When I was about halfway between twenty and thirty, I lived in a large, run-down house that other people thought was romantic. The door to my bedroom was at least twelve feet tall. So I fixed a coatrack(衣帽架) over the top, and whenever I needed to get a jacket, or a towel, I stood on my desk chair to get them, swinging uncertainly.
There were six of us in the house. We were all about the same age. Two boys lived on the top floor and three lived in the basement. As the only girl, I was aware of being surrounded by shirtless boys, which is embarrassing especially in summer.
One hot afternoon, I wrote a long e-mail to my high-school English teacher, because I remembered him as handsome in a remote way. He wore expensive clothes and took an understated pleasure in saying inspiring things. I calculated that the English teacher was about forty, and then I pressed Send. The e-mail covered a lot of ground. I summarized what I called "my college experience". Toward the end of the e-mail, I found myself saying that I couldn't understand why I still needed to struggle in my college life.
When the English teacher wrote back, I was unexpected. In his response to my e-mail, he mentioned some stories about those who dropped out of school and their lives were hard for me to imagine.
With tears in my eyes, I decided to keep on trying even if I was not in a famous university. I believe as long as I am determined enough, I can make my life better in the future.
