It has now been one week since I came back from America. The hysteria for the drastic drop of life quality has now been gradually wearing off. Going back home makes me experience another culture shock- this time the culture in which I have been brough up becomes the shock to me. It's not a very happy experience after all; in fact, it witnesses my deep despondancy and unwillingness. However it should be where I belong, and there's no way resisting that fact. Though I still pine for the life back in America, or to be more specific, life back in Harvard summer school, yet the life here must go on, and for one thing if I want to go back, I must to a greater extent endure what comes to me next here in my life in China.

   The first few days have been extremely hard and depressing for me: I can't count how many times I suddenly broke down in chemistry class and started to shed tears. Those were only acute pain which were caused by sudden reminiscence of some details back in summer school; they didn't last long. But the overall depressed blues didn't go away until several days later. Right after I arrived at Guangzhou, I went back home, took a shower, had my breakfast, and went straight to school. And it was then when I was in dad's car that the tears eventually came out. I hadn't been crying in the last few days in summer school as many others had; I hadn't cried on the plane as I excused myself for not crying during summer school. But I did cry after all of these were over and suddenly I found out I was in the middle of nowhere, or in the middle of everywhere, and that sense of lost and helplessness all soured towards me. The first several nights were hard to get pass as well. Since I was still a little bit jet-lagged though I had done nothing but sleeping on my flight back, I went to bed as early as eight-thirty everyday. And usually I would wake up in the middle of the night, found myself lying on a bed that was so unfamiliar, and the surroudings were dim and dark, I could no longer smell the special fragrance of midnight in New England. The unfamiliarity and the sudden realization that the happy time was over made me even more exhausted than before sleep. I used skype to talk to my friends, so eagerly connecting with them instead of my classmates back in the chemistry lab, who were much more tangible and real. I feared that that sense of originality when using English might gradually be eroded if I didn't create an English environment of my own, so I went online to English websites and didn't use any Chinese networks. My friend, Stefan, who was going to take the TOEFL test, was forced to speak English with me. But no matter how hard I tried to preserve some parts of my life in summer school, they still slipped away- voluntarily or forced,it doesn't matter.

   I felt so sad when I removed my nail polish. The joy of going out with my family and some friends to the movies disappeared suddenly when my nails became bland pink, so dry and sterile after being abused by the nail-polish remover. I remembered the times I stayed in Bianca's room and we painted our nails together; she chose the color for me, and I have been sticked to that color ever since. The last time I was in her room painting my nail, we almost cried because the imminent departure. She offered me that nail polish but I said no; there's no way for me to continue to use that in China. I don't know if Bianca had packed that nail polish with her- she most likely didn't, because she had so many clothes and shoes and other make-ups to pack; but if she did, I hope everytime she sees that blue-greenish nail polish, she would think of me, a Chinese girl who first refused her hug but then became her best friend.

   I bargained with my parents and won over the right to preserve my toe nail polish. Most of the time they will be hidden inside the shoes- another major difference between China and America: girls in America seldom wear sneakers- so that really doesn't matter if I still have it or not. And I know that as my toe nails grow longer- which they usually do in an astonishing speed- the nail polish will start to be crooked and peel off. Eventually I have to remove them; but let that moment come as late as possible.

   And when I'm sitting inside my school's dining hall, swallowing down every bite of real Chinese food in my lunch box, I will think of Annenberg, the place which has been severely criticized for its lack of good food, and the place which has always been raved because of its resemblence to the dining hall in Harry Potter. I remember I once thought of writing about the tainted glass in Annenberg as a piece of art, but it was so hard for me so I found something else to write. I miss New England clam chowder so much, and once when I was in Tianyu plaza trying to find a place to have lunch, I saw "cream clm chowder"on rbt's menu, and I ran away with accumulating nostalgia and depression generated by that familiar yet changed name. I'm now very fed up by Chinese food; everytime when somehow complains about the unhealthy American food I will protest, because I've actually lost some weight there. The last two weeks I only had salad for every meal, and although I still can have only vegetables here, the way they are cooked are far unhealthier than that of salads. I miss the tasted of raw vegetables and all kinds of beans, and the real orange juice which I used to have for every single meal.

   Some of my clothes are banned here too. My mom explains that it's because of a totally different culture; and I accept that. Chinese culture looks heavily upon on someone's internal virtue, and that sometimes means hatred or disgust towards over-exposure of external beauty. Unlike American parents who start to dress their kids up and paint their nails and help them do make-up, Chinese parents dress their kids up too, but in an old-fashioned and conservative way, and they ban nail polish and make up, categorizing them as evil influence like computer games and relationships with the opposite sex. I clearly didn't expect that when I was shopping in H&M, because nearly all the clothes I bought there, expect for a pair of sport pants, were not really acceptable to my parents' dressing code. Some of them were plain and ordinary enough to me, but my parents still think it doesn't coordinate with my age: I should wear mere red or green or blue, instead of black or silver; I should try to wear more shabby clothes intead of tanks or tights; skirts ought to be as long as my knees, otherwise it would be inappropriate. So the basic principle of the way they want their fifteen-and-will-turn-sixteen-soon daughter to dress is dressing ordinarily, with T-shirts and sports pants and a pair of sneakers and nothing is better than that. What can I do other than listening to them when they demand me to change? I am the fifteen-and-will-turn-sixteen-soon daughter. There is not right protecting me against their dressing code.

   The list of differences and culture collisions is much much much longer than the one given above, but it's Sunday morning and I believe it's good thing to stop at what I've alreayd had; otherwise that sense of depression will come over me again. As simple as a saying, it's good when you don't compare; and when you start to compare, that's when all the evil comes out.

   Like my mom said, one should be able to adapt to every environment into which they are thrown. But it's commonly accepted that human nature determines people's general preference towards more comfortable and cozier life. America has turned me into a slacker- as Jill predicted in the very first essay class- and it pitts me with the environment I'm currently in. Can I really blame America? Probably not, because I could still choose to work laboriously in summer school. But I chose to blend myself in with those native Americans, and that to some extent meant hanging around and not studying. I have learned a lot, about the way they study, work and live; I have learned a lot, from my class and from my interaction with all the Americans; and I have learned a lot, about possible ways to waste time without feeling guilty. The latter is severely reprimanded and whipped here, by my parents and by the general Chinese society. But one will be hypocrite if he says he won't start to melt down when placed in that environment and begin to enjoy that particular lifestyle. I will. I mean I did. And obviously it's much harder to go the other way around: it's easier to drop from a higher place to a lower one, but it requires determination and hardwork to ascend from the lower place to the upper one.

   I won't blame my parents for worrying about my status, since I admit that I am a total slacker comparing to them and to my fellow classmates. But there is some part of the memories that I want to preserve and remain intact, and that consists of several party songs and several outfits. Overall it's no good hovering around the memories I've had; it's summer, and it's gone.

   One week, two weeks, a month, two months, half an year, a year.

   Time flies and it's usually the wiser choice to pack your memories and get ready for the new life.