The gift for the 22 years old birthday

I just had a gift for myself for my 22 years old birthday and which might probably the best present I had ever had for my life.

Until now I am still not sure whether it is a right or wrong decision -- the decision to take the graduate school exam.

"Go take a master degree and it would be easier for you to find a high pay job." This is the first reason I think of to convince myself to take the exam. But very soon I found out this reason is too weak to support my will to go on, so all kinds of ideas come to my head later on; from "because your sister had a master degree, so you should also get one" or "you owe mom and dad a diploma of master" to " you got to go to the graduate school or you will lose your chance to meet your Mr.rignt" and various ridiculous reasons that I came up with just to help myself to believe I didn't make a wrong decision. Then finally it was the time I started to realize there was no way back and the only thing I could do is just move on. The whole nightmare began from there—and it was a nightmare which last for 323 days.

The 323 days nightmare could be divided into three stages. The first stage started from summer vacation to winter vacation which I called it as the O.K stage, the time though I got angry fairly easily with, but I was cool still. Coming up was the time your body couldn't feel a thing. You walked but your soul was left behind somewhere. You laughed but you could hear your heart crying. Your eyes are constantly looking for help but no one answer you. You wanna talk but no one listen. Sometimes you even wonder if you wanna die, no one would even make any effort to stop you. So it's not a big deal really that I cried three times a day and three days a week or even more, just as a way and the only way to let it out.

The problem was by the day of exam got closer and closer, I shed fewer and fewer tears, because you had no time to waste on crying. If I knew it would cause me such a pain and I have to through all this to prepare for the graduate school; I certainly wouldn’t go for this.

I felt terrible sorry for Mom and Dad to have such a daughter like me, especially for Mom. Maybe it was because I was too close with you and I always took you as a close friend rather than the role of mother, so I also took it for granted that you should share my sorrow, my trouble and even my anger as well as your sharing my secrets. But it hurt you, didn't it? Although I try to do everything to make up what I did and what I say that hurt you, I know you was still hurt by me.

Remember it was the day before your birthday, you went out with two aunts to celebrate your birthday and I came home from school, found out that you was not in yet, so I decided to sleep for a while and then got up to study. At about 8: 30, you came home and woke me up:

"Did you have your supper?"

"No." I replied with cold tone.

"Why didn't you buy something for yourself to eat?"

"I was not hungry." I was annoyed and got up from the bed.

"What do you want to eat? You went on.

"Whatever, and I said I was not hungry."

"You say this because you are angry at my being not at home when you came back."

"No!" Both of us were raising our voice.

"Yes, you are. You show your anger on your face." You were screaming.

"What's the problem with you? When I say 'No' I mean 'No'." I shouted.

The silence.

"What have I done to deserve such a daughter like you!" You were almost crying when you said this, but my heart broke into pieces when these words came out from your mouth.

Although the fight ended up peaceful later on with the birthday card I made for you, but I knew you were hurt.

Things like that happened all the time, and I was always the one who arouse it.

Yes, I admit I got angry with all of you because I envy you. I envy all of you could do whatever you want and what ever you like; I envy mom can go shopping with aunts at anytime, I envy dad can go fishing with your friends at the sunny days, I envy Monica has a boy friend with the Ph.D., I envy Rachel and Shiela can participate the performance of senior play, But all I can do is bury myself within books and listen to all of you saying the same thing to me:

"Don't give up, Sharon! I know you can do it!"

No, how could you possibly know? I mean, you are not me, how could you possibly know What I had suffered when all of you were having a good time?

Finally, the envy became jealousy. And the jealousy became hatred. And the serious headache coming together with anger, sometimes the headache was so painful that made me even more angry at myself and at everything. My whole body couldn't feel a thing. I was trying hard to bring my soul back but when you did that your mind was forgotten.

At last the exam for the graduate school was all taken. And I also went to the doctor as the pain-killer could no longer stop my headache. But the nightmare didn't stop right there because the most painful and unbearable time was just about to start: you have to wait for the result of the exam and all of your families, relatives, friends who would come to you and ask the same things again and again:

" How is your exam?"

At first, you pretend you didn't care about the result at all, and you replied nicely:

"Oh, it is hopeless. I am well prepared to look for a job."

But by the time more and more people asked you the same question, your patience was running out. Sometime you even have the impulse to kill everyone who ask you this stupid question with the machine gun. Did they really care how is my exam going? No, I bet they didn't.

So my replies to the "how is your exam going" question transformed from "I don't know" to "Good, not bad" and in the end "Couldn't be better, beautiful like a shit" that scare everyone and made them shut up.

I didn't mean to rude or offend anyone. I just couldn't bear the pressure from others and from myself anymore.

Every time on my way home, I kept on telling myself when I drove; “Do it, Sharon! Just close your eyes for a few seconds, and everything would be over. No more pain and no more pressure."

But I had never ever had the guts to do it. Yes, I am a coward. I am too weak to die. And finally I was sent to the hospital when I was founded out faint on the stairs because of the headache. It seemed like I had a x-ray for my brain and several tests during the time I was in coma. I don't know how long I had slept, but in my dream I still can hear mom you constantly calling my name and feel the tears that drop on my face .

When I totally woke up you told me my headache was caused by the great pressure and could be cured by taking drugs, I didn't say anything to your white lie, because I think it will possibly make all of us feel better than facing the truth. The truth I heard when I was semiconscious, the truth that I had a tumor in my brain and had only six months to live.

How nice all of you had had this birthday party for me. You shouldn't buy those present for me, because I had got the best gift ever for my 22 years old birthday--that is, I am going to die.

Please. Please don't spend much money on my funeral, the simpler the better. Just bury all your presents that you gave to me for my 22 years old birthday together with my flute and Maxine Hong Kingston's The Woman Warrior with me, and it should be enough.

And please don't cry for me, mom. I wish I could be your daughter in the next life if you are willing to accept me. And please do forgive my rude attitude toward you. And also, thanks for the people who had put up with my bad temper and unreasonable attitude.

It is such a great relief that I could put down everything and left all the pressure behind, all it because of the best gift I got for my 22 years old birthday, the gift that take my pain away but also is going to end up my life.