soul log

Once you got a dog, you will shout at it. It should be Dog’s Law, or something. I’m on my bike, and then Peanut suddenly runs across in front of me. I brake hard to avoid him getting hit. When I finally stop and see skid marks behind me, Peanut looks at me like nothing has happened and he sits. I shout at him. And he looks like I’m talking about the weather until I lightly bump him. Then he looks like he’s sitting on a fire.

I don’t know, but every time I find Peanut upstairs (he’s not supposed to be there), every time I catch him peeing in the house, I think Peanut is a bit annoying. You get a dog, he’s supposed to care for you, to love you, to sleep with you, but I’m afraid of him coming upstairs, let alone on my bed, because he might pee somewhere.

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So this is the outcome of my hard work. My first ever oil painting has now been officially declared finished and will be framed in a week or so and put somewhere.

I’ve worked long and hard for this.

As you may remember, previously I posted an article regarding this same painting. You may take this article as an update.

I have redone a lot of things on that painting and finished a lot of stuff, too.

So here it is: the painting named The Secluded Country. I didn’t name it, though.

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The moment I walked from the stairs into the “High Court” where the Houston Children’s Chorus was having a lock in, I noticed there were people everywhere, from teachers to kids. I left my huge purple “sleeping bag” bag in the corner where everyone else’s bags were.

“Move, ‘child’.”

Huh? I turned around and saw a girl maybe one or two years older than me. She was standing there, waiting for me to move so she could put her stuff down.

I shuffled away.

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At five minutes before six this afternoon, my mom hollered at my to change my clothes and get ready for my carpool to arrive.

I knew about the clothes part, I just didn’t know about the carpool.

“What carpool?” I asked my mom as I came downstairs.

“The one I arranged for you.” She said simply, leaving me with a whole bunch of clothes. When I put on my black pants and white shirt (which felt awkward), I went outside. A moment later, a sleek car pulled up.

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About two months earlier, my dad decided to teach me how to sketch. I agreed, because the sketch class at my Chinese school was really just a teacher saying “Draw this” or “Draw that”. We thought it was a brilliant idea.

We started sketch class a day later, and the first sketch is hanging on my wall as I speak, but no photograph.

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