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To write or not to write?|
I work in a high school and I have been writing in English for some time. I FEEL that my writing ability has improved. But sometimes I worry whether I am just wasting time and energy when typing the English letters. Should I go on?
The following is one piece which I think is readable. Is it?
Saturday, 08 April 2006
Last Sunday, I went to the Phoenix Park. When I came out to go home I meet with a pal in primary school. The sight of him uncorked the bottle containing the memory of my childhood.
When I was a child, a ditch connecting with river in the west wandered behind my village to the fields lying to the southeast. The two banks of the ditch were high and on both were trees and bushes. It was a paradise for us children. We went there in the spring to dig up grass for hares kept at home. After working a while we began to pluck the tender shoots of cogon grass, which, in the form of large needle, would come into bloom, to chew in the mouth. This plant usually grows in wet wastes, like on the banks of a river on sides of a pond. While pulling the new shoots slowly and carefully we chanted, “Needle, my needle, I pull you out this spring and send you back next year.”
In the hot summer we would go to the ditch to catch cicadas at noon with gluten. Gluten was simple to make. First we made little dough with wheat flour, as mom made dough for buns. (At that time we seldom ate buns of wheat flour; but we mainly lived on dried pieces of sweat potatoes and maize flour.) Then the dough was put in water and rubbed with hands for sometime until the starch was washed away. We was left was sticky gluten, which was ready to use.
After the gluten was made, which was usually put in a large leaf of white poplar, we began to look for a long stick. A straight branch of Chinese parasol was the best choice; the middle being hollow, so it was light to handle. Another thin stick with a tip was needed. If we were lucky, we could find a thin bamboo. The one-meter –long bamboo was bound to the top of the thick one with strong thread or wires.
With everything ready, we set for the ditch with the burning sun hanging overhead. Arriving at the destination, we put gluten on the tip of the bamboo. When a cicada was spotted we went closer and approached the tip with gluten to its wings. How excited it was to see a black cicada, with one transparent wing sticking firmly to the tip of the bamboo, fluttering the other wing helplessly.
I also remember that we went once to do our homework at a sluice gate on the ditch. The gate was to the west of our village. The huge wood gate, which could be moved up and down, was used to control the water flow. On each of the cement pillars of the gate was a four-character slogan. They went as follows: Regenerate through own effort; struggle under arduous conditions.
It should have been in late autumn that we went there, when the north wind began to blow. We did our homework in the wind for a while; then we felt cold and decided to make a fire. We gathered some dry twigs and put them in the platform we used as our desk. Before a fire was struck, we had a new idea—the oily pine gate would be easy to catch fire and burn well. With our penknife we started to cut off some little slices and put them in the small piles of twigs. A match was struck and a little cozy fire was made. We put our hands around the dancing flames to keep them warm