By Annabelle Quirk

I hate summer. Urgh. By now, most people probably think I’m weird. They worship Summer as the patron goddess of beachside vacations. But I don’t care. Not when I was getting a sensory overload in the middle of a sweaty city when I should’ve been at home. Everything was too much. There was too much sweat on me; too many people milling about; too many stenches I would rather not name just hanging around in the metro like it was a normal thing for them to do. Sadly, it was. The only hobby they had in life seemed to be attacking poor noses in the subway like mine. For all its advertised grand glory, Shanghai didn’t seem to clean or care about the air underground, though most of its population inhale it’s deadly fumes daily for most of

their lives.

I was almost thankful for a cleaner version of the city once I stepped outside. Almost. The buildings ruined it. Great big glass skyscrapers that reflected every pinprick of light into your eyes. I regretted not bringing my sunglasses. Or maybe just something to block out the sight of people eating ice cream. I would kill for an AC room or a scoop of ice cream, I thought. Just when I was about to lie down and accept the fate of becoming a human jerkey strip, I saw it. Shade. And a poster screaming ice cream milkshake. Everything faded into a background buzz as I zeroed in on the shop. All the buildings turned blue, reflecting the sky as the clouds

moved away and the sun brightened into a burning halo of fire. Like aimlessly stumbling in a desert to find the oasis, woozy from the heat, I staggered in.

The glorious smells of calories hit me like a truck on the busy streets. There were fried calories dusted with salt, blended calories, calories wrapped in a bun. I might’ve died and went to heaven. Being the type of human with no self-control, I ordered and sat in a booth, waiting while heady from the scent of food. This was going to be my first meal of the day, I wanted it to taste good. It was one of those newer booths with a couch built with leather and a cushioned back. It felt made specifically for me. It didn’t stick to my skin but was cool to touch, smooth when I ran my hand back and forth over it. It seemed Summer herself couldn’t extend her power there. I remained in this state of wonder until the buzzer jumped and started beeping on the table in front of me. Instantly all thoughts of the couch were gone. I mean, who can keep a straight head when there’s food?

Not me. Food is something to be cherished on the tip of your tongue, as you swallow, it slowly freefalls, warming every inch of your body as it sacrifices its energy to be a part of you. As my mom once said, ‘Food is nourishment for the soul’. I believe this with all my heart. She used to stand in the kitchen watching the stew

simmer while prepping other ingredients for supper. Of course, this didn’t stop her from noticing the delivery I was digging into. She had eyes at the back of her head. For as long as I could remember, delivery was the “taboo” of our household, if Mom noticed a whiff of chemically made food , she would storm over and flick my forehead and tell me, “Good food warms you up from the tips of your toes to the top of your head. Good food is crafted with love. Do you taste love here?” I would shake my head, and my delivery would be replaced, it’s remains staining the rubbish bag.

I could imagine her sitting across from me, lifting her brow and shaking her shoulder length hair out of her face so I could see her disapproving stare. The hamburger wasn’t very welcoming, something she would sneer at and throw in the trash while firmly steering me towards the front door. The burger being the star of her scolding sessions for weeks to come. The cheese felt a day old and not very loving; the bun was stale and the patty was just repulsive. At least the chips tasted nice. If I ever listened to my mom’s lectures on gratitude, I might’ve been overcome with a desire to thank the burger for bringing out all the angelic traits of my chip: it

was crunchy and crisp, it’s insides melting as I chewed, the salt teasing my tongue then slipping away as I frantically shoved the next piece into my mouth.

Before I knew it, the sweet bliss of food ended and I was forced back onto the streets. The sun was so bright that I had to squint my eyes against it’s glare. I instinctively knew it was probably 1 o‘clock in the afternoon, a skill I guess came from the years of surviving summers in the city. But something wasn’t right…Other than the dizziness that came from the sun, something else hung at the back of my mind. It dulled all the colors, even the beams that refracted off the blazing glass surfaces of the buildings. The world looked like a bleached kaleidoscope complete with the spinning. My back was slick with cold sweat, my feet giving out under me. Common sense evaporated like the puddles exposed in Summer’s light as a frantic need for home overcame every instinct in my head.

