I eventually got my arm burned, as I had always been afraid of. It seemed almost inevitable to get hurt in part-time jobs, as many people around me had shown me their scars.
It’s in an obvious position, right between the hand and arm. I couldn’t help worrying whether there would be an ugly scar. A few days later, it got infected, and was festering. It was very painful, but what made me feel even more hurt was the potential scar. It’s beyond any girl’s wish to get such an ugly thing in your body that can hardly conceal.
Meanwhile, I was so occupied with the numerous homework that I could hardly go a sound sleep. Each time I woke up, thinking about the details about my assignments. The approaching deadlines nearly pushed me to the edge of the cliff. The only console was that even the local students cursed every time, so I knew everybody had to face the same difficulty. I therefore had no excuse to escape.
I called my mum exactly on the day when I got hurt. It was not so serious that day; hence, I mainly talked about the heavy study burden and the possibility to fail. Mum took it for granted that I didn’t try my best, and urged me to keep more self-discipline, since they are too far away to constantly urge me to work hard. I didn’t say anything more, as I know nobody could help me out of the difficulty, even my parents. What they truly gave me was high anticipation that even drove me to greater pressure. I began to shift topics, and focus on the future, such as I would buy myself whatever I’d like to eat or wear when come back home. It’s the right way I used to cope with depressing life here, say, look forward to the future. I kept talking for totally an hour, and asking my mum not to hang down the phone. That night, I slept as a log, but the next day it had already been near 11:00 when I opened my eyes. I ran to the train station in such a hurry without breakfast, but still missed the train, and had to wait there for another half an hour. It happened to me a few times before. Each time, I couldn’t help complaining that I lost another four Australian dollars from my limited salary. However, that day I was extremely calm, as I took it for granted to buy myself a good sleep with those four dollars.
The train was moving in the familiar rhythm, with familiar scenery outside passing by. I just fixed my eyes on the blue sky, luxuriant trees and flowers, thinking about I would never fed up with the picturesque settings. However, they seem to be only illusion, for the essence of my life here is as painful as the wound. Is it heaven or hell? But where is the boundary? Most of the time, I asked myself such a silly question, but I could not find the answer.
Likewise, I also found it hard to tell whether it’s good or not to see these airplanes coming and going high above the sky. The Sydney international airport is actually built quite near the city, so it’s easy and constant for me to notice these planes with the familiar noise. “Are they going to China?” It occurs to me like this each time, I know there’s an emotion called homesickness that began to work. This kind of intricate feeling is very much the kite, which fastens the miss and anticipation from family and friends at the end. It’s the kite’s biggest wish to fly as high as possible in the sky, but no matter how high it flies, there will always be close link with the other end of the thread…
As a matter of fact, I didn’t call back home the day it began to fester. To my great surprise, my father called me. It’s been two months since they last called me, due to the 600 RMB bill for the first month’s international long-distance call. (You know, it’s much cheaper for me to call back home here). They asked me what’s going on with the wound; and I failed to resist the overwhelming power to tell him the truth. Mum began to pick up the phone; she shouted at me that I should have taken more care of myself as she asked me to do last time on the phone. I knew she was really furious and worried.
“I didn’t mean to, who expected such kind of matter!” I shouted back, and tears went down like heavy rain, though I didn’t mean to.
I held the phone talking with her, and meanwhile weeping. She finally noticed there was something wrong with my voice and asked, “Are you weeping?”
“No, of course not.” I rejected unhesitatingly, like the first reaction to the question whether I’m homesick. “Well, I got a running nose because of cold.” I added. Once again, I had to tell lie.
Just at this moment, my landlady knocked at the door and warned me not to speak with a loud voice, as it’s been so late. I knew I was actually required to finish it as soon as possible. I did so, but felt even more depressed. The whole situation is like a deaf who was eager to pour out all her inner bitterness, but was deprived of the chance!
I cut off the call, and cried for nearly half an hour. It’s the first time I had done so after my arrival in Sydney. I went to the bathroom, looked at the mirror. There I clearly found that my eyes are as red as rabbit, and surrounded by black too, indicating how many days I had to stay up with my assignments. I breathed deeply, and then opened the tap with the hot water. Soon, the mirror was covered with mist. I lifted my right hand with that terrible wound, and then used one of the fingers to jot down the word “Hell” in the mirror. The next minute, I erased it and couldn’t help smiling. It suddenly occurred to me that it helps you to recover from the depression, if you force yourself to smile in front of the mirror, as life itself is like a mirror, and you are actually smiling at your own soul. It did help me a little bit that night.
I finished washing, and went back to my bedroom. I picked up one of the Chinese magazines I managed to borrow from the community library, and began to read. “What truly hurt you is not the misfortune itself, but the pessimistic attitude you use to treat it.” This statement came into my sight in the course of reading. I was shocked at the following sentences: There is somebody that committed suicide because of the failure in the operation targeting at double-edged eyelid. However, there’s also somebody else that could see nothing at all composing the most brilliant music in the world. It rang familiarity to me. As I know, the scar is nothing serious as compared with those who lose the entire arm in an accident. I was actually aware that even it’s hell with misfortunes, I could still equipped with positive attitude to minimum the hurts.
Finally I took my diary from behind the pillar, and put down all my feelings, with the end : ”I will keep smiling, even it’s hell!”
