he/she
was quite familiar with. At the first week after I came to university,
I wondered how those elder students could behave that peaceful. They
talked and laughed. They hold books in their hands, walking at a
steady pace. They seemed really “at home” in the eyes of me, an upset
new-comer.
Studying and working fully filled in my schedule. I talk to them
and hail them everyday. They are not strangers any more, before I
could realize. I merged into college life gradually, also before I
could realize. I suddenly see that I’m no longer lonely when I am
alone. I sincerely love my major, which in turn me more open and
optimistic. With a clear sense of what I should do and what my dream
is, I became more and more determined and not as upset as before. I
began to fell “at home”.
I’ve met situations where I was extremely exhausted, ashen and
weak yet understood by no one. Nevertheless, I am an adult now,
instead of a coward. Home will give me a warm hug but I can’t connive
myself in turning to my parents to seek for protection as long as I
meet troubles. I kept telling myself not to make my parents worried
about me. When you are ill, weak and troubled, telling them to your
parents would surely make yourself feel a little better, which would,
however, make your parents fell much more pain. I won’t be that
selfish any longer.

Ⅲ But I do feel that I’ll miss
you much
I’m not a superman who is strong enough.
Although I tried my best to hide my pain and let them see that
I’m happy and enthusiastic, thus will lessen their worries, I couldn’t
control when I touched bottom. Home is still a place where I can let
out my poignancy that I’ve hidden for long.
At the year when I entered high school, an elder student, who
was admitted to Tsinghua University, was just graduated from our
school. He, along with some of his excellent classmates, gave us a
lecture about study methods. A student rose and asked, “What kind of
environment for study do you expect your parents to make for you?” To
which he immediately answered, “You are making a mistake. You should
consider what you can make for your parents, instead of expecting them
to make things for you.” His words were followed by heated applause.
I can understand these words by now.
I’m growing up while my parents are getting old at the same
pace. Home doesn’t mean the accommodation under which you are
sheltered, or the people on whom you could rely, but those of whom you
ought to take care.