Bad test grades typically don’t get me down, but today it cut straight to one of the things I value most, my writing.
Did I consider myself the next Mengzi? Had I really believed my writing was a beautiful work of time and effort? Did I believe that somehow my efforts would count for something, even if I made errors?
Yes, yes I did.
But, with one slip of white paper, my false pretentions have been swept away. Flipping past streaks of red (no more than in America, mind you), I almost threw the journal across the room I was so shocked at what was written. At first, I didn't know whether to laugh or rip the journal in half. I shed a single solitary, requisite manly tear, and then set about repressing the memory into something better. Fat. That’s right, dear reader, I decided to eat my feelings.
Zipping down to the convenience store on the break I bought a Coke and some candy bar. I’d tell you what the candy bar was, but I inhaled it so quickly, I'm surprised I'm not dead with the wrapper halfway down my throat. I managed to get through the rest of class only throwing the occasional smoldering look of contempt at my journal, and by the time I'd thrown it in my bag with particular venom, I was mentally prepared to leave my dignity on the lunch table.
As I sat down, my sadness-induced gorge slowed ever so slightly, only because who doesn’t love a good whine with Chinese food? I sang the Woe is Me chorus to everyone within earshot and worked my chopsticks more skillfully than a ballerina works at the bar. Listening to my other classmates, I realized I wasn’t just eating to assuage my sadness, but theirs as well. Their skinny frames screamed to be fattened, and I knew I could answer their calls.
Tears are temporary my doe-eyed health nuts, but pounds are at least six months.
The afternoon activity brought us into a mall. For a few minutes I forgot my food crusade as I marveled at this eight (nine with basement) story monstrosity. Floor after floor of brands I’d never heard of and all the advertisements had white people. My momentary lapse was soon forgotten as I headed for Snack Alley (2nd floor) and the “Boutique Supermarket” (Basement). Unfortunately, my food court follies were foiled, as, since nothing is simple in China, they wanted me to buy a card to load with money to buy food. Too much of a hassle, I sat down in the middle of the atrium, scowling. After leaving the mall, the self-pity-orgy-buffet continued as I lay in my bed, listening to sad jazz, and eating trail mix.
Eventually I sulked down to dinner. Choosing my favorite restaurant, my palate watered for plate after plate after plate of newly discovered comfort food. As each dish came to the table, I set about stuffing my resentment under a mountain of food. When I finally finished the meal, I headed out for some ice cream and a remote locale where I could break some of the many bottles that litter this former German colony.
Bottles broken, I entered the convenience store, going straight for the premium ice cream case. The door glided open, and I plucked a Magnum ice cream bar from the top of the pile. Inconvenienced by paying, I finally sat on the steps, and once again let my emotions over take me.
First, rage consumed me and I eviscerated the packaging. The chocolate shell of the ice cream bar glistened in the street lights, and I admired the embedded swirls, mattes, and sheens of the cold chocolate. My appreciation flashed red and I sank my teeth in with a satisfying crunch, imagining that I was actually ripping out the spine of my imagined diary. The ice cream had already begun to melt on my tongue, and I uttered a low moan of self-pity as the velvety rivulets of cream and chocolate began to mingle in my mouth. Each luxurious bite rocked my body with self-loathing, but also made each morsel taste even sweeter. Finally, I snapped the stick in half and reluctantly thew the wrapper in the trash. Pity party over, I headed back to the dorm in silence.
Turning in for an early bed time,
Mr. Mockler
But, with one slip of white paper, my false pretentions have been swept away. Flipping past streaks of red (no more than in America, mind you), I almost threw the journal across the room I was so shocked at what was written. At first, I didn't know whether to laugh or rip the journal in half. I shed a single solitary, requisite manly tear, and then set about repressing the memory into something better. Fat. That’s right, dear reader, I decided to eat my feelings.
Zipping down to the convenience store on the break I bought a Coke and some candy bar. I’d tell you what the candy bar was, but I inhaled it so quickly, I'm surprised I'm not dead with the wrapper halfway down my throat. I managed to get through the rest of class only throwing the occasional smoldering look of contempt at my journal, and by the time I'd thrown it in my bag with particular venom, I was mentally prepared to leave my dignity on the lunch table.
As I sat down, my sadness-induced gorge slowed ever so slightly, only because who doesn’t love a good whine with Chinese food? I sang the Woe is Me chorus to everyone within earshot and worked my chopsticks more skillfully than a ballerina works at the bar. Listening to my other classmates, I realized I wasn’t just eating to assuage my sadness, but theirs as well. Their skinny frames screamed to be fattened, and I knew I could answer their calls.
Tears are temporary my doe-eyed health nuts, but pounds are at least six months.
The afternoon activity brought us into a mall. For a few minutes I forgot my food crusade as I marveled at this eight (nine with basement) story monstrosity. Floor after floor of brands I’d never heard of and all the advertisements had white people. My momentary lapse was soon forgotten as I headed for Snack Alley (2nd floor) and the “Boutique Supermarket” (Basement). Unfortunately, my food court follies were foiled, as, since nothing is simple in China, they wanted me to buy a card to load with money to buy food. Too much of a hassle, I sat down in the middle of the atrium, scowling. After leaving the mall, the self-pity-orgy-buffet continued as I lay in my bed, listening to sad jazz, and eating trail mix.
Eventually I sulked down to dinner. Choosing my favorite restaurant, my palate watered for plate after plate after plate of newly discovered comfort food. As each dish came to the table, I set about stuffing my resentment under a mountain of food. When I finally finished the meal, I headed out for some ice cream and a remote locale where I could break some of the many bottles that litter this former German colony.
Bottles broken, I entered the convenience store, going straight for the premium ice cream case. The door glided open, and I plucked a Magnum ice cream bar from the top of the pile. Inconvenienced by paying, I finally sat on the steps, and once again let my emotions over take me.
First, rage consumed me and I eviscerated the packaging. The chocolate shell of the ice cream bar glistened in the street lights, and I admired the embedded swirls, mattes, and sheens of the cold chocolate. My appreciation flashed red and I sank my teeth in with a satisfying crunch, imagining that I was actually ripping out the spine of my imagined diary. The ice cream had already begun to melt on my tongue, and I uttered a low moan of self-pity as the velvety rivulets of cream and chocolate began to mingle in my mouth. Each luxurious bite rocked my body with self-loathing, but also made each morsel taste even sweeter. Finally, I snapped the stick in half and reluctantly thew the wrapper in the trash. Pity party over, I headed back to the dorm in silence.
Turning in for an early bed time,
Mr. Mockler
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