i before e except after c 

 

Seventeen: 

I am SF Junior Reserved Officer Training Corps Brigade Command Sergeant Major 

Long title, with the pride of being top three in San Francisco 

With the weight of huge responsibility pressing down upon me 

I am Galileo High School Color Guard Commander 

Short title, with the pride of marching into competition 

With the weight of leading my team for the first time. 

 

At home, I constantly try to fulfill the “hopes” 

The hope of me becoming something great. 

The hope of me reaching my goals without stepping down on others. 

The hope of me being an honorable daughter 

“Honestly, I feel like you can’t even hear me.” she said. 

 

Sixteen: 

I am struggling. 

As a first sergeant, I am in charge of Bravo company with 25 recruits

Responsible for their success or failure 

then the Company of the Year got to my head 

I am struggling. 

Too busy pinpointing my goal through the microscope 

that I forgot all those beyond the lens. 

My grades suck, my friends are leaving, someone is talking trash, I’m having suicidal thoughts. 

I am struggling. 

 

At home, I constantly try to fulfill the “demands” 

The demanding of me to stop acting so reckless 

The demanding of me to stop sleeping so much 

The demanding of me throwing away MY wishes, to fulfill hers. 

“I don’t understand why you’re always acting like ... this.” she said. 

 

Fifteen: 

A new chapter in my life!

I’m finally in high school! 

I joined drill platoon 

I have trouble with the 30 inch American standard marching steps 

Uh, hello? I’m 4 feet 9 inches. 

 

At home, I constantly try to fulfill the “goals” 

The goal of me becoming Valedictorian 

The goal of me becoming more mature 

The goal of me getting taller 

“What science said is wrong. It’s not the genes, it’s you.” she said. 

 

Fourteen:

There is a kind of hurt  

That cannot be fixed by diagnosing and treatment of doctors 

But with chocolates and tissues and hugs from friends 

There is a realization 

That your mom’s theory of boys are fake 

But those theories are there to protect you. 

It’s a little too late. 

 

At home, I constantly try to fulfill the “innocences” 

The innocent me who never stop laughing 

The innocent me who thinks boys are disgusting 

The innocent me who tells my little brother that all girls are born Superwoman 

“If you kiss a boy, you’ll die.” she said. 

 

Thirteen:

Life is a sugar cube 

 

“It’s very sweet, but you must handle it with care. 

Too much force

It'll crumble before you can taste it

Too much sugar, on the other hand, will give you diabetes.” she said. 

 

Twelve :

He knocked me down 

My glasses fell off 

He told me Asians can’t sit at this table 

I’m confused 

Isn’t he Chinese, just like me? 

 

At home, I constantly try to fulfill the “Thank yous” 

The thanks that I can go to a great middle school 

The thanks tthat all Chinese girls have the privilege to go to middle schools in America 

The thanks that I don’t seem to be a disgrace 

“You finish what I couldn’t, understand?” she asked. 

 

Eleven: 

What’s an honors program? 

“A program that means you’re smart.” she said. 

 

Ten:

What is this? 

 

“This is a sign that you are now a woman. 

In China, this means you can now bear children. 

But Americans rather have dogs than children. 

Would you prefer dog or children?” she asked. 

 

Nine:

I don’t understand why grandma is mad at auntie. 

She said they love each other. 

 

“She married a Mexican 

No money, no car, no house

Don’t marry for love, Yingyu, because no one understands love.” she said. 

 

Eight:

My teacher corrected me in class today.

She even made fun of me because I spelled weird, “wierd”. 

“I before e except after c. So simple, even I know! The teachers here are so stupid.” she said. 

 

Seven: 

I got off the plane.

San Francisco is the Golden Mountain

It is nighttime, with the city lights twinkling 

Like my village’s sky when it is full of stars 

I opened the window all the way down 

The air smell so different

My bowl cut hair danced around me like Chinese ribbon dancers 

My dad parked smoothly in a Chinatown meter 

Not a soul was in sight

no dogs barking, no gangs screaming at each other, no women getting raped at night 

I walked up two set of stairs to the apartment room

There, a bunk bed, a refrigerator, a small TV, cardboard boxes filled with clothes, 

small table with four folding chairs, and one tiny window 

all cramped up in one small, small, small room

Bathrooms and kitchens are all publicly shared. 

I sniffed the air.

It felt so safe. 

“This is America, where you and Yinghao will have many opportunities.” said my mother.