1 . A few weeks ago, I found myself taken aback by the strange and rough behavior of a medical practitioner(行医者). For the first time that I could remember, I had missed an appointment, and she called to berate me. Yes, it was my fault, but I think I subconsciously avoided the appointment due to the aggressive communication we had had thus far.
I had a sense of what I was getting into when I chose to go with her — I was warned about her bedside manner — but she came, highly recommended by multiple people, and I did not have the energy to keep looking for other options. So I went with her and made myself ready for the journey.
But I was not prepared. She screamed at me for minutes on end, as I sat there, unable to get a word in, feeling terribly guilty and ashamed of the missed appointment and having wasted her time. There was no calm talk about paying for the missed appointment.
After the phone call, I felt terrible. I believe that everything happens for a reason, and that everyone we meet comes into our lives for a reason.
A week or so later, after telling a friend about the event, I was blessed with this insight: This woman’s attacking voice was familiar, and it was personified and strengthened by my harsh(刺耳的), critical inner voice. My friend helped me see what a blessing this encounter was. If I could see my inner critic as this woman with her associated foolish behaviour, I would not allow myself to buy into it.
I remember I once read an article which says that when we look at the behavior of others, we are looking at a mirror. According to the “Mirror Theory”, when we observe character defects(缺点) in other people, we are really seeing the undeveloped and unresolved parts of our personality. With this in mind, not only do I need to examine how I view and treat myself, but also other people. So eventually, my encounter with this practitioner was for the best.
1. What does the underlined word “berate” in Paragraph 1 mean?| A．Scold | B．Comfort | C．Question | D．Contact |
| A．She lacked communication with the practitioner. |
| B．She spent much time preparing for the journey. |
| C．She was afraid to face the rude practitioner. |
| D．She wanted to find a better practitioner. |
| A．It helped her realize her own mistakes. |
| B．It helped her see her own critic inner voice. |
| C．It gave her a chance to listen to her own heart. |
| D．It gave her experience in dealing with rough people. |
| A．Treat herself better in the future. |
| B．Treat other people with more tolerance. |
| C．Overlook the character defects in other people. |
| D．See her character defects while observing others. |
2 . Paswan and his teen daughter Jyoti Kumari recently completed the 750-mile journey from their former apartment on the outskirts of New Dehli all the way to their home village. What's remarkable is that they rode the entire distance on a bicycle they purchased with their last $20, with Jyoti pedaling(脚蹬）as her father rode on the seat with his heavy bag.
The story of their determination has inspired millions of migrant workers across the country, where the novel coronavirus lockdowns has resulted in severe work shortages. Many of these laborers have needed to take similar journeys from major cities back to their home villages where they can be supported by their family-but financial problems have left many of them stranded（使搁浅）and wondering what's next.
Things had not been going well for Paswan,even before the pandemic(大流行病）. In January, he was involved in a traffic accident while working as a rickshaw driver. His daughter, who had dropped out of school a year earlier because of the family's financial troubles, decided to make the trip to New Dehli to care for her injured father. When the lockdown hit and Paswan was unable to earn a living, their landlord cut off their electricity and threatened to kick them out of their apartment. It was then that Jyoti suggested that they head home to their village in Bihar.
Jyoti had cycled a lot in their village, and they had just enough money to purchase a bicycle. She insisted that she would get her dad home safely.
That being said, it was not a bewitching journey for Jyoti and Paswan-they often found themselves without enough to eat; they slept at gas stations, and often relied on the generosity of strangers. The pair traveled nearly 100 miles per day. On borrowed cell phones, Jyoti would reassure her worried mother:"Don't worry, I'll get Papa home good.”
True to her word, Jyoti and her father made it home. Additionally, since the Indian media has dubbed(把......称为）her “Jyoti the lionhearted",the teenage girl has been contacted by Onkar Singh, the chairman of the Cycling Federation of India, urging her to try out for the national team.
