Monday, August 6, 2012
Wednesday, July 25, 2012
Saturday, July 21, 2012
Do you think brand names will still be popular in the future?
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Saturday, April 7, 2012
DO YOU AGREE OR DISAGREE?
These days it is common for people to claim that some people are failures because they didn’t try hard enough. This is because it is believed that it is possible for everyone to be successful if they just work hard enough. This is a dangerous idea because if it is true, then is also means that unsuccessful people didn’t try hard enough. This essay will examine whether or not it actually is possible for everyone to be successful.
First of all, it cannot be denied that many successful people today are successful even though they didn’t complete college. Bill Gates and Steve Jobs dropping out from school is a case in point. As a result, some may contradict the value of hard work. They say the reason why some people achieve good results could be attributed to their intelligence instead of working hard. In other words, it is said that the more intelligent one is, the more one is likely to succeed. Take Bill Gates for instance again, he has an intelligence quotient of 160. But it is only partially true. What people don’t realize is that when his business was just taking off, he worked, ate and slept in his office continuously. Genius is one percent inspiration and ninety-nine percent perspiration, quoting from Thomas Edison. I believe that if you are intelligent, and know how to apply your intelligence by adding hard work to it, you can achieve anything.
Another problem is that people tend to think that rich people have more opportunities to succeed regardless of how much effort been made. They say children of rich families have private tutors, and access to better schools and a more supportive home environment. In this case, you may even ask me if Bill Gates came from a well-off family. He does. But that is one out of a million cases. Studies show that people who are poor have greater will to fulfill their dreams, whereas the rich display more laziness, arrogance and a greater tendency to rest on their laurels, all of which combine lead to their failure. There is a saying in Chinese, fortune last nor more than three generations. Also, children of entrepreneurs are more likely to start their own business.
To sum up, you work hard, but may still fail to win. But if you don’t work hard, you’ll never make your dream come true.
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Good parents are by far more important to a child's development than good teachers. Teachers come and go fleetingly, having only passing influence on children. Parents, on the other hand, are stable and steady. Education comes about everywhere. But it is parents that the foundation of learning relies on.
We come into the world without possessions but only the love of parents. I believe that no matter what happens, parents always act kindly towards children. Because of natural ties of blood, parents often sacrifice themselves for their children, grudging nothing for them. From day to day, we can often see a father holding his kid's hands walking along the sidewalk, or a mother feeding her baby. From my own experience, even a prudently frugal mother would buy her child daily necessities of a tiptop quality and spend with immoderation. On the contrary, teachers are only people of some importance that we invariably have to meet. Normally, teachers just don't form such close connections with children. If a child is labeled a bad student, teachers usually give up on them, or sometimes, they're just hardly serious enough education and treating each of the students.
No other people spend more time on looking after children than their parents. They protect and advise them in every possible way. Parents are worried about their children all the time, making every effort to follow their latest status and to keep track of their welfare whether they are at home or at school, or any other place you name it. Teachers just won't constantly keep company with children either throughout the course of the day or through their path of youth. They have their own kids and personal matters to be worried and concerned about. Parents instill knowledge, teach manners and share values of life in the very first place. Consider that children come into existence resembling a blank sheet or a clean sponge, they learn and absorb things the fastest and most profound as a baby. Teachers are only people who interpret knowledge in books in rather explicit meanings. On top of that, a good mentor is hard to find and only appears once in a while.
It is parents that toil so hard to support their children who are relatively vulnerable both physically and mentally. Regarding teachers, other than teaching stuff from books, their main concern is not the overall well-being of their students.
I have two affable and respectable parents. They set a good example for me to model myself on. Loving parents have contributed more to my acumen, happiness and health than decent teachers. Because of them, I'm not proud of what I am and what I have.
While a child goes through ups and downs, facing every adversity, parents have and will always be there for them.
Sunday, November 6, 2011
A sudden chill of horror swept over me as the only bare bulb on the ceiling burnt out above me. Shattered glass scattered over me like hot coals. Where was I? Scarcely any light came through a few small holes; that most of them were muffled with dirty rags or sealed with stiff cardboard. I saw that I was in a room, rather small, reflections of narrow beams of light in a haze of heat roughly illuminated the backdrop, turning it bloody red. There was garbage everywhere! The paint was peeled off the wall in every direction. A wooden cross was nailed into a rotted window frame still blocking any exit. And a huge portrait of a strange person hung crookedly on the wall. The smell of mildew and decay and, somehow, death hung over the room. The building seemed about to fall apart. Suddenly, the portrait fell to the ground and behind it a tunnel covered with moss, mud and rubble came into view. I guessed it was probably the way out; without a second thought, I dashed in.
Lights became fainter and fainter while echoes of my heavy steps grew louder. Closing my eyes, I felt a warmth like a sun upon my head and my face, humid, moist... No, it's wet! Something tepid was dripping down on me. All out of breath, I slipped and tumbled on the wet ground, hitting my face on the dirt,causing me to lick some gruesome, copper-tasting liquid. Blood, I recognized it instantly, yet it felt like time itself had suspended. It took me a while to collect my thoughts, stand up and realize my current circumstance. I was stuck in a cave of flesh overhung with countless fetuses and live babies tied with dripping veins and umbilical cords. Their muddy eyeballs were wide open, staring at me with luminous pupils. I didn't dare to look back, and yet I saw at the very end of the cave a little girl waving at me. I shouted for her help to take me out of there. Somehow I heard her whisper, "You had your chance to live with me. " The outline of her body became dimmer as I perceived my heart pounding louder and louder, steadily beating slower until it vanished.
It was just a dream. I woke up in the morning. The light of dawn was just beginning to fill the stifling, lonely room. It was inevitable that spiritless babies and dead corpses would remind me of the fate of unrequited love. There was hardly a shelter where I could escape the torments of memories. The dream was shapeless and incoherent, but in time I came to believe that perhaps its disorder could revealed obscure message. The abandoned will emerge again; the forgotten will be dreadfully reborn.
“It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.” I met my girlfriend eight years ago, and bought a small apartment for us. Our love was unacceptable, but it was precisely her love that completed me and gave me everything I needed. Unexpectedly, she got pregnant. So came the brutal abortion, deserted house, extinguished hopes, dying embers of hapless love and a completely wasted life over the years. I've been trying hard to tear my memories apart and discard them in the recycle bin of my soul, despite the fact that it had become all too clear that I was overwhelmed with the burden of disillusion. My efforts to purge myself of this hell only seemed to provide the incitement needed for malevolent characters to fully manifest themselves in my life.
Funny it was, that the souls of aborted babies being held in tormented limbo was continuously haunted me even though I had discarded so many other things. Merchandises bought last year, faces once encountered but never again remember, dead loved ones left behind, drafts of stories started but never completed, thoughts no longer able to recall, and promises never fulfilled were long since dumped in recycle bin. Do these things constitute my dreams or my reality? Or am I now only a fictional version of the real me that has been lost over time? Does my memory of my self betray me? Fantasy becomes reality. Memory becomes monstrous. And terror becomes destiny.
I got out of bed, stretching myself, stepping into the bathroom when suddenly, the only bare bulb burnt out above me...
I wish I could finish all the things I started.