Jinhai

Hello, my name is Jinhai, and I'm 12 years old. Two days ago I was 11, but yesterday was my birthday. My mom used to say that out of all the birthdays in the world, mine was special, and that everyone in the world knew it. I know that's not true now, and after she died the luck my name "golden sea" was supposed to bring seemed cold and unhelpful. After my mom died I moved in with my uncle and aunt, they're very nice people, but we don't have much money. At first life was just as good here, even with the sadness from mom's death, but slowly my aunt turned bitter, I was a "leech." Every day they had less money and less money, and every day I knew it was my fault. At first I hadn't realized it, but unlike my aunt, my uncle hated me. After the first few days he began to tell me stories of how everyone in the family would starve to death because of me, and in fact how my mother had died because of me; he's lying I think, but it still hurts. I was so useless and so helpless, and about a year ago they made me ride my bike to the factory.

                I walked in through the front doors, nervous that I would fail, but I couldn't fail, everything was riding on this, and if I was going to live with them any longer, I was going to get a job here. I walked up to the front desk and asked the lady there about an interview, and as I stood on the cold cement floor a man came out and said hi. He didn't look nice, but he took my hand and brought me back down a hallway I looked back at the windows as the sunlight faded from view, and thought, "I will make you proud." We walked down stairs and through corridors taking lefts and rights until I could no longer remember how many there were. The sunlight had faded long ago, and artificial lighting lit every hallway; I was a little frightened, but we kept going and suddenly the last hallway opened up into a massive room. I heard a roaring noise and took a step back, the scent of burnt leather and salty sweat assaulted my nostrils, but I knew we had made.

"Here's where you will work" the old man said

"What, do I do?" I asked, watching as row after row of sewing machine spun.

"You create the jeans for everyone in the world."

That was the last time I talked to the old man, but I still remember that first look into the machine room. A room so full of perfect machines and people attached to them that lined up it must have reached halfway to Korea.

                My uncle wakes me up in the morning, 8:00 AM every day, giving me time for a bowl of rice and a glass of water, sometimes I even get two glasses. After that I mount my bike begin the ride from their farm into the city. I don't need to worry about signing in when I get there, because they know I'm always there on time. We all use the same machine every day, and that makes it easy to find mine. I sit down, and being putting together jeans for the all the countries in the entire world. Sometimes the overseer walks by, but he never looks at me, and although he hits other people that make mistakes, I must never have made a mistake. He doesn't stand near me long and if he does look he looks sad. I wonder about him sometimes, but the machines are more important, and if you lose focus for a second you could lose an arm; I saw Limanchu lose two of the fingers on his left hand. After work is complete I ride my bike home and arrive just in time for a dinner at 3:00 AM and eat another bowl of rice, then I sleep for the four hours left to me, and ready myself for the next day.

                Sometimes I wonder if I'll work here for my whole life; I don't think I want to live like this. I used to dream that I would walk out of the factory one day and someone would pull up in their shiny car, and pull me out of this life, that one day I would be famous, and instead of working in a factory I'll be freeing people from the factory. When I'm older I want to be a musician, and create music for everyone to hear. I want to tell stories in my songs, and maybe I'll make the rhythm that the world dances to, but maybe just maybe the rhythm I make will sound just like a sewing machine, and maybe just maybe I will be the one listening to someone else play music. I really hope I can make music one day.