1. What caused Paswan and his daughter to decide to go home?| A．The worsening situation |
| B．The terrible traffic accident. |
| C．The expectation from family. |
| D．The desire to travel by bicycle. |
| A．Paswan and Jyoti would continue to pay the landlord. |
| B．Paswan and Jyoti lived a good life before the pandemic. |
| C．Paswan failed to earn a living due to the traffic accident. |
| D．Paswan and Jyoti had no choice but to leave New Dehli. |
| A．Tough. | B．Smooth. | C．Unforgettable. | D．Meaningful. |
| A．She might go back to New Dehli to earn a living. |
| B．She might check if she has the potential for cycling. |
| C．She might invite Onkar Singh to be her private coach. |
| D．She might complain to the media about the new name. |
3 . “A teacher affects eternity( 永恒); he can never tell where his influence stops.”
---Henry Adams
He was eight years old. A telegram came from the hospital, and since his father, a Russian immigrant, could not read English, Morrie had to break the news, reading his mother's death notice like a student read in front of the class. “We regret to inform you.." he began.
On the morning of the funeral, Morrie's relatives came down the steps of his tenement building on the poor Lower East Side of Manhattan. At the cemetery, Morrie watched as they shoveled dirt into his mother's gave. He tried to retell the tender moments they had shared when she was alive. She had operated a candy store until she got sick, after which she mostly slept or sat by the window, looking frail and weak. Sometimes she would yell out for her son to get her some medicine, and young Morrie, playing stickball in the street, would pretend he did not hear her.
In his mind he believed he could make the illness go away by ignoring it.
How else can a child deal with death?
Morrie's father, whom everyone called Charlie, had come to America to escape the Russian Army. He worked in the fur business, but constantly out of a job. Uneducated and barely able to speak English, he was terribly poor, and the family was on the public assistance much of the time. Sometimes, to make money, Morrie and his younger brother, David, would wash porch steps together for a nickel(镍币).
One morning, David couldn't move. He had polio(小儿麻痹症). For a long time- -as his brother was taken back and forth to a special medial home and was forced to wear braces on his les, which left him limping-- Morrie felt responsible.
So in the mornings, he went to synagogue(犹太教会堂) and he stood among the swaying men in their long black coats and he asked God to take care of his dead mother and his sick brother.
And in the afternoons , he stood at the bottom of the subway steps and sold magazines, turning whatever money he made over to his family to buy food.
In the evenings, he watched his father eat in silence, hoping for- -but never getting --a show of affection, communication, warmth.
At nine years old, he felt as if the weight of a mountain were on his shoulders.
But a saving embrace came into Morrie's life the following year: his new stepmother, Eva. She was a short Romanian immigrant with plain features, curly brown hair, and the energy of two women. She had a glow(光) that warmed the otherwise murky atmosphere his father created. She talked when her new husband was silent, she sang songs to the children at night.
Morrie took comfort in her smoothing voice, her school lessons, her strong character. When his brother returned from the medical home, still wearing braces from the polio, the two of them shared a rollaway bed in the kitchen of their apartment, and Eva would kiss them good-night. Morrie waited on those kisses like a puppy waits on milk, and he felt, deep down, that he had a mother again.
There was no escaping their poverty, however. Because of the Depression, Morrie's father found even less work in the fur business.
Still, despite their circumstances, Morrie was taught to love and to care. And to learn. Eva would accept nothing less than excellence in school, because she saw education as the only antidote to their poverty. She herself went to night school to improve her English. Morrie's love for education was hatched in her arms.
He studied at night, by the lamp at the kitchen table. And in the mornings he would go to synagogue to say Kaddish- the memorial prayer for the dead- for his mother. He did this to keep her memory alive.
“What will you do?" Eva would ask him.
“I don't know," he would say. He ruled out law, because he didn’t like lawyers, and he ruled out medicine, because he couldn't take the sight of blood.
“What will you do?"
It was only through default that the best professor I ever had became a teacher.
1. Why didn't Morrie respond to Mother's yelling for medicine?| A．He didn't know how to help his mother. |
| B．He was too focused on playing stickball. |
| C．He was lost in tender moments they shared in the past. |
| D．He was too young to understand what was happening to his family. |
| A．began to enjoy a materially rich life |
| B．witnessed his father changing the atmosphere |
| C．partly recovered from the sufferings in his life |
| D．was forced to pursue academic achievements |
| A．Alternative. |
| B．Credit. |
| C．Exception. |
| D．Solution. |
| A．Every cloud has a silver lining. |
| B．No man is wise at all times. |
| C．Time and tide wait for no man. |
| D．Well begun is half done. |
4 . I'd done it before, and so I had no reason to believe that this time would be any different. I was sure that when I returned home from my mission trip, as always, I'd bring back nothing more than some mud on my boots, a hole or two in my jeans and, of course, a lot of great memories.
