Happy day of English. It's ridiculous and nonsense but the new decision is dividing days into these 2 alternative homelands which means mother-tongue and the second masking, odd, bizarre and strange language that you can easily hide yourself behind it. I'm not certain this sentence is now coming or iv'e already written it, perhaps here. Anyway, today I completely hooked on this language by reading those effective, useful book i stole them from H, owing them to myself by highlighting them and eventually, having done some lines yellow, H totally forgot those books.
The next phase, to devoting intensely myself into this monotonous plan was reading Newyorker short story was always cheer me up but being as a part of the first day of something special turned it out to an obligatory task. The story was about alone son whose recently lost his father and his mother has an affair of a collage professor to make a long relationship. The family's economic situation became weak near to the impoverished so that they moved to a new area where is run-down, filthy, crowd, full of the low- class people whose they should deal with them.
one of them is the kind, polite, old handy me drinking beer all the time in front of his porch where is the scene of the boy's house. After a while, the man started talking with the boy by memorizing the old days of his youth years in Irland when they were overjoyed and delighted. After potato famine, they like many other Irlandian family migrated to the U.S with a lot of hopes seeking for unique chances but there's nothing for them except driving caps.
Their friendship lasts by talking and listening such this- those were the days- conversation.But the boy feels grate and absolutely blessed because he thinks that he finally has a friend without any sorrow and mournful glance the he should admit from his classmate. To him, being friend of someone is the most invaluable treasure, no matter he's as old as his father.
A night everything suddenly changed. they go to the camp teenage party, the man gave him ride, the first wine and the first kiss.
the man is sort of fall in love with the boy. when the man ask him about the kiss, he couldn't talk. he's confused and shocked. on the other hand, he needs to be friend with this old guy. there's nothing in the universe to fill the huge hole out.
he tried to play cool, not offended, hardly tried to make a smile on the face.
I'd like this part of deep feeling exploring in the rare awkward moment. these commemorative scenes make the difference between an ordinary story or a masterpiece. so many elaborated details to delve into.
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Today i got another annoy msg from another obnoxious person who called himself writer. I really can bear this title and self- confidence. Having answered the mediocre, weird writer, i felt relieved but i still baffled how much self esteem they have, how cheep they are. I don't want to be a judgmental one but they are really rude with always demanding question that you must answer.
to be calm myself down and not jumping to the conclusion, I searched them on the internet to discover their hidden sunbeams. the searching procedure made me more irritated. How is it possible to think and accept or even boast you with this kind of resume?
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Another step of sticking to this new program was reading plenty of new yorkr's flash fictions. To be honest, i cant bring myself to like them. they are boring and tedious.
The last but not least was reading "my year of rest and relaxation that make positive impacts on me however the book doesn't have much hopeful,light spots to affect.
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I'm looking forward to waking up tomorrow, starting a vernacular day of writing, typing and reading in farsi. wish me luck.
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