It was hard finding the direction to go in. My house was one of the many identical buildings in one of the many identical communities. There was a slightly yellow pallor to the exterior paint job, so it looked sick and unwelcoming beneath the sunlight. At night it towered above everything, a beastly thing with numerous glowing eyes that blotted out the stars in the sky, part of the ever-growing maze that forms Shanghai. Stumbling through the maze is not an easy thing to do. Even in daylight. Clamping a hand over my mouth, I pushed through the tide of sweaty bodies, my own wave rising almost as if in violent rebellion, being held back by only the fingers latched across my lips. Bile struck me repeatedly, each time only rising to the tip of my throat then falling back down, as if I could not be spared the freedom of letting it all out. No, the pressure had to build. I began gagging like I had a hairball stuck in my throat, doubling over as I’ve seen my cat do multiple times, my body undulating from the frequency of my retching, all to have it shoved down my throat again. It was all I could do to not fall over in the crowd, but the sheer volume of the people carried me along. I felt like a piece of ragged seaweed being tossed in the currents, seconds away until I disintegrated. Closing my eyes, I could only trust my feet that have walked these grounds for years to find their way.

I returned to the welcoming aroma of stir-fried meat and soy sauce, no doubt something my mom made. Not surprising, given her speech on the importance of protein the night before. I wasn’t sure if I would touch ground beef again though. As if sensing my return, she hollered something that was thankfully covered by the sound of the over-worked vent in the kitchen. I suppose it also covered my stomping as no one seemed to hear my footsteps crashing through the hall or the door that was forced open without the handle being twisted.

“Tsunamis are caused by the movement of the tectonic plates in the crust” I could hear my geography teacher drone in my ear whilst my world kept spinning. “For instance, if an earthquake happened, a tsunami could be triggered.” I was near 90% sure I did not ingest an earthquake. Oh wait, I did. That god forsaken burger. I groaned. I should have stopped at the first bite, but that would be wasting food and would have earned me another scolding from Mom.

“Annabelle what do you think you’re doing?” she would say as she came up, too close for my comfort. “What are you planning to do with that food?” The icy tone always made me yearn for escape; I would rather stay in Antarctica than be confronted by her in that crazed state. Even worse, I knew what would be coming next. “Where do you think our money comes from? You will have a poor adult life if you continue, you are wasting your 福氣(fortune)! Do you want to end up in hell after a sad life?” This was often the final blow, dealt with such nasty precision that my already lowered head dipped even farther as I mumbled my apologies. My heart throbbed with pulses of guilt and regret as my mouth numbly chewed the rice in the porcelain bowl in front of me. I was too humiliated to reach my chopsticks across the table for the hotpot we had that night. But I pretended I was, envisioning my chopsticks reaching across the table and picking up a piece of thinly sliced beef dripping with soup, dabbing it in the sesame sauce mixture and putting it in my mouth. I chewed the rice robotically and felt it land with a thump in my already bursting stomach.

The sweet relief of vomit wrenched me from my thoughts. I arched repeatedly as waves of bile struck the center of the toilet. The acrid, bitter taste traced a line of fire from my stomach to my nose and mouth until I was a burning, kneeling statue. It wasn’t long before I lost my sight from the clouds of tears that filled my eyes, turning everything into a hazy silhouette. I gripped the rim of the toilet even harder, praying for the end as my chest heaved from the exertion of the activity. My clothes became a tight suit that stuck to every inch of my sweaty body. I desperately wanted to brush off the strands of hair that were glued to my wet face, but I was too scared to let go. I could feel the tremors of the next round shaking my core.

Every breath of air stunk of bittersweet bile and burned my nostrils. I stayed kneeling for a while, waiting for my senses to come back to my tired body. I didn’t realize the tightness of my grip until I shakily stood up and noticed my fingers twitching of their own accord. Hauling myself towards the mirror, I splashed my face with cold water, hoping to bring back my soul that felt miles away. I made the mistake of glancing at the mirror.

“Terrible” was a great way to sum it up. If I said I crawled out of hell, no one would even try to act surprised. The bags under my eyes looked like bruises that made my irises seem more like amber, the harsh light giving them a hard glint that reflected the color of my hair. Hair that was tussled and sticking out at every angle possible while dripping with sweat. My entire being looked as if it had been dragged out of water, the state of it suggesting one of those middle-of-nowhere corpse-finds where the body looks so pale it could have been deserted there for weeks with no exposure of sunlight. But this corpse is going to change and have a shower I thought. I lurched forward, shuffling towards my room like a zombie from 1987. All that from a burger.

After making it to bed in clean clothes, everyone somehow finally noticed my frail condition and proceeded to make noise around my bed. Mom lit an 艾草,(an incense that had the effect of warming one’s body) as she tucked in my blankets and felt my temperature, mock-scolding me but busying herself with arranging everything around me until I was swaddled in blankets and fed Chinese medicine. Dad on the other hand kept throwing quizzical stares at me as if vomiting and staying in bed was a crime.

