I just read what I had written on my first English blog (blogdrive), and it occured to me that I had much to say about the world then and was more free to write them out. Compare to my present blog, I think I've lost perhaps courage to write about things I detest. It is said that when one is born, one is rarely afriad of anything; but as he grows up he discovers many things and is constantly aware of the consequences that might come out of even the most trifling decisitions, thus ruminates on every little action he takes. It is neither good not bad, it is just how people are. However I still feel a little sad knowing I'm less in quantity of something 'good' than I used to be.

When I was about 3 or 4, I lived with my grandmother because my parents were quite busy with their work. One day my mom came over to visit me and my grandmother, and they were staying in the yard with my grandmother's friends chatting and I was running around like any other 3/4 year olds. There was a huge dog lying on the ground taking a nap and I tiptoed over and stepped on the dog's tail with all my strength. Of course the dog woke up and was looking for the malicious one, but I already ran off.

Also, my grandmother owned a puffy Persian cat, and I used to stare at its eyes face to face (literally) with a distance only about 2cm. My mom was afraid that the cat would scrath my face or my eyes, but I enjoyed staring at it so much she just had to let me. The cat, weirdly, stared back at me and never scratched me.

Hmm.. one more story. My mom bought a little fuzzy chicks for me and she put them in a box and put the box on the balcony. So one day, I just grab one little chick and stood up, walked over to the edge of the balcony and suddenly let go of my hand and then the chick was thrown from 6th floor to the ground. Dead, presumably.

Freaky isn't it? Trust me, not only was I so darn 'brave', I was also a little naughty devil who pissed my mom off until the point she could cry (bad things I did can be written in a book as thick as the calc textbook). But I don't remember doing those things, I was told by my parents. They startled me when they told me, it was like listening to stories about little Hitler. And now, I don't even dare to go near dogs, I can only pet the cats, and even thinking about throwing chicks makes me wanna cry. Although I still piss my mom off, but I'll always have to obey her like an promoted obedient Chinese child should do.

Anyway. I just did some worthwhile blogging. That feels better.