The summer before my high school graduation, I went to West Virginia with others as volunteers to repair the homes of those in need. Arriving at our destination, my group was assigned the task of rebuilding sections of a home that had been damaged by fire. No sooner had we parked on the home's dirt driveway than we saw an excited little girl, no more than six years old, standing in the doorway of the family's temporary home. Shoeless and wearing dirty clothes and the biggest smile I'd ever seen, she yelled, "Ma, Ma, they really came! " I didn't know it then, but her name was Dakota, and four more days would pass before she’d say another word near me.
Behind Dakota was a woman in a wheelchair—her grandmother, we'd soon learn. I also discovered that my job that week would be to help change a fire—damaged dining room into a bedroom for this little girl. Grabbing our tools, we went to work. Over the following days, I noticed Dakota peeking at us every now and then as we worked. A few times. I tried talking with her, but she remained shy and distant, always flying around us like a tiny butterfly but keeping to herself.
By our fifth and final day, however, this was about to change.
Before I went to work on her home on that last morning, I spoke for a moment or two with the grandmother. I was especially pleased when she told me how much Dakota loved her new room so much, in fact, that she'd begged to sleep in it the previous night, even though it wasn't quite ready. As we talked, I noticed something I hadn’t seen before—Dakota was hiding behind her grandmother. Cautiously, she stepped into view, and I could see that just like her clothes, her face was still dirty. But no amount of soil could hide those bright blue eyes and big smile. She was simply adorable. I wanted so much to hug her, but respecting her shyness, I kept my distance.
Slowly, she began walking toward me. It wasn't until she was just inches away that I noticed the folded piece of paper in her tiny hand. Silently, she reached up and handed it to me. Once unfolded, I looked at the drawing she'd made with her broken crayons on the back of an old coloring book cover. It was of two girls—one much taller than the other—and they were holding hands. She told me it was supposed to be me and her and on the bottom of the paper were three little words that instantly broke my heart. Now almost in tears, I couldn't control myself anymore—I bent down and hugged her. She hugged me, too. And for the longest time, neither one of us could let go.
By early afternoon, we finished Dakota's bedroom, and so I gladly used the rare free time to get to know my newest friend. Sitting under a tree away from the others, we shared a few apples while she told me about her life. As I listened to her stories about the struggles she and her family went through daily, I began to realize how boring various aspects of my own life were.
I left for home early the next morning. I was returning with muddy boots and holes in my jeans. But because of Dakota, I brought back something else, too—a greater appreciation for all of the blessing of my life. I’ll never forget that barefoot little butterfly with the big smile and dirty face. I pray that she’ll never forget me either.
1. From the appearance description of the little girl, we know _______.| A．she formed a bad living habit |
| B．she hoped for a better education |
| C．she was an innocent and lovely child |
| D．she was strong and calm in the inner world |
| A．Enjoy your help. |
| B．Please don’t leave. |
| C．Help me, please. |
| D．Hug me close. |
| A．She worried about the little girl’s future. |
| B．She decided to keep helping the little girl. |
| C．She felt a greater affection for the little girl. |
| D．She got surprised at the little girl’s worthless gift. |
| A．One must learn to share life experiences. |
| B．One often wants to lead a meaningful life. |
| C．One occasionally benefits from the poverty. |
| D．One should be more grateful for the gift of life. |
5 . I've been writing since before I could write. As a kid, I dictated stories to my parents.About 12 years ago,I was living in New York City and pursuing a master in creative writing. For years I'd been suffering vision disorder,but in New York my symptoms worsened. I became unable to read or write for any considerable length of time. I tried vision therapy(疗法），an overhead projector,a special pair of glasses-all in vain.
Eventually,I discovered a computer program for the visually challenged. As I typed,my words were read aloud by an automated voice. With my screen dimmed to black,I relied entirely on audio feedback to know what I had written.