“What?” I snapped.

“Nothing….just why are you overreacting?”

I gaped at him like the goldfish in the local markets.

“It’s just food poisoning, you’ll be fine, it’s not going to kill you.”

He began to rant on and on about some childhood near death experience he had but I wasn’t listening. His words dug a hole inside me that swallowed my organs, hollowing me out. I could feel my heart pumping, but it was empty, no blood was being circulated, everything was on shut-down.

“Go away,” I heard myself say. “Get out of my room.” He had the audacity to look hurt as he backed out, shutting the door behind him, my mom following him, as I finally allowed the tears to spill out of the rims of my eyes. My cat slunk out from under my bed, hopping onto my blankets and begrudgingly letting me stroke his orange fur. It felt soft and layered like goose down as it brushed against my fingers. Gradually, I stopped crying, the soft touch of fur vanishing with the tears. He was a cranky grandpa again, giving me looks that bested my mom’s as he demanded to be let out of the room. I sighed and rolled out of bed to open the door. He left without a second glance.

Later that night, I came out of my room after the umpteenth time my mom called me. The atmosphere felt like we were in a crime scene, their stares telling me I was their suspect for murder. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and sunk into my seat at the table. I proceeded to ignore my dad for the entire duration of

dinner, not bothering to throw him any glances as I cut into my food with more force than necessary. Invoking a curling shriek of metal on porcelain that made everyone wince.

Dinner was uneventful, thankfully. I managed to sneak back to my room without a scolding, quietly shutting the door behind me. But not before I heard my mom whisper-shout, “Go talk to her!” Then changing to rapid fire Chinese. I couldn’t hear her clearly through the door but I caught ‘daughter’, ‘teenager’ then the sound of heavy footsteps coming down the hall. I quickly backed away from the door then plopped myself onto bed, randomly picking a romantasy novel from my bursting bookshelf and pretending I was reading all along and definitely not eavesdropping.

“Hey…uh..I wanted to see how you were feeling?” I made the mistake of looking at him. His hazel eyes were softened by genuine confusion and care as he looked at me with caution, seemingly afraid I would have another outburst.

“What do you think? I practically barfed my guts out.”

“Uh…..” He appeared even more nervous, his hands alternating between resting on the frame of my door and scratching his head. My heart softened at the sight, my anger fading away into sour regret. He seemed like a child who knew he did something wrong but unsure of what. Taking the opportunity to try to talk to me, knowing I could very well shut him out again. So I tried to open up to him, “Maybe it’s food poisoning?” I offered as a way out of this predicament for the both of us.

“Yeah I think so, you know I have had food poisoning before, the trick is to…” Dad was back to his old self again; the familiar light entered his eyes as they always did when he was telling his own stories. This time, I settled down into my blankets and listened.

The reign of Summer drew to a close, her last rays of power falling behind the curtains as the leaves rusted to wrinkly brown, patches of fall dominating the space where the green stragglers once ruled. The worn wrinkles on Autumn’s face were the mirror of the crinkles that lined the pages of my calendar, where I marked in bold red letters, “Autumn’s arrival”, counting the days down till she would come. Walking back down the block, I no longer had to jump from each scrap of shadow to the next. I stopped just at the corner, standing in the mellow light as I stared at the shop that caused me all that drama. It hadn’t really changed, still hidden in the shade. I watched all the people at the window seats, unknowingly eating their hamburgers. An evil thought crossed my mind as I laced my hands behind my head and felt my first real smile for weeks at the weakening sun. Then I ran. And I never returned to that block.

寫作導(dǎo)師

Julia Hollingsworth

Julia擁有University of East Anglia（UEA）創(chuàng)意寫作（非虛構(gòu)方向）碩士學(xué)位，以及Abilene Christian University英語文學(xué)學(xué)士學(xué)位。此外，她還在Institute of Ongoing Education at Cambridge University完成了創(chuàng)意寫作證書課程和文憑課程。2019年，她以本科學(xué)術(shù)論文榮獲德克薩斯創(chuàng)意寫作協(xié)會(huì)頒發(fā)的“最佳本科論文獎(jiǎng)”。

