sorry. How do I pronounce your name again? Ah-Choo? Ah-Chi? Ann? What? Oh, I see, An like Ann. Chee like cheese. Ann-Cheese. That should do it. I got it. Ann-Cheese, without the ‘s’! Did I get it right this time? What? A-n. Not A-n-n. An-c-hee. Oh, one more try. Okay, Anchee. Is it Anchee? Yes, I got it! Anchee!”
I turned to my
English 900 Sentences
while Takisha continued on the phone. It was hard to concentrate with the noise. I left the room and went to sit on the floor in the hallway. I buried myself in the book for hours on end. What confused me the most about English was its sentence structure, which was completely different from Chinese. For example, “You are not a thief,” a policeman might ask. “You didn’t steal, did you?”
In English, one would answer, “No, I didn’t.” But in Chinese, you must answer yes, meaning, “You are correct, I didn’t steal.” But it would be wrong in English if I said, “Yes, I didn’t steal.”
I also had great difficulty with
on, in, the, am, was, are,
and
were
. I could never figure out where and when to use them.
Have been, has been,
and
had been
also gave me trouble.
“Good night, Ann Chee,” Takisha said, turning the light off on herside. I covered my lamp with my jacket and the room was instantly dark and quiet. I was tired and wished that I could go to sleep, but I knew I couldn’t waste any time.
The next morning, the sound of a door slamming jolted me awake. It was followed by Takisha’s loud voice: “Oh, I am
soooooo
sorry!”
This would be my alarm clock from now on. Takisha had a habit of slamming the door and then saying, “Oh, I am
soooooo
sorry!”
It was still dark outside after Takisha took her shower. She was drying herself with a towel in front of me. She didn’t seem to be concerned about revealing her naked body in front of a stranger.
I left the dorm as soon as Takisha did. The day’s task I had set for myself was to go to downtown Chicago. I planned to look for a job waitressing or dishwashing. I would knock on the doors of Chinese restaurants.
The tall buildings in Chicago were fantastic in my eyes. I didn’t feel real walking between them. I was reminded how far I had come from home, that my feet were truly on American soil. I remembered the news clip depicting America’s poor as I walked past the Chicago city hall, where a small group of people was picketing. It was as if I had stepped into the same TV scene, except it was not black-and-white.
I was surprised by how fancy the post office was. A large American flag hung above its entrance. I wanted to take a picture of myself under that flag and mail it home. My parents were worried about me. My letter to them would take three weeks to arrive in China.
I found a sign that read CHINESE RESTAURANT on Michigan Avenue and let myself in.
A lady greeted me asking, “How many?”
I put on my best smile and replied politely in Chinese, “Do you need a waitress or a dishwasher?”
The lady looked disappointed. She shook her head and waved me away.
I tried another restaurant and received the same response. I kept on. The begging part was the most difficult. I told myself that I must learn to get used to it.
I went as far as my legs could carry me. By the end of the day, I was tired and starving. I had visited every Chinese restaurant in downtown Chicago, but without luck. The one Chinese carry-out-only restaurant owner who had a help-wanted sign in his window said to me, “No English, no job.”
On the sidewalk I was blocked by a fat lady who looked like a wrestler. She wore a dirty, grease-covered, brown knee-length coat. Holding a cardboard sign, she approached me. A strong scent of cheap perfume came from her messy orange hair. She spoke to me, but I couldn’t understand.
“Sorry me no English,” I apologized.
She flashed the sign in front of my face and stuck out her hand. “Spare some change?”
I took out my dictionary and looked up the words on her sign,
I turned to my
English 900 Sentences
while Takisha continued on the phone. It was hard to concentrate with the noise. I left the room and went to sit on the floor in the hallway. I buried myself in the book for hours on end. What confused me the most about English was its sentence structure, which was completely different from Chinese. For example, “You are not a thief,” a policeman might ask. “You didn’t steal, did you?”
In English, one would answer, “No, I didn’t.” But in Chinese, you must answer yes, meaning, “You are correct, I didn’t steal.” But it would be wrong in English if I said, “Yes, I didn’t steal.”
I also had great difficulty with
on, in, the, am, was, are,
and
were
. I could never figure out where and when to use them.
Have been, has been,
and
had been
also gave me trouble.
“Good night, Ann Chee,” Takisha said, turning the light off on herside. I covered my lamp with my jacket and the room was instantly dark and quiet. I was tired and wished that I could go to sleep, but I knew I couldn’t waste any time.
The next morning, the sound of a door slamming jolted me awake. It was followed by Takisha’s loud voice: “Oh, I am
soooooo
sorry!”
This would be my alarm clock from now on. Takisha had a habit of slamming the door and then saying, “Oh, I am
soooooo
sorry!”
It was still dark outside after Takisha took her shower. She was drying herself with a towel in front of me. She didn’t seem to be concerned about revealing her naked body in front of a stranger.
I left the dorm as soon as Takisha did. The day’s task I had set for myself was to go to downtown Chicago. I planned to look for a job waitressing or dishwashing. I would knock on the doors of Chinese restaurants.
The tall buildings in Chicago were fantastic in my eyes. I didn’t feel real walking between them. I was reminded how far I had come from home, that my feet were truly on American soil. I remembered the news clip depicting America’s poor as I walked past the Chicago city hall, where a small group of people was picketing. It was as if I had stepped into the same TV scene, except it was not black-and-white.
I was surprised by how fancy the post office was. A large American flag hung above its entrance. I wanted to take a picture of myself under that flag and mail it home. My parents were worried about me. My letter to them would take three weeks to arrive in China.
I found a sign that read CHINESE RESTAURANT on Michigan Avenue and let myself in.
A lady greeted me asking, “How many?”
I put on my best smile and replied politely in Chinese, “Do you need a waitress or a dishwasher?”
The lady looked disappointed. She shook her head and waved me away.
I tried another restaurant and received the same response. I kept on. The begging part was the most difficult. I told myself that I must learn to get used to it.
I went as far as my legs could carry me. By the end of the day, I was tired and starving. I had visited every Chinese restaurant in downtown Chicago, but without luck. The one Chinese carry-out-only restaurant owner who had a help-wanted sign in his window said to me, “No English, no job.”
On the sidewalk I was blocked by a fat lady who looked like a wrestler. She wore a dirty, grease-covered, brown knee-length coat. Holding a cardboard sign, she approached me. A strong scent of cheap perfume came from her messy orange hair. She spoke to me, but I couldn’t understand.
“Sorry me no English,” I apologized.
She flashed the sign in front of my face and stuck out her hand. “Spare some change?”
I took out my dictionary and looked up the words on her sign,
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