Facing the blank page is worrying,but facing the black page is worse. The dark screen is a sinkhole that swallows creative hope. Sentences disappear into it like an astronaut into a black hole. I managed to complete my master degree, but it took me years to adapt to my new reality. The greatest barrier seemed to be the automated voice, which was like a robot parrot on my shoulder, and I wanted nothing more than to drive it away. If a pianist were forced to practice on an untuned piano,would it corrupt his ear over time?
Of course,I could have quit writing and stopped making myself suffer.But it honestly never occurred to me-and I'm glad it didn't. Last year, after I told my story on the radio,I was contacted by VocaliD,a Massachusetts-based company that created a voice modeled on my own.
The first time I heard the voice they created, it is so close to my own that the two are nearly indistinguishable. I've only just begun using this new voice. My hope is that this will restore a sense of solitude(孤独） to my writing process,allowing me easier access to that inner space where the imagination can take over, and I can forget myself, and the real work can begin.
The black screen still exists-it always will-but the robot parrot has taken wing.
1. What happened to the author when pursuing a master degree in New York?| A．His sight started to fail due to much reading. |
| B．His eyes couldn't sustain long hours of reading. |
| C．He had to drop out due to his vision disorder. |
| D．He successfully overcame his vision problem. |
| A．The untuned automated voice. |
| B．The pet parrot on his shoulder. |
| C．The computer with a dark screen. |
| D．The noise from a neighboring pianist. |
| A．Excited. | B．Annoyed. |
| C．Unmoved. | D．Relaxed. |
| A．The automated voice is too annoying to bear. |
| B．The author can restore his sight to normal. |
| C．The author starts to enjoy his writing again. |
| D．It is likely that the technology will improve. |
6 . Still in shock! I moved around the house purposelessly trying to decide what to put into the suitcases(行李箱). Earlier that evening, I’d received a call telling me that my brother was killed in a car crash. “Come as soon as you can.” cried my mother.
I wanted to hurry to her at once. But my husband, Larry, and I were packing to move from New York to Seattle. Our house was in total mess. Supper dishes sat on the kitchen table. Toys lay everywhere. I purposelessly picked things up and put them down. Mother’s crying went through my head again and again.
Larry called some friends to tell them what had happened. Someone asked to speak to me. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.” But I didn’t know what to ask for.
Suddenly, the doorbell rang. It was Emerson. He and his wife Donna lived in the block nearby.
“I’ve come to clean your shoes,” he said.
I asked him to repeat.
“Donna had to stay with the baby,” he said, “but we want to help you. I remember when my father died, it took me hours to clean our shoes for the funeral(葬礼). Give me all your shoes.”
I gathered all our dirty shoes to the kitchen. Emerson got to work right away. Watching him devoting himself to one task helped me pull my own thoughts into order. I told myself to wash clothes first. Then, Larry and I bathed the children and put them to bed. One job after another.
When we returned to clear the dishes, Emerson had left. All our shoes stood in a line against the wall, clean, shining. I couldn't help crying. Early next morning, we left for the airport with all the jobs done.
Now whenever I hear of a friend who's lost a loved one, I no longer call with the polite offer, “If there’s anything I can do …” Instead I try to think of one specific task that suits that man's need, like taking the dog to the boarding kennel, or house-sitting during the funeral. If the person asks, “How did you know I needed that one?” I reply, “Because a man once cleaned my shoes.”
1. The writer didn’t know what to put into the suitcases because _____.| A．she couldn’t do it on her own |
| B．she was too sad to do anything |
| C．she wanted to take everything to Seattle |
| D．she was not good at housework |
The writer’s brother was killed in a car crash→_____ →The writer washed the clothes. →They left for the airport. Which of the events should go in the empty box above?
| A．Emerson came to clean the shoes. |
| B．The couple bathed the children. |
| C．They cleared the supper dishes. |
| D．The writer found the shoes cleaned. |
| A．Call her friend to ask what she can do. |
| B．Look after her friend’s young children. |
| C．Take her friend's dog to the boarding kennel. |
| D．Offer her friend house-sitting during the funeral. |
| A．One person's loss is another's gain. |
| B．An act of kindness is often rewarded. |
| C．A near neighbour is better than a brother far off. |
| D．Do something specific to help those in need. |
7 . I’d done it before, and so I had no reason to believe that this time would be any different . I was sure that when I returned home from my mission trip. as always, I'd bring back nothing more some mud on my boots. a hole or two in my jeans and, of course, a lot of great memories.
