My Dear Bike

Maybe, I'm feel a little bit older this day. I'm a sophomore now.

My new English teacher, John, is great. I like his way of teaching.

He ordered me (and everyone) to write a weekly journal for him. (He got the idea from me, because I'd told him that I sometimes wrote a diary in English.)

The worst thing about this week was that my friend'd broken my expensive, red-creamed, newly bought bike. I've just bought it for less-than-a-week time and have used it for... 3 times, maybe.

My father, who came from Rayong to send me at the campus, bought this bike for me. I'd selected it by myself. The design of it is extraordinary; not common and rarely seen around here. I always thought that my own belongings have to be useful and outstanding like me, espacially my closed tools that can have the styles. The thing I choosed is special for me. We have build up a bond.

I didn't blame my friend about this, she is a good friend who have a good reason of breaking my bike, but still got angry, anyway.

Even though, my friend offered me a spare bike, it still not my bike, so I didn't use it.

"I'll use only my bike", that was my ultimatum.