Dia Character Analysis

“My son,” he said with a saddened heart, “your friend is right. I heard there is a much bigger world up there, with many more stars than we can see from here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?” the little frog asked.

“What’s the use? Your destiny is down here in the well. There is no way for you to get out of here,” the father frog replied.

The little frog said, “I can, I can get out of here. Let me show you!” […]

“No use, my son. I’ve tried all my life and so did your forefathers. Forget the world above. Be satisfied with what you have, or it will cause you such misery in life.”

[The] poor little frog spent his life trying to escape the well […] but he couldn’t. The big world above remained only a dream.

I watched a few of the students being tested before me, and they cried out and winced. One of the officials came over to me and bent both of my legs outward. Another official held my shoulders to stabilize me and a third pushed his knee against my lower back, at the same time pulling both my knees backward with great force to test the turnout of my hip joints. It was so painful it felt like everything would break at once. I wanted to scream as well, but for some reason I didn’t. I had a stubborn thought: I didn’t want to lose my dignity, I didn’t want to lose my pride. And I clenched my teeth.

There were no foreign books and almost all of the books were picture books—stories about foreign children written by Chinese authors, and the stories were always sad and tragic. Most of them were about struggling colored children in America and how the whites mistreated them, or they were about the struggle between good and evil. The good characters were always beautiful and handsome. The evil characters always had big crooked noses and fat ugly faces. They were Chaing Kaishek’s Guomindang officers and spies, or foreign enemies. I hated the evil guys and felt so sad for those impoverished colored children. I often shed sympathetic tears and I felt even more grateful for the heavenly life that Chairman Mao had given us. If our life was heavenly, then these poor children’s lives in America must be hell indeed.

Inside the envelope I found the most beautiful fountain pen. It was a deep royal blue, my favorite color. I could tell it was an expensive one. It would have cost my dia at least two yuan.

“I hope you will use it every day,” my dia said, “and every time you use it, you will remember your parents and our expectations of you. I don’t know what grades your classmates have received, but I hope you will come home with better grades next year. Don’t let us down. Let us be proud.”

I had expected my parents to talk to me about my poor grades. I had expected harsher words. But that pen, and the few words my dia said then, caused bigger waves inside me than any accusations could ever bring. He didn’t blame me. He didn’t accuse me, but I felt I had let him and my whole family down.

“Cunxin, nothing is impossible for a determined human being. Physical imperfections are easier to overcome than mental deficiencies. Remember the bow-shooter fable?” he said. “Nothing is impossible if you put your heart and soul into it! Let’s make your family proud! Become a good dancer, the greatest dancer you can be. Starting next year, I expect to see nothing less than the best from you.”

It was true that Teacher Xiao’s fable of the bow shooter had left a deep impression on me. But from that day on, it became an inspirational driving force. Whenever I met difficulties or challenges in my dancing, like the split jumps, I always went back to this fable for my basic inspiration: hard, work, determination, and perseverance. That day Teacher Xiao’s words had touched me deeply, and I knew that he cared.

“Ohh…Li!” Ben started to sob. “I’m finished! I’ve lost everything! Consul Zhang at the consulate thinks I’ve masterminded this whole thing. They think it’s all my fault. You have ruined everything! I’ll never be allowed back to China now!”

“I’m sorry, Ben. What you want me say?” I asked.

“I want you to say that this is all a mistake and that you will go back to China. Nothing will change if you go back now. I have spoken to Consul Zhang. You’ll still be a hero if you go back to China now. You’ll still be allowed to come back.”

“If you want live in China, you go,” I said.

“Li, the least you can do for me is explain all this to the consulate! Tell them I had nothing to do with it. Can you do this for me?”

By the time they were ready to leave, my parents had many suitcases full of gifts: watches for my brothers, clothes for my sisters-in-law, picture books and nylon jump ropes for the children, mugs and T-shirts with the Houston skyline on them for friends and relatives, a couple of bottles of Maotai for my grandfather and oldest uncle, and Ben’s sewing machine too. “We left China poor, but will return so rich!” my niang exclaimed on their last night in America. “I don’t mean the material things. It’s the richness I feel in my heart. How well you’re doing here and how much you’re loved and respected! We will savor this trip for the rest of our lives. We’re truly fortunate.”

“Mary, can you have six extra boys and give us one each?” another sister-in-law asked, and everyone laughed. Deep inside, however, I knew how they felt. Not producing a son to continue the family line was considered the worst betrayal of your ancestors […] I looked at my third brother’s beautiful daughter, Lulu, then looked at my nephew and my other nieces. I felt sad that they, like most of the next generation of children growing up in China, would have no brothers or sisters. We had survived through generations of dark and impoverished living because of this one strength, because of the unconditional love and unselfish care of each other within our family unit. It was all we’d had.

