"Rye" & "White"

I woke up early this morning, brushed my teeth and combed my hair with my sturdy fingers. My hair still stuck up; I smeared a layer of L.A Cool gel on top of it. "It worked", I mumbled in front of a mirror and grinned. I put my shoes on, ran down to the garage and drove to the market at a quick speed.  You may probably be asking, "what is the rush?"

I was anxious that a day before Thanksgiving, the market would be flocked by hundreds of people as the sun was moving upward. I certainly didn't want to consume much time  wedging myself amid the crowd and yelled out, "how much is this and how much are those?" I completed my shopping spree within 30 minutes and felt like I won a trophy.

The time was 10 a.m. and what else is better than having a nutritious breakfast, including two eggs, some ham or bacon, coffee and bread. I love my toasted rye bread with strawberry jam on it. Very often, when a waiter asks, "What kind of bread do you like?" I always say, "RYE", but they bring me "White" bread instead. In the beginning, I kept my mouth shut because of two reasons. First, I was shy and ashamed that I couldn't pronouce the "R" sound distinctively. My complaint was only revealing my disability. Second, I didn't want to make a fuss and waste the "White" bread. 

I contemplated, "It's not the way to solve the misunderstanding. I have to make them know what I want." This particular process that we address is called "communication". If the person doesn't know what I am conveying in words, we are not communicating. Therefore, nowadays, I will try my utmost to curl my tounge back touching my upper palate slowly and spew the word "RYE" out. If I still see a blur on a waiter's face, I spell the word out, "R-Y-E". I am commanding myself that I won't settle for less anymore as Americans always want to be No. 1.
  

Finally here, but it seems everything is rolling out again ...

I did it; I created my personal blog, called the "Cotton Boy" after more than a year of hesitation. I was asked to write, I winced and denied my ability. I questioned myself if I was able to convey my inner feeling into words and laid my emotion flatly in the language of English. There is no doubt that I can speak Cantonese, write Chinese and read both traditional and simplified Chinese. As for writing in English, am I ripened enough that you can taste my words? I wondered this and questioned that. I, at the same time, was worried too much how others judge and comment each word I was spitting out.

"Cotton boy, you should write! Your writing is unique and funny. I like reading your posts; my sister and my mom like yours, " proclaimed by a friend. I was flattered, and spontaneously breathed out an exclamation word, "Really?" "Yes, really. You have to believe yourself and write how you feel because your perspective of seeing things in America is interesting. All you need to pay attention to is speak slowly and don't mess up the words, "clock" and "cock". They indicate two individual objects which they don't look alike at all." I grinned and pondered, "I guess it is time!"

I am now standing up in the sky, floating along with the clouds, telling the world that I have stories to share. Follow me and be my witness as I, a Chinese immigrant, am encountering countless hilarious incidents while trying so hard to mingle into the melting pot, America!