自2019年以來，Julia一直在教育領(lǐng)域工作。她曾擔(dān)任小學(xué)英語教師，教授閱讀、寫作和語法課程；也曾為中學(xué)生提供閱讀與寫作輔導(dǎo)。為更好地支持國際學(xué)生并拓展自身教學(xué)能力，她于2024年完成了“對(duì)外英語教學(xué)”（TEFL）課程。

目前，Julia正在撰寫一本回憶錄，講述她如何掙脫在原教旨主義福音派基督教社區(qū)中成長所帶來的身份束縛。她的寫作多聚焦于家庭關(guān)系及親密關(guān)系中的沖突。她喜愛以人物為核心的敘事風(fēng)格，善于運(yùn)用對(duì)話與場(chǎng)景設(shè)定推動(dòng)情節(jié)發(fā)展。她尤其偏好融合虛構(gòu)與非虛構(gòu)元素的作品。她的心頭好包括Carmen Maria Machado的《夢(mèng)屋》（In The Dream House）、Kathryn Scanlan的《Kick the Latch》以及Toni Morrison的《最藍(lán)的眼睛》（The Bluest Eye）。

Tutor’s comment：

Annabelle,

It was such a joy to watch this essay develop! You have such a strong POV and sense of humor that I hope you never lose. Your descriptions are so unique, insightful, and funny. Not many people can write with humor – but your sarcastic, sometimes dark, way of looking at things is so natural and refreshing.

I have highlighted some of my favorite lines in green, and offered any suggestions or corrections in red/blue. Though I still wondered, why were you out that day? This is not necessary information, just me being nosey. I also think you should leave a review of this place! I have a feeling you weren’t the only one effected…

I hope to see you again in a class someday, and I hope you will consider sending this essay to a publication!

Well done,

Julia

今天的作品來自Story Leading 12-16歲英文創(chuàng)意寫作工作坊

"創(chuàng)意寫作所追求的人性真實(shí)（truthfulness), 無論在虛構(gòu)還是非虛構(gòu)作品中，寫作者的自我都會(huì)呈現(xiàn)，而且需要通過寫作不斷去逼近。人性里的真實(shí)，無論高光的渺小的，驕傲的難堪的，大目標(biāo)還是小心思，都非常值得書寫，也是書寫中很重要的真實(shí)。有太多的'標(biāo)化'寫作已經(jīng)閹割了孩子寫作的真實(shí)感，成為一種標(biāo)準(zhǔn)的文書，就像一個(gè)個(gè)空洞的模板?！?/strong>

想了解這個(gè)青少年創(chuàng)意寫作項(xiàng)目的緣起，可以點(diǎn)擊

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Story Leading Education12-16歲專業(yè)英語創(chuàng)意寫作工作坊

導(dǎo)師：Julia Hollingsworth

體驗(yàn)時(shí)間：2025年9月6日 北京時(shí)間 周六 16:00-17:30

體驗(yàn)平臺(tái)：騰訊會(huì)議 （僅限15席）

適用人群：

1、想嘗試英語寫作的青少年（即將升入或者已經(jīng)開始初高中學(xué)習(xí)）；

2、正在青春期中，希望通過對(duì)內(nèi)心對(duì)世界進(jìn)行探索的青少年；

3、未來有志于用英語學(xué)習(xí)人文專業(yè)的青少年；

4、想要形成自己的英語作品用于申請(qǐng)各類海外夏校、專業(yè)學(xué)術(shù)機(jī)構(gòu)及獎(jiǎng)項(xiàng)的青少年。

報(bào)名條件：1、報(bào)名需提供過往英語寫作作品參考；2、英語需達(dá)到美國孩子5年級(jí)以上閱讀水平。

同時(shí)，新一期的秋季工作坊（2025年9月-12月，）正在報(bào)名中，分為三個(gè)階段。

點(diǎn)擊查看圖片了解詳情，可掃碼聯(lián)系Rey老師進(jìn)行報(bào)名咨詢。

接入全球化的學(xué)習(xí)體系，在互聯(lián)網(wǎng)時(shí)代不再是需要等到上大學(xué)以后才開始的事情。三明治和故事星球Storyland于2020年在英國創(chuàng)立的教育公司Story Leading Education，整合了全球的英文創(chuàng)作資源，將持續(xù)在閱讀、創(chuàng)意寫作、人文社科、藝術(shù)、科學(xué)等方面將優(yōu)質(zhì)的導(dǎo)師團(tuán)隊(duì)和項(xiàng)目帶給全球各地的中國孩子，形成一個(gè)隨時(shí)、隨地可接入的全球創(chuàng)作力社群。

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