The summer before my high school graduation, I went to West Virginia with others as volunteers to repair the homes of those in need. Arriving at our destination, my group was assigned the task of rebuilding sections of a home that had been damaged by fire. No sooner had we parked on the home's dirt driveway than we saw an excited little girl, no more than six years old, standing in the doorway of the family's temporary home. Shoeless and wearing dirty clothes and the biggest smile I'd ever seen, she yelled, "Ma, Ma, they really came!" I didn't know it then, but her name was Dakota, and four more days would pass before she'd say another word near me.
Behind Dakota was a woman in a wheelchair-her grandmother, we'd soon learn. I also discovered that my job that week would be to help change a fire-damaged dining room into a bedroom for this little girl. Grabbing our tools, we went to work. Over the following days, I noticed Dakota peeking at us every now and then as we worked. A few times, I tried talking with her, but she remained shy and distant, always flying around us like a tiny butterfly but keeping to herself.
By our fifth and final day, however, this was about to change. Before I went to work on her home on that last morning, I spoke for a moment or two with the grandmother. I was especially pleased when she told me how much Dakota loved her new room-so much, in fact, that she'd begged to sleep in it the previous night, even though it wasn't quite ready. As we talked, I noticed something I hadn't seen before-Dakota was hiding behind her grandmother.
Cautiously, she stepped into view, and I could see that just like her clothes, her face was still dirty. But no amount of soil could hide those bright blue eyes and big smile. She was simply adorable. I wanted so much to hug her, but respecting her shyness, I kept my distance.
Slowly, she began walking toward me. It wasn't until she was just inches away that I noticed the folded piece of paper in her tiny hand. Silently, she reached up and handed it to me. Once unfolded, I looked at the drawing she'd made with her broken crayons on the back of an old coloring book cover. It was of two girls-one much taller than the other-and they were holding hands. She told me it was supposed to be me and her, and on the bottom of the paper were three little words that instantly broke my heart Now almost in tears, I couldn't control myself anymore-I bent down and hugged her. She hugged me, too. And for the longest time, neither one of us could let go.
By early afternoon, we finished Dakota's bedroom, and so I gladly used the rare free time to get to know my newest friend. Sitting under a tree away from the others, we shared a few apples while she told me about her life. As I listened to her stories about the struggles she and her family went through daily, I began to realize how boring various aspects of my own life were.
I left for home early the next morning. I was returning with muddy boots and holes in my Jeans. But because of Dakota, I brought back something else, too-a greater appreciation for all or the blessings of my life. I'll never forget that barefoot little butterfly with the big smile and dirty face. I pray that she'll never forget me either.
1. What did the author expect before taking this mission trip?| A．A routine result. | B．An exciting experience. |
| C．A special memory. | D．A surprising change. |
| A．desired to approach me | B．feared to talk with me |
| C．resisted accepting me | D．enjoyed meeting me |
| A．she formed a bad living habit | B．she hoped for a better education |
| C．she was an innocent and lovely child | D．she was strong and calm in the inner world |
| A．Enjoy your help. | B．Please don't leave. |
| C．Help me, please. | D．Hug me close. |
| A．One must learn to share life experiences. |
| B．One often wants to lead a meaningful life. |
| C．One occasionally benefits from the poverty. |
| D．One should be more grateful for the gift of life. |
8 . About a year ago I spent the night at my cousins house, it was about 2 a. m. and I heard a noise coming from outside.
For example, last night I woke up during the night around 3: 30 as usual. I continued to fall back to sleep. As soon as I shut my eyes, and was half way’s asleep, I started to hear a sound.
