By Ma Yan, Pierre Haski
"I'm so hungry, i may devour something. whatever at all."
In a drought-stricken nook of rural China, an schooling could be the variation among a lifetime of crushing poverty and the opportunity for a greater destiny. yet for Ma Yan, funds is scarce, and the low wages paid for backbreaking paintings usually are not continually sufficient to pay college charges . . . or maybe to supply adequate nutrition for herself and her family.
Ma Yan's heart-wrenching, sincere diary chronicles her fight to flee complication via her continual, occasionally determined, makes an attempt to proceed her education. Its book used to be a global sensation, developing an outpouring of aid for this brave teen and others like her . . . all because of one usual girl's impressive diary.
Read Online or Download The Diary of Ma Yan: The Struggles and Hopes of a Chinese Schoolgirl PDF
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Additional resources for The Diary of Ma Yan: The Struggles and Hopes of a Chinese Schoolgirl
Sample text
He’s always been like this. I hope I’ll never hear another bad thing said about my grandfather. Saturday, November 18 It’s very cold this afternoon. The snow is falling thickly, and there’s a gusting wind. Father came back from the market, where he bought two bags of wheat. He’s also got other things, which he’s carried in a big sack. He comes into the room and puts down his bundle. Mother takes out the vegetables, garlic, noodles. She looks right down into the bottom of the bag, where she finds one or two pounds of meat.
He’s always been like this. I hope I’ll never hear another bad thing said about my grandfather. Saturday, November 18 It’s very cold this afternoon. The snow is falling thickly, and there’s a gusting wind. Father came back from the market, where he bought two bags of wheat. He’s also got other things, which he’s carried in a big sack. He comes into the room and puts down his bundle. Mother takes out the vegetables, garlic, noodles. She looks right down into the bottom of the bag, where she finds one or two pounds of meat.
Grandpa sits down on a stool and starts to eat. His eyes are full of tears from the wind. His cotton jacket and his shirt are so dirty, it’s best not to look at them. When I look at my grandmother, I think that she’s even more pitiful than he is. Her hair is all white; a towel full of holes covers her head. On top of this, she’s carrying two of my fifth uncle’s daughters in her arms. The children kick against her hard. How can Grandmother bear it? How her arms must ache…. In her place, I’d be in agony.