A Reestablishment of The Aim of Life

 

I’m not a girl full of ambitions but I have no idea why most of my close friends say so. Many people including my mother consider the main job of a girl is to maintain a successful marrige and take care of her kids. Indeed, I hope I can enjoy this kind of happiness. However, the reality tells me this will not be an achievable dream. May be I hold an old ethics which makes me believe that love is the purest thing in the world and with love care can be presented without any other reason. On the contrary, the reality is that currently marrige mostly refers to profile exchange. Where is the true love? Who knows? Strictly speaking, who cares?

I’d like to donate my whole time to things which I trust, because they won’t cheat on me and they won’t betray me forever. The more time and care I use on them, the more feedback and happiness I can receive. UNSW is one step of my dream. Furthermore, I will do my best to achieve another one and then the final one.

PS: The furthest distance in the world

by: R. Rabindranath Tagore

The furthest distance in the world
Is not between life and death
But when I stand in front of you
Yet you don’t know that I love you

The furthest distance in the world
Is not when I stand in font of you
Yet you can’t see my love
But when undoubtedly knowing the love from both
Yet cannot
Be together

The furthest distance in the world
Is not being apart while being in love
But when plainly can not resist the yearning
Yet pretending You have never been in my heart

The furthest distance in the world
Is not
But using one’s indifferent heart
To dig an uncrossable river
For the one who loves you

A Day Full of Fun

Today, some of my friends and I went to Coogee Beach togather.  It was not too hot so we felt pretty good. 

Cool seawater was flicking my feet so as soft sands and soft foam. 

I took photoes with a pretty kid.  He’s lovely with pure blue pupils just as the same color as the sky.  I felt the happiness from him and his parents and couldn’t stop thinking of my own childhood…

My parents were busy on their work.  Nobody had spare time to share with me and I didn’t like to play with peers, so I always stayed in home by myself with some lovely cats.  ‘No body care me’ , I thought, ‘Mum love her students and Dad love the smell of disinfectant and the taste of penicillin.  Only my cats like me, but my parents always give them to their friends.  Am I adopted from other family?’  As every sensitive child I kept imagining of my original life experience about which I had no memories.

Gradually, I started to love to stay alone.  I took all my time to read classical literature and lived with the characters in those books simultaneously.  The cat which I loved most curled on the top of my knees and used her golden eyes to investigate the pages quietly.  That’s my whole childhood, the memories with books and cats.

When my parents awared that I communicated with them less and less and trid to open my heart, that was too late.  They found they couldn’t understand me and when I talked about what I liked but they knew nothing about it.  They didn’t know anything about Wuthering Heights, Pride and Prejudice, Les Misérables or Cynicism and Idealism.  Though they wanted to know clearly what I was thinking of and I told them, they still had no idea.  After I graduate from middle school, I got some knowledge of biology and then found some common topics with my Dad.

Now, I live by myself, no relatives in the same city, but I never feel lonely even though sometimes I miss my family, miss the feelings of living with my parents.  I’ve used to living alone when I was a little girl and can take care of myself very well, so my family have confidence in my ability of independence.  I never tell them what happened even so sometimes I also want a shoulder to cry on…