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Middle class, we can manage,
but without an open door, we're dirt poor.

Is college a pity game, where exactly is the aim?
Do we have to lead pitiful lives to get some acknowledgement?
It's a shame, because these gold chains are rusting.
I don't know who the students of California should be trusting.

Athletically,
Musically,
Academically,
Passion and Skills,
Sacrifice,
But for what?
Useless it seems, nothing redeemed
Dreams cut short, depraved of the right to live,
Leaders of California,
Can't you just give?

Potential world-changers,
Embrace the current economic dangers,
Decisions of the present,
their affects in the future ascent

Middle class, we can manage,
but without an open door, we're dirt poor.

A Pair of Tickets

Missing Pieces

Focusing on: A Pair of Tickets

This chapter made me feel really pained and gloomy. It made me feel as if I had woken up after being beaten up. The images portrayed in A Pair of Tickets were all, in a sense, like old polaroids. Just like a person crying over past memories and losses, this chapter was able to create the same kind of mood and made me feel a grievance, a longing. When I read the story of Jing-mei's mother I was disappointed at her. I understood that she was trying to do what was best, what was logical, but I felt that she had given up on her daughters too soon. It was not only because of the fact that she had left them vulnerably on the side of the road, but it was also because of the fact that she had been saved. I felt that if she had held onto her daughters, she could have saved both them and herself. I hated the irony behind the situation!

One noun to describe the relationship between Jing-mei and her sisters is "affinity." Even though Jing-mei and her sisters have never met, they are immediately drawn to each other and are able to feel the same emotions once they met. Page 331 portrays this when it says, "As soon as I get beyond the gate, we run toward each other, all three of us embracing, all hesitations and expectations forgotten...'Mama, Mama,' we murmur, as if she is among us." This scene expresses the fact that they were all naturally drawn to one another and also are able to sympathize with each other over their mother's death.

One writing technique that Amy Tan uses in this chapter is similie. An example of this is shown on page 328 where it says, "...this was impossible, like looking for a needle on the bottom of the ocean." The word "needle" is used to symbolize the daughters, and the word "ocean" is used to symbolize China or Shanghai. Through using similie, Tan is able to emphasize the condition of the situation, of Jing-mei's mom finding her daughters, which is nearly "impossible," just like looking for a small piece of metal in a large expanse of endless water.

I believe that the main conflict of this chapter is that Jing-mei is scared and doesn't know what to tell her sisters, about their mother's death. This conflict is internal and Human vs.Self. Jing-mei herself, is having a hard time accepting the fact that her mother is dead and is unprepared to tell her sisters about it as well. Jing-mei struggles within herself, worrying and trying her best to prepare for the meeting. I believe that this problem can also become an internal conflict for the sisters as well, in that they will also have to go through what Jing-mei is facing.

A Pair of Tickets

Poem

From my father,
an abnormally long second toe,
that both creeps me out and makes me laugh.
Even when wearing a dress,
I habitually keep my legs crossed.
" Two please," we say at our favorite restaurant.
Sing.Sang.Song.
Whether to sing on key,
on beat,
up scales, I have an ability.
Dream. Hope. Wish.
I want to become a singer,
I want to be known.
He doesn't flinch, he doesn't take me seriously,
thinking that I won't be able to handle it.
Instead, he turns my head back to reality.
"You need to get a scholarship," "I want to retire,"
when I expose my well earned "A" to his pride-filled eyes.
This pride flows like an electric current from his heart to his certain mouth, triggering my uncontrollable sorrow.
But it's too late,
this desire, this dream has spread like a virus, and is lingering silently, hiding in the deep crevices of my heart.
Seeing my downcast face,
he consoles me, stating Bible verses and words of wisdom.
He always trying his best to be patient, proper, pure...
He is a jack-in-a-box, always falling, but always
clumsily getting back up.
I try.
I try like him, but sometimes,
I let my failures drag me into its pit of despair,
just like him.

From my mother,
double-jointed thumbs, light skin, and a natural blush that flares like the rising sun.
Like her, I have the tendency to eat a meal like there is no tomorrow.
Easily irritated, I hear with the small ears that she gave me,
an authoritive voice,
yelling like a sensitive drill sergeant at my little sister;
this yelling has now become my own.
With the same reassuring hands that embrace my tired spirit, she hits my back,
reminding me to keep my shoulders straight, head high, and self-confidence steady.
"Always be positive."
Working endlessly at a cubicle, like a diligent spring bee, she becomes plump with pitiful complaints.
She seeks eternal peace, undisturbed quiet, and a squeaky-clean house.
Watching her live with her mother-in-law, serving and scrubbing,
I don't have any desires to get married.
Watching her laugh like an excited child,
sharing recipes and conversations with her friends,
I can see myself in 30 years.

From my older sister,
her voice's echo, a tone lower.
Placing her morality scale in my head, I have learned to analyze the possible intentions behind every action that a person makes,
every word.
Her insensitive, ironic remarks of "don't get butt hurt,"contaminate me,
as she unknowingly steps on my dignity.
Athletic, ambitious, critical, sensitive, yet childish and insecure,
she intimidates me;
like a hidden bomb, waiting to be ignited.
I watch her from the corner of my eye,
answering as quickly and accurately as possible,
afraid of pushing her buttons.
Harsh words, misinterpreted intentions...
She cares,
I am certain.
My older sister gives me advice, backs me up when life gets difficult, and
apologizes for her wrongs.

From my little sister,

my first white hairs. She is the 80 pounds of inevitable trouble and joy that I drag along with me everyday.

Witty, childish behavior that shakes me,

that makes me scream,

like a small tea pot overflowing with steam that scurridely escapes through small vents.

On other days, riddles dance excitedly out of her mouth, trying her best to entertain me.

Through her, I have gotten a taste of sacrifice,

how it is to live for someone else.

She is also a mirror that blinds me, reflecting the negative effects that my hyprocritical,

hurtful,

words have on other people. Shouts that were once my mother's shouts, my shouts, have become hers.

She is my tail, always following whatever I do.

A realization,

genuine guilt and sudden sorrow overtake my easily exasperated nature, whenever I see her tears,

her palpable pain.

Her small heart is crushed.

In her is a reflection of my dad, mom, sister, and myself.

In her is an innocence that illuminates, an uncontrollable joy that comforts me.

From my family, I have learned that a person's flaws make up who they are, and that these flaws are not necessarily meant to be followed.