this is my story,,coming soon, 

In west Philadelphia born and raised On the playground was where I spent most of my days Chillin’ out maxin’ relaxin’ all cool And all shootin some b-ball outside of the school When a couple of guys Who were up to no good Started making trouble in my neighborhood I got in one little fight and my mom got scared She said ’You’re movin’ with your auntie and uncle in Bel Air’ I whistled for a cab and when it came near The license plate said ‘FRESH’ and it had dice in the mirror If anything I can say this cab is rare But I thought ‘Now forget it’ – ‘Yo homes to Bel Air’ I pulled up to the house about 7 or 8 And I yelled to the cabbie ‘Yo homes smell ya later’ I looked at my kingdom I was finally there To sit on my throne as the Prince of Bel Air

i  admire those people who can write their experiences of life,  i always keep all in my mind, and let time erase all memories , so i guess when i am dead, my life is still a meaningless white paper

How dare you insinuate government white papers are meaningless. I sentence you to two and a half years of re-education through labor.

what happened

Fresh Prince is not just a song. It is an existential mode.

I do not expect an emotional vampire from a snowy peninsula inhabited by alcoholics who eat cold noodles in vinegar to understand this.

Bel-Air is love. Bel-Air is life.

everyone is not so easy, especailly when you are in a unfamaliar country, city .  when we got some. we lost some too

> I am wondering how you deal with culture shock!

This story has a very good narrative structure.