(Written by a young woman in her first year in America)

          On the evening of March sixteeth, I received a call from Mr. Wang whom I hadn't seen for more than a year.  He's my old friend from Beijing who had just arrived in Seattle.  He planned to stay there only two days and had a suitcase he'd brought for me from Beijing with some of my personal things so I planning my first train trip in the USA.

          Here in Portland, I bought a ticket the next morning for train # 500.  It was scheduled to start at 8:15 and arrive at 11:15.  My return trip on train #501 would leave at 1:45 p.m. and arrive at 6:15.

          After I said goodbye to my husband, he went to work, I got on the train, and my first feeling was one of disappointment, as the train didn't start until 9:00.  It also stopped every twenty minutes thereafter, and each time the conductor apologized to everyone.  I heard the word "apology" many, many times on the way to Seattle.

          The funny thing was that the conductor didn't know how many times the train would stop nor how long each delay would be.

          Finally the train arrived in Seattle at 1:19 p.m.  That left only a few minutes for me to spend with my friend so we didn't go to a restaurant as planned.  He'd come all the way from China, I hadn't seen him in a year, and we just had a little more than 10 minutes together before I had to board the train for the return trip to Portland.

          We crawled along on the way back and were 40 minutes late in arriving.  I'd had nothing to eat and my stomach was upset.  The pain lasted several days.

          If I can avoid it, that's the last train ride I'll be taking while I'm living here.

          What a trip! 

(Written by Zhaoxian, a high school student in Beijing)

          It's cool in Beijing this September - good weather for sports, but unfortunately, I've had to spend my time studying.  It has been almost three weeks since school began, and I'm having difficult adapting again to academic life.  Since the summer vacation, we've been hearing about a new basketball court that will be built at our school.  It's supposed to be twice as large as the old one and the backboard and net will be brand new.  It can't come quickly enough.  I can't wait.

          Another change - having to do with lunchtime - has already occurred, and I wish it hadn't.

          This past year when I'd hear the "RRRRRing" of the lunchtime bell, I'd fly out of the classroom door and perhaps my good friend Boxin would poke me in the ribs good naturedly as we rushed to the mess hall.  Then all my friends would pile in laughing and squawking like a bunch of chickens.  We were always the first one in the lines, and we chose the best dishes, ate at the same table.  I'd spread a steamed bun with gobs of mayo and wash it down with cold soup.  Xiang - another of my friends would shout a bad joke and everyone would moan.  We felt as free as birds in the sky.

          This year, however, our classroom has been moved from the second to the fifth floor, and as a result, we're always the last ones to even get near the mess hall.  Students are already massed at the door trying to push their way in, and in joining them, we all get stuck together like a pot of jam.

          When finally inside, we have to stand in line for a long time and find that all the best food has been taken.  Sometimes there are only bits and pieces and there have been times when everything we wanted was gone.  For that reason, some of my friends don't have lunch at school anymore.

          The sad result of the change is that we've lost the good times we used to have.

(Written by Zhaoxian, a high school student in Beijing)

          As Teacher's Day was this week, I decided last Thursday to visit Mrs. Bao whom I'd known in elementary school.  She was my math teacher.  It took me nearly an hour to get there as I rode my bike and her home is across town.  That gave me a lot of time to think of how important she was to me back then.  I talked with her almost every day.

          I've written that she was my math teacher and that isn't exactly true.  She wasn't a teacher in my school; she worked in another one, but I was lucky to have her living in the same apartment building.  I was very curious about math in those days and sometimes had problems in my homework that I couldn't figure out.  When my parents couldn't solve them either, I could always knock on Mrs. Bao's door, and I'll never forget how much she helped me.  From the time I was seven, I was one of her unofficial studlents.

          She was a very kind woman.  She'd hear me knock and a few minutes later the door would open.  After greeting me with a big smile, she'd say, "That's my good boy.  How are you, Zhaoxian?"

          I'd smile, too, making sure it was one of my best smiles, and she'd start to let me in.  Before I was inside, I'd start telling her the possible solutions I'd used on the problems that were troubling me, and she'd patiently explain various methods I could have used.  She was such a good teacher that I was always begging her to teach me more. 

          She not only taught me, but all the other children in our building.  There were five of us including my cousin.  He wasn't good at math so she worked with him even more than she did with me.  He felt guilty about asking for help so often, but she would reassure him amiably by saying, "Don't worry' just try again in a different way."  With her help, he became more confident.

          We were Mrs. Bao's children, and we came and went, grew up, went away to high school, and eventually all moved out of the old building.  New children came along to take our places.  I didn't really know if Mrs. Bao had retired, but it was unimaginable to think of her without children in her life.

          I had planned to just drop in to see her and say hello, and when I arrived, I walked to her door like old times and knocked as I called out, "Mrs. Bao?"

          A few minutes later, the door opened and Mrs. Bao was standing in front of me.  She looked much older, and my first impression was that perhaps she was a bit senile.  She stood there - peering at me - and it was apparent that she didn't know who i was and that was all right' she hadn't known I was coming and hadn't seen me in almost eight years.

          "I used to be one of your students", I said, "I always asked you a lot of questions about my homework."

          She nodded, but didn't say a word.

          "So how are you now?  Are you still working in a school or have you retired?  Are there still a lot of children asking for your help like I did?"

          I gave her a big smile, and she opened the door a little wider.

          "Anyway.....", I said lamely, "I want to thank you for what you've done for me.  You gave me a love for math, and I still like it very much now that I'm in high school.  Sometimes I even get a high score.  That's all because you helped me when I was a little.

          She hesitated a moment and then raised her head and I saw once again the smile I'd known so well - the same one she'd always used - and I heard her say softly, "My good boy.  How are you, Zhaoxian."