The last week was miserable, both in school and at home. I'm here again. So soon it's autumn. The trees are red, some pink and brown. Their dried leaves have fallen on the sod and the atmosphere seems solemn. The air is lazy and induces a drowsy mood in me. I look at the sky between the tall trees and it's grey. The clouds seem motionless. But the water is limpid and still inviting in contrast to the general languor.

I've chosen a comfortable shade to sit under and taken a deep breath.
The scenes of last week are dawning on me. The HM called me to his office and said rather abrasively. You want to be a poet and writer. You are really stupid. This is the age of science and medicine, of engineering, technology and architecture...You won't be able to get a job even with an A in English and why bother to study Latin? You'll regret. The world has enough failed writers....

What if he were right?

That evening after dinner I overheard dad saying to mum. We can't afford a uni education for Ming. He must be able to get a scholarship but I worry as he's poor in math and science. Writes too much poetry. This won't do him much good and he would be behind his peers....

I worried for the next two days and slept badly waking up with nightmares.

( to c' nue)