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I remember the big Gingko tree on the little hill. It was an old tree, shaped like a grandma with her curved back and wrinkly body. I loved how its leaves turned golden yellow during the autumn. I called them, Eun-hang Ip. Whenever the wind blew, it was snowing yellow, and I was covered with them. I would often doze off in that yellow blanket while the sunshine held my feet with her warm hands and the gentle breeze brushed my hair. In my dreams, I climbed that tree all the way up and reached the clouds--the white cotton candies. Carefree, worry free; my younger years...
Everything seemed so beautiful in my eyes. Mother Nature was with me and she filled the absence of my real mother during my childhood; my daily life started with the satisfying weather and ended without complaints. All four seasons shared their charm equally and decorated my memories with their pretty details.
I never forget my grandpa’s sky-blue antique bicycle and its’ two gigantic wheels. It didn’t have a break, but it made a little squeak sound every now and then which brought out more of its’ oldie character. I would paddle that bicycle through my peaceful, car-less road. The trees on the side of the road with their arms arched inward made the way seem like a tunnel. The little bits of sunbeams that sneaked in between the leaves, looked like the sparkling Christmas tree lights. When the tree tunnel ended the paddling also stopped, and the gravity took control because it was going down the hill. With the sudden acceleration and the bursting of full blazing sunshine, I closed my eyes, feeling the speed all over my body. Red, pink, yellow, and white Cosmos flowers, which replaced the trees on the side, were the first colors back into my little peaking eyes. As I rode through the flower tunnel, now slow and calm again, I could hear the fall wind whistle.
Time of harvest, a six years old me running around and following my family, was a busy time. All the rice fields, which were once covered with rice plants, were cut.
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"Personal Narrative - The Rice Fields of Home." 123HelpMe.com. 16 Aug 2018
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Now it seems as if I have been dreaming it all along. I hear people complaining that either the weather’s too hot, too cold, too dry, or too wet. Cars line up the roads. Sounds of people stepping on their gas and their break without patience fills the street, and the buildings replace the trees and the flowers. Paddling up the hill harder, faster, and higher, fighting to get there... But where is there? The brick walls are not safe or strong enough -- people living in doubts and fears. I see them struggle alone, afraid that holding each other’s hand would be risking going down. Only seeing five feet ahead and afraid to see further. Bitter from work and sour to share anything they have. Are we becoming cowards? Numerous streetlights are not bright enough and still dangerous; people tell me that I should never walk alone.
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