I always wonder what would happen if I don’t fight it. I think it happens to me at that time because that’s a time when I am most easily attacked;
| A．Sometimes it happened to me 3 times a night. |
| B．I’m so sleepy and I don’t want to wake up. |
| C．But it came to my head and touched me. |
| D．It sounded as if someone was opening her gate in the dark. |
| E．I am so scared that I can’t fall asleep at once. |
| F．I tried to move but I couldn’t. |
| G．It stopped seconds after and I felt relieved. |
9 . August 1990,Boston
Dear Maya Shao-ming,
To me,June 6,1990 is a special day.My long-awaited dream came true the minute your father cried,“A girl!” You are more than just a second child,more than just a girl to match our boy.You,little daughter,are the link to our female line,the legacy of another woman’s pain and sacrifice 31 years ago.
Let me tell you about your Chinese grandmother.Somewhere in Hong Kong,in the late fifties,a young waitress found herself pregnant(怀孕)by a cook,probably a co-worker at her restaurant.She carried the baby to term,suffered to give it birth,and kept the little girl for the first three months of her life.I like to think that my mother—your grandmother—loved me and fought to raise me on her own,but that the daily struggle was too hard.Worn down by the demands of the new baby and perhaps the constant threat of starvation,she made the painful decision to give away her girl so that both of us might have a chance for a better life.
More likely,I was dropped at the orphanage(孤儿院)steps or somewhere else.I will probably never know the truth.Having a baby in her unmarried state would have brought shame on the family in China,so she probably kept my existence a secret.Once I was out of her life,it was as if I had never been born.And so you and your brother and I are the missing leaves on a family tree.
Do they ever wonder if we exist?
Before I was two,I was adopted by an Anglo couple.Fed three square meals a day,I grew like a wild weed and grasped all the opportunities they had to offer—books,music,education,church life and community activities.In a family of blue-eyed blonds,though,I stood out like a sore thumb.Whether from jealousy or fear of someone who looked so different,my older brothers sometimes teased me about my unpleasing skin,or made fun of my clumsy walk.Moody and impatient,burdened by fears that none of us realized resulted from my early years of need,I was not an easy child to love.My mother and I conflicted countless times over the years,but gradually came to see one another as real human beings with faults and talents,and as women of strength in our own right.Lacking a mirror image in the mother who raised me,I had to seek my identity as a woman on my own.The Asian American community has helped me regain my double identity.
But part of me will always be missing:my beginnings,my personal history,all the delicate details that give a person her origin.Nevertheless,someone gave me a lucky name“Siu Wai”.“Siu”means“little”,and“Wai”means“clever”.Therefore,my baby name was“Clever little one.”Who chose those words?Who cared enough to note my arrival in the world?
I lost my Chinese name for 18 years.It was Americanized for convenience to“Sue”.But like an ill-fitting coat,it made me uncomfortable.I hated the name.But even more,I hated being Chinese.It took many years to become proud of my Asian origin and work up the courage to take back my birth-name.That,plus a little knowledge of classroom Cantonese is all the Chinese culture I have to offer you.Not white,certainly,but not really Asian,I try to pave the way between the two worlds and bridge the gap for you.Your name,“Shao-ming”,is very much like mine—“Shao”means“little”.And“ming”is“bright”,as in a shining sun or moon.Whose lives will you brighten,little Maya?Your past is more complete than mine,and each day I cradle you in your babyhood,generously giving you the loving care I lacked for my first two years.When I pat you,I comfort the lost baby inside me who still cries for her mother.
Sweet Maya,it doesn’t matter what you“become”later on.You have already fulfilled my wildest dreams.
I love you.
Mammy
1. Why is June 6,1990 a special day for Mommy?| A．Her dream of being a mother came true. |
| B．She found her origin from her Chinese mother. |
| C．She wrote the letter to her daughter. |
| D．Her female line was well linked. |
| A．It is bitter and disappointing. |
| B．It is painful but understandable. |
| C．She feels sorry but sympathetic. |
| D．She feels hurt and angry. |
| A．I walked clumsily out of pains. |
| B．I was not easy to love due to jealousy. |
| C．I was impatient out of fear. |
| D．I looked different from others. |
| A．She used to experience an identity crisis. |
| B．She fought against her American identity. |
| C．She forgot the pains of her early years. |
| D．She kept her love for Asia from childhood. |
Dear Maya Shao-ming,
To me, June 6, 1990 is a special day. My long-awaited dream came true the minute your father cried, “A girl!” You are more than just a second child, more than just a girl to match our boy. You, little daughter, are the link to our female line, the legacy of another woman’s pain and sacrifice 31 years ago.
