I believe in the color blue.

I always refer to my childhood memories as "blue dreams." When I am younger, I enjoy the tremendous time I spend outdoor playing hide and seek with my cousin. Even though the memories are vaguely recalled, I clearly remember, after our energy is entirely knocked off by the game, I will hold my cousin's hands and spin nonstop. We then fall on the grass, lie with spread legs, and look at the sky. The surroundings squirm, each with their own patterns, as we giggle at the fascinating scenery. As it gradually settles down, I take a closer look, amazed by the beauty of the sky. On those bright, hot summer days, the sky is clear blue. As the tree branches sway gracefully with the breeze, I start to wonder, what is beyond all of these? Beyond us is the Flamboyant leaves; beyond the Flamboyant leaves is the roof; beyond the roof are two cats enjoying their sunbathes; beyond those cats are the fluffy cotton candies floating in the blue sky. Is there anything beyond the blue sky? I hold my curiosity until I begin schooling. As my learning journey goes, I soon realize that the "blue sky" I feel animated back then represents the unlimited knowledge. Just as beyond the blue sky are the stars and the planets, and beyond them is the galaxy, I will open the endless layers of knowledge, each with their own distinct fascinations. My curiosity will immerse me to the diverse beauty of knowledge. I believe in the mysterious charm of unlimited knowledge, as I believe in my childhood's "blue sky."

With the curiosity about the sky, I enter primary school. On the first day, there is a parade ceremony for first grade students. Holding my dad's hand, I timidly take my first steps through the school gate. Everything here is blue- balloons, chairs, banners and classrooms. After finding my seat, I say farewell to my dad. After a few minutes, I realize, there is no one I know here. I feel lost and scared. All of sudden, I sense a light pat on my right shoulder, and I turn around. In front of me is a woman in her thirties, smiling at me with the fondest glint. She wears a sky-blue silk tunic dress with her black hair cascading gently down her shoulders. She is my first grade teacher who fixes my pronunciation when I first start spelling, who holds my hand and traces with me my first letters. She gives me inspirations to thrive for knowledge. She probably will not remember me right now, but for a student who has successfully enjoyed everything I learn in my ten years of schooling, she is not only a first-grade teacher, but also the foundation of the house of knowledge I am building. I will never forget her blue dress and her smile she gives me that day, as for a little six-years-old, she has changed my world. I believe in the power of first-grade teachers, as I believe in my "angel in the blue dress."

Since I begin schooling, my favourite subject has always been Literature. I love writing, and I love words. The feeling of excitement when I get the first sight of the blue ink flows from my pen is indescribable. My pain is relieved by writing. My happiness is doubled by writing. My solution to everything is writing. In my wenzy, I lie on my bed. The sound of my pen moving arduously on the scabrous paper intertwines with the rain pitter-patting on the roof, creating an anonymous harmony. Whenever the bad days occur, or whenever a sudden homesick arrives in the middle of the night, or whenever my eyes are filled with tears ready to flow out, or whenever my heart is about to burst, I write. I don't cry. For me, crying means I have surrendered, which I haven't. I write, turning my misery into something beautiful and making my life worth living. I believe in the power of healing in those blue flows of writings, and I believe the power of words.