我们从2002年第七期开始陆续刊登第二届"北外杯"中学生英文写作大赛的部分获奖作文。本期选登的是云南大学外国语学校李恒敏同学的文章。

Light My Fire

"Never be conceited. No matter how clever you are, you might lose. And never feel discouraged, then no matter how slow you are, you will win!"

For years, teachers have always been giving us this misleading hint again and again, and whenever the teacher made the remarks I would ask myself , "Then what the result will be if a quick student takes the same courses as a slow student does, and both make the same amount of effort?" The answer was clear, at least to me it was: the slow student would never catch up with the quick one. This answer brought me pain. I knew quite clearly about myself - a slow girl.

They say childhood is just like a reed pipe whistling a merry tune. But to me, most of the musical theme was neither melodious nor cheerful, but filled with pain, for I knew I was the slow one that could never win as a genius.

Why am I here? I couldn't help doubting about the value of my existence. Unable to find an answer, I was crawling in the darkness and looking for light. God said, "There should be light," and then lit up the world. I deadly need light, too. "God," I whispered, "can you hear me crying for light?"

I had no idea if God had heard me. I guessed He would like to test me more by giving me an ordeal: the teacher asked me to sit next to a real genius to learn from her, or I should say to improve my intelligence.
The pressure overwhelmed me like tides. She was really quick, opposite to me. It would take me an hour or two to learn a passage by heart, but for her, ten minutes was enough. Math always confused me and I could understand little about physics, so I always got the lowest scores in the class, while she always got the highest in the whole grade. I felt it so difficult to talk with her face to face - she was above me. Unknown fears controlled my heart.

"God, tell me what to do," I whispered in the night, in the darkness, softly and hopelessly, "I need light." I cried to myself, face in hands, but no tears.

It was hard to explain why being a slow child hurt me so much, but it really did. I hated school and all classes except painting. Yeah, painting! I loved drawing pictures, which gave me a way to express myself. I was not good at speaking or writing, but it was easier for me to confide myself by using shapes, colors and shadow - a way which was indirect and obscure, a way to show my inward world while hiding, a safe way, I should say.

Once the teacher asked us to paint pictures of fruit. Both the genius and I painted apples and bananas and finished at the same time. We handed in the paintings to the teacher. He took a close look at them. I had never cared too much about the scores of my paintings. I enjoyed each of them though none got high scores. But this time it was different. I felt I was doing well and was expecting to get more points, though it always failed.

The teacher studied our pictures for a long time. We waited anxiously. "Mm," he began, and I suddenly got very nervous. I looked at the two pictures and secretly compared them: her apples were shining and attractive, and the bananas were charming. The whole picture looked bright and nice. I turned to mine. It was a gloomy, dark and sad one. I waited in silence. A thick dark cloud began to hang over my heart.

"Very nice, you two," he commented as usual, but - just then a wave of strange feelings glided past my heart. Words on the tip of my tongue suddenly rushed out. "Which is better?" I asked coolly but anxiously, and even bitterly. I regretted almost at once and both of my classmate and my teacher seemed to be shocked a bit. I thought they had never dreamed that such a timid and careful girl would have asked such an offending question. Every beat of my heart wanted to take my words back.

After a few seconds of embarrassing silence my teacher smiled kindly and warmly. "They shouldn't be compared," he replied, beaming, and picked up the painting brush to add some white strokes to my picture.

"You just need light!"

"You just need light." I repeated silently. Tears began to gather at the bottom of my heart. "He understood me," I said to myself.

"Every one of you is unique, special and individual. You're to see the world in your own absolutely unique and independent fashion. And so are your pictures." He talked to us tenderly. "You are all fantasies. Ordinary, but great." I looked up and saw his eyes were full of encouragement - the words were only for me.

The first sunshine lit me up! I needed light, and it lit my fire at last! I still remember quite clearly now when I sat back, I knew I was burning, shining splendidly. I was beginning to get rid of the sense of inferiority. Each student has his own strong points. We should not lose self-confidence by comparing our weaknesses with other people's advantages.

Childhood is sometimes so distant, and sometimes so near. When I look back on those distressing and bitter days I can always cherish that cheerful memory and deep reflection - the moment of lighting my fire!