English Original
I curiously watched my grandmother open the yellowing paper packet with painstaking care. When she untied the knots, a cluster of strange, shriveled off-white orbs fell into her hands. These seeds were all that remained of the life she had left behind in Shandong Province, China. She had slipped them into her silk shirt when leaving, hoping to grow them in foreign soil.
In America, we first lived in a tiny apartment on a busy street, then a condo on the thirteenth floor. Five years passed, and it seemed she would never plant the seeds. Still, she kept them safe.
When I was six, we moved to the first floor of a three-family house. There was no lawn, only a narrow patch of dirt with weeds. It was there my grandmother took out her seeds.
“They won’t grow,” my father said.
“It’s too much work,” my mother said.
My grandmother smiled. She placed the seeds in water and cleared the weed-filled patch. I watched the shriveled orbs grow plump.
Each day after school, I rushed to check the patch. "Chinese cucumbers," my grandmother said. I wondered how they differed from American ones but didn't ask.
At first, nothing grew. I feared the seeds were dead or that Chinese cucumbers couldn't grow in American soil.
Then one day, a sprout appeared, then two, then four. My grandmother smiled like a proud mother. The plants grew prolifically; vines seemed to lengthen before my eyes. I reported each new leaf and bright yellow flower to my parents.
When the last flowers withered, little cucumbers appeared. Crisp and tender, they were the most delicious vegetable I'd ever tasted.
I believed then in the seeds' magic power. Even 8,000 miles from home, they bloomed with intensity and determination. I vowed to be like those Chinese cucumbers: no matter how far life takes me from home, I will embrace the world and thrive on foreign soil.
中文翻译
我好奇地看着祖母小心翼翼地打开那个泛黄的纸包。当她解开绳结时，一簇奇怪的、皱巴巴的灰白色小球落入她的手中。这些种子是她留在中国山东的生活所剩下的全部。离开时，她把它们塞进了丝绸衬衫里，希望能在异国的土壤中种植它们。
在美国，我们起初住在繁忙街道上的小公寓里，后来又搬到了十三楼的公寓。五年过去了，她似乎永远无法种下这些种子。但她依然妥善保存着它们。
我六岁时，我们搬进了一栋三层住宅的一楼。那里没有草坪，只有一块狭窄的、长满杂草的泥地。就在那里，祖母拿出了她的种子。
“它们长不出来的，”父亲说。
“这太费事了，”母亲说。
祖母笑了。她把种子泡在水里，并清理了那块长满杂草的泥地。我看着那些皱巴巴的小球在水中变得饱满。
每天放学后，我都冲回家查看那块地。“中国黄瓜，”祖母说。我好奇它们和美国黄瓜有什么不同，但没敢问这个我觉得可能很傻的问题。
起初，什么也没长出来。我担心种子已经死了，或者中国黄瓜无法在美国的土壤中生长。
然后有一天，一株嫩芽出现了，接着是两株，四株。祖母笑了，像一位相信儿子的母亲在他成功时那样微笑。植物长得非常茂盛；藤蔓仿佛在我眼前伸长。我每天都会告诉父母叶子变得多大，藤蔓上又开了多少鲜黄色的花。
当最后的花朵凋谢时，小黄瓜开始出现。清脆鲜嫩，那是我吃过最美味的蔬菜。
那时我相信是种子拥有的魔力让它们生长。即使离家八千英里，它们也以如此的活力和决心绽放。我发誓要像那些中国黄瓜一样：无论生活将我带离家乡多远，我都要拥抱周围的世界，在异国的土地上茁壮成长。