Let me tell you about your Chinese grandmother. Somewhere in Hong Kong, in the late fifties, a young waitress found herself pregnant (怀孕) by a cook, probably a co-worker at her restaurant. She carried the baby to term, suffered to give it birth, and kept the little girl for the first three months of her life. I like to think that my mother—your grandmother—loved me and fought to raise me on her own, but that the daily struggle was too hard. Worn down by the demands of the new baby and perhaps the constant threat of starvation, she made the painful decision to give away her girl so that both of us might have a chance for a better life.
More likely, I was dropped at the orphanage (孤儿院) steps or somewhere else. I will probably never know the truth. Having a baby in her unmarried state would have brought shame on the family in China, so she probably kept my existence a secret. Once I was out of her life, it was as if I had never been born. And so you and your brother and I are the missing leaves on a family tree.
Do they ever wonder if we exist?
Before I was two, I was adopted by an Anglo couple. Fed three square meals a day, I grew like a wild weed and grasped all the opportunities they had to offer—books, music, education, church life and community activities. In a family of blue-eyed blonds, though, I stood out like a sore thumb. Whether from jealousy or fear of someone who looked so different, my older brothers sometimes teased me about my unpleasing skin, or made fun of my clumsy walk. Moody and impatient, burdened by fears that none of us realized resulted from my early years of need, I was not an easy child to love. My mother and I conflicted countless times over the years, but gradually came to see one another as real human beings with faults and talents, and as women of strength in our own right. Lacking a mirror image in the mother who raised me, I had to seek my identity as a woman on my own. The Asian American community has helped me regain my double identity.
But part of me will always be missing: my beginnings, my personal history, all the delicate details that give a person her origin. Nevertheless, someone gave me a lucky name “Siu Wai”. “Siu” means “little”, and “Wai” means “clever”. Therefore, my baby name was “Clever little one.” Who chose those words? Who cared enough to note my arrival in the world?
I lost my Chinese name for 18 years. It was Americanized for convenience to “Sue”. But like an ill-fitting coat, it made me uncomfortable. I hated the name. But even more, I hated being Chinese. It took many years to become proud of my Asian origin and work up the courage to take back my birth-name. That, plus a little knowledge of classroom Cantonese is all the Chinese culture I have to offer you. Not white, certainly, but not really Asian, I try to pave the way between the two worlds and bridge the gap for you. Your name, “Shao-ming”, is very much like mine—“Shao” means “little”. And “ming” is “bright”, as in a shining sun or moon. Whose lives will you brighten, little Maya? Your past is more complete than mine, and each day I cradle you in your babyhood, generously giving you the loving care I lacked for my first two years. When I pat you, I comfort the lost baby inside me who still cries for her mother.
Sweet Maya, it doesn’t matter what you “become” later on. You have already fulfilled my wildest dreams.
I love you.
Mammy
1. Why is June 6, 1990 a special day for Mommy?| A．Her dream of being a mother came true. | B．She found her origin from her Chinese mother. |
| C．She wrote the letter to her daughter. | D．Her female line was well linked. |
| A．It is bitter and disappointing. | B．It is painful but understandable. |
| C．She feels sorry but sympathetic. | D．She feels hurt and angry. |
| A．I walked clumsily out of pains. | B．I was not easy to love due to jealousy. |
| C．I was impatient out of fear. | D．I looked different from others. |
| A．She used to experience an identity crisis. | B．She fought against her American identity. |
| C．She forgot the pains of her early years. | D．She kept her love for Asia from childhood. |
| A．To match her own birth-name. | B．To brighten the lives of the family. |
| C．To identify her with Chinese origin. | D．To justify her pride in Chinese culture. |
| A．her past was completed earlier than Shao-ming’s |
| B．Shao-ming has got motherly care and a sense of roots |
| C．her mother didn’t comfort her the way she did Shao-ming |
| D．her past was spent brokenly, first in Asia, then in the US |
