I Want to Go - A Self-Statement of a Middle School Student

Author: Liu Ming
Publisher:
Publish Date: 2001-04-01
Features: I didn’t even touch her cheek, yet the wig-wearing principal happened to see it. Plus, all the fake saints around, why did all the bad luck fall on me? This is just crazy! If you’re under 16, don’t keep reading, I’m really afraid you’ll go astray. Because I know your lucky or unlucky parents will do their best to ruin me if they find out how much I want to talk to you. They’d even trade their meager salary for your favorite McDonald’s and those annoying cassette tapes that drive you crazy, just to shut you up and plug your ears. Don’t believe it, but I’m saying this for a reason, because I know your parents aren’t much better than mine. Still, I have to talk to you—because all the bad luck fell on me, like when our principal, who’s always wearing a wig, decided to hang out with us students and play basketball. He got happy one day and insisted on joining us, but accidentally had me tug off his wig. Instead of taking off his wig, he just stared at me and yelled something. Later, I felt guilty for being reckless. When I was carrying the basketball back to class, I bumped into a kitten in the hallway and secretly kissed her. I didn’t think anything of it, but it was all her fault for teasing me and tickling me relentlessly. I told you all the bad luck fell on me—I looked up and saw our principal, with his perfectly straight wig, standing right in my line of sight. He didn’t notice the kitten tickling me, but he saw me kissing the kitten. Just think about it—how could my life get any better? Plus, I’m already considered a “lazybones” by the whole class. You know, if you’re slow-witted and don’t actively seek improvement—like joining the Youth League or giving the teacher a little report—nobody will look down on you. But don’t let the teacher or classmates say anything bad about you. That’s not the kind of mischief we play with the kids next door. We’re grown-ups, but not really adults. I remember when my parents talked about how bad their classmates were, their faces were full of disbelief, thinking that being bad was something to be proud of. Otherwise, why would they have those shocked expressions? But at school, it’s different. If the teacher or classmates have a “bad” impression of you, it’s really bad. The way I teased the kitten like that made me feel like the wig-wearing principal, the homeroom teacher, and the kitten all used perfect calligraphy to write the word “bad” on my forehead. Let’s leave the kitten’s story for later and talk about me first. My name is Xia Xiaoke, and I’m 16. I also go by the nickname “Feather.” This nickname has a story behind it. You might not believe it, but my essays are pretty good—they were even selected for a middle school anthology published by a southern publishing house. It sounds impressive, but if you’ve ever met someone as worldly as me, you wouldn’t be surprised. Because of this, my parents had to spend 400 yuan to buy 100 books as a sponsorship. Basically, it’s a sponsorship that many unlucky kids and their clueless parents love to talk about. My parents were overjoyed, even forcing me to sign my name and have them redistribute the books to colleagues, friends, and relatives. Of course, I heard plenty of fake compliments. Go ahead and fool kids—I don’t buy it. To be honest, this essay isn’t bad. It’s called “Hello, Jordan,” and it describes an exciting middle school basketball game. It details the mindset of a center—me—who had to win at all costs. I was the center, and after splitting the ball in the middle, the forward couldn’t break through, so I managed to shoot it in. I jumped up, caught the ball in the air, and passed it back to the forward. This time, the opportunity was perfect, and we won. In the essay, I wrote: “Now you’re not just an ordinary Chinese kid. In any competition, you should be the best, as long as you want to win. You’re the old Jordan, the Chicago Bulls who make you obsessed, full of determination and courage. Think like that, clear your mind, and let your body rise like a feather, firmly gripping the ball in mid-air. That moment is the highlight of your semester.” The Chinese teacher who taught me language really liked the essay and added a terrible afterword, saying I used some kind of realistic romanticism or whatever. Seriously, what the heck is that? I didn’t understand it at all—I was just thinking about that Nike commercial with Jordan. (Excerpted from pages 1–3)