Yiqiao Huang, Grade 11
UWCCSC
Some of my fondest memories lie in and between the two pavilions beside Zhixian Hall, near the entrance to the back garden of Yushan academy, an ancient Chinese building complex on campus. When I close my eyes, the change of season, taste, emotions and the faces of some people start flashing in my mind like a photo album with all the magical occurrences with myself and friends.
The first visit was memorable. On a breezy morning, my roommate invited me for a stroll there, just a few steps from our dormitory, beyond the amphitheater, at the edge of a curvy bridge. I remained by the lake long after she left, staring out into the waves and the distant curve of the levée on Kuncheng Lake. Watching wisps of clouds blending into a marshmallow, I recalled a quote from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, “you can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad” (Cisneros). From then on, when I stroll to this spot at sunny and overcast times, I leaned on the banisters and imagined floating spirits, sleeping on the pillow-like clouds, and my hair flowing above them while I chanted my odes to the sky. That became my favorite spot to observe clouds and their reflections in the water.
In autumn, wafts of sweet osmanthus scents fill the air with contentment and joy. The pavilion near the entrance was located next to an osmanthus tree. My friend and I sat there discussing how we use osmanthus in our hometowns as food and decorations. We picked fallen osmanthus from the floor and put them on our hair. Our bodies smelled of salty lake wind, osmanthus, and sweat, but our souls overflowed with inexplicable comfort in this strange and memorable smell.
Starting from early spring, I found a new pastime of watching the waves while having tea or reading on one of the pavilions, and I found unexpected company on many occasions. Sometimes, I wonder whether they have been brought here by magic. Once, my friend passed the entrance on a bike, and he decided to join me for tea. The rewarding heat of tea leaves entering the stomach in the chilly February wind filled my guts with vitality, and as the green veil crept over the garden walls, the fragrance of tea and flowers melted together into a warm and comfortable sentiment. He walked down the stairs between the pavilions and shouted something out loud, declaring his feeling of freedom. I heard an echo in the waves. “Crash. Crash.” We laughed until we had no breath left in us.
As we left together, his sing-song voice of “bye” on the clinking of gears on the bike brought me back to my senses. I found myself near the bamboo behind the pavilion, and I considered this spot. It’s as mysterious as the bamboo behind me, bringing me many unexpected memories which I treasure with me at length. That’s why I chose, as one of the last times I visited this place this school year, to bring my returning friend after quarantine at the end of the semester for tea. It was the piece of magic I wanted to bring her, just as magic brought her back before the end of the school year. I wanted to preserve and remind myself of the experiences on this remarkable corner on campus, and the magic here seemed to be an indispensable testimony to my imaginations and intimate relationships.
Works Cited
Cisneros, Sandra. The House on Mango Street. 2nd Vintage Contemporaries ed., 25th-anniversary ed, Vintage Contemporaries, 2009.
The first visit was memorable. On a breezy morning, my roommate invited me for a stroll there, just a few steps from our dormitory, beyond the amphitheater, at the edge of a curvy bridge. I remained by the lake long after she left, staring out into the waves and the distant curve of the levée on Kuncheng Lake. Watching wisps of clouds blending into a marshmallow, I recalled a quote from The House on Mango Street by Sandra Cisneros, “you can fall asleep and wake up drunk on sky, and sky can keep you safe when you are sad” (Cisneros). From then on, when I stroll to this spot at sunny and overcast times, I leaned on the banisters and imagined floating spirits, sleeping on the pillow-like clouds, and my hair flowing above them while I chanted my odes to the sky. That became my favorite spot to observe clouds and their reflections in the water.
In autumn, wafts of sweet osmanthus scents fill the air with contentment and joy. The pavilion near the entrance was located next to an osmanthus tree. My friend and I sat there discussing how we use osmanthus in our hometowns as food and decorations. We picked fallen osmanthus from the floor and put them on our hair. Our bodies smelled of salty lake wind, osmanthus, and sweat, but our souls overflowed with inexplicable comfort in this strange and memorable smell.
Starting from early spring, I found a new pastime of watching the waves while having tea or reading on one of the pavilions, and I found unexpected company on many occasions. Sometimes, I wonder whether they have been brought here by magic. Once, my friend passed the entrance on a bike, and he decided to join me for tea. The rewarding heat of tea leaves entering the stomach in the chilly February wind filled my guts with vitality, and as the green veil crept over the garden walls, the fragrance of tea and flowers melted together into a warm and comfortable sentiment. He walked down the stairs between the pavilions and shouted something out loud, declaring his feeling of freedom. I heard an echo in the waves. “Crash. Crash.” We laughed until we had no breath left in us.
As we left together, his sing-song voice of “bye” on the clinking of gears on the bike brought me back to my senses. I found myself near the bamboo behind the pavilion, and I considered this spot. It’s as mysterious as the bamboo behind me, bringing me many unexpected memories which I treasure with me at length. That’s why I chose, as one of the last times I visited this place this school year, to bring my returning friend after quarantine at the end of the semester for tea. It was the piece of magic I wanted to bring her, just as magic brought her back before the end of the school year. I wanted to preserve and remind myself of the experiences on this remarkable corner on campus, and the magic here seemed to be an indispensable testimony to my imaginations and intimate relationships.
Works Cited
Cisneros, Sandra. The House on Mango Street. 2nd Vintage Contemporaries ed., 25th-anniversary ed, Vintage Contemporaries, 2009.
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