“My son,” he said with a saddened heart, “your friend is right. I heard there is a much bigger world up there, with many more stars than we can see from here.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about it earlier?” the little frog asked.

“What’s the use? Your destiny is down here in the well. There is no way for you to get out of here,” the father frog replied.

The little frog said, “I can, I can get out of here. Let me show you!” […]

“No use, my son. I’ve tried all my life and so did your forefathers. Forget the world above. Be satisfied with what you have, or it will cause you such misery in life.”

[The] poor little frog spent his life trying to escape the well […] but he couldn’t. The big world above remained only a dream.

I watched a few of the students being tested before me, and they cried out and winced. One of the officials came over to me and bent both of my legs outward. Another official held my shoulders to stabilize me and a third pushed his knee against my lower back, at the same time pulling both my knees backward with great force to test the turnout of my hip joints. It was so painful it felt like everything would break at once. I wanted to scream as well, but for some reason I didn’t. I had a stubborn thought: I didn’t want to lose my dignity, I didn’t want to lose my pride. And I clenched my teeth.

There were no foreign books and almost all of the books were picture books—stories about foreign children written by Chinese authors, and the stories were always sad and tragic. Most of them were about struggling colored children in America and how the whites mistreated them, or they were about the struggle between good and evil. The good characters were always beautiful and handsome. The evil characters always had big crooked noses and fat ugly faces. They were Chaing Kaishek’s Guomindang officers and spies, or foreign enemies. I hated the evil guys and felt so sad for those impoverished colored children. I often shed sympathetic tears and I felt even more grateful for the heavenly life that Chairman Mao had given us. If our life was heavenly, then these poor children’s lives in America must be hell indeed.

Inside the envelope I found the most beautiful fountain pen. It was a deep royal blue, my favorite color. I could tell it was an expensive one. It would have cost my dia at least two yuan.

“I hope you will use it every day,” my dia said, “and every time you use it, you will remember your parents and our expectations of you. I don’t know what grades your classmates have received, but I hope you will come home with better grades next year. Don’t let us down. Let us be proud.”

I had expected my parents to talk to me about my poor grades. I had expected harsher words. But that pen, and the few words my dia said then, caused bigger waves inside me than any accusations could ever bring. He didn’t blame me. He didn’t accuse me, but I felt I had let him and my whole family down.

“Cunxin, nothing is impossible for a determined human being. Physical imperfections are easier to overcome than mental deficiencies. Remember the bow-shooter fable?” he said. “Nothing is impossible if you put your heart and soul into it! Let’s make your family proud! Become a good dancer, the greatest dancer you can be. Starting next year, I expect to see nothing less than the best from you.”

It was true that Teacher Xiao’s fable of the bow shooter had left a deep impression on me. But from that day on, it became an inspirational driving force. Whenever I met difficulties or challenges in my dancing, like the split jumps, I always went back to this fable for my basic inspiration: hard, work, determination, and perseverance. That day Teacher Xiao’s words had touched me deeply, and I knew that he cared.

“Ohh…Li!” Ben started to sob. “I’m finished! I’ve lost everything! Consul Zhang at the consulate thinks I’ve masterminded this whole thing. They think it’s all my fault. You have ruined everything! I’ll never be allowed back to China now!”

“I’m sorry, Ben. What you want me say?” I asked.

“I want you to say that this is all a mistake and that you will go back to China. Nothing will change if you go back now. I have spoken to Consul Zhang. You’ll still be a hero if you go back to China now. You’ll still be allowed to come back.”

“If you want live in China, you go,” I said.

“Li, the least you can do for me is explain all this to the consulate! Tell them I had nothing to do with it. Can you do this for me?”

By the time they were ready to leave, my parents had many suitcases full of gifts: watches for my brothers, clothes for my sisters-in-law, picture books and nylon jump ropes for the children, mugs and T-shirts with the Houston skyline on them for friends and relatives, a couple of bottles of Maotai for my grandfather and oldest uncle, and Ben’s sewing machine too. “We left China poor, but will return so rich!” my niang exclaimed on their last night in America. “I don’t mean the material things. It’s the richness I feel in my heart. How well you’re doing here and how much you’re loved and respected! We will savor this trip for the rest of our lives. We’re truly fortunate.”

“Mary, can you have six extra boys and give us one each?” another sister-in-law asked, and everyone laughed. Deep inside, however, I knew how they felt. Not producing a son to continue the family line was considered the worst betrayal of your ancestors […] I looked at my third brother’s beautiful daughter, Lulu, then looked at my nephew and my other nieces. I felt sad that they, like most of the next generation of children growing up in China, would have no brothers or sisters. We had survived through generations of dark and impoverished living because of this one strength, because of the unconditional love and unselfish care of each other within our family unit. It was all we’d had.