公共英语四级作文

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公共英语四级作文

　　公共英语四级笔试成绩是听力、英语知识运用、阅读理解和写作部分成绩的总和。下面是小编整理的公共英语四级写作作文，希望能帮到大家!

公共英语四级作文

　　My Very First Love

　　Yes this may be surprising, I was only 13 years old that time. But, don't know how or why it happened to me so early. I fell deeply in love with a guy, who I used to think was annoying 2 months ago.

　　It was 1997, in Chittagong, Bang- ladesh, me and my family have just moved to a new apartment in a new area. So, after few weeks have passed, I started going back to school, since it was during Ramadan we moved. Well, I made some new friends in the neighborhood. This girl who was always hanging out with, her name was Ivy.

　　One day when I was going to school, I bumped into Ivy on the way out of my building, and she was standing next to this guy, he lived in the building right beside mine. He said “Hi” to me, and we just asked each other “how are you” and blah blah, then I had to leave. But I noticed that guy was looking at me. It was a different kind of look, look with love in his eyes. Few days later, I noticed whenever I go to school and come back from school, he is standing in his balcony, and smiling at me. If he is not around, and one of his friends see me, they start to yell out his name. Oh yeah, by the way, his name was Mamun.

　　So, I was very annoyed by those things. And I even told Ivy to tell Mamun to stop these foolishness. After my exams were over, I had a break. So I used to go to the roof and read books to spend my time. Mamun used to come to their roof also and both roofs where so close to each other that you can just jump from one to another.

　　Once I was reading a book, and I noticed Mamun come to their roof and he looked at me, and smiled. OH MY GOD! I don't know what happened to me. That sweet smile just took me away. I smiled back at him, for the first time. I could never forget that moment. We used to smile at each other whenever we saw each other, but never had a chat. I was sure that he liked me a lot, because, anytime he would see me on the roof from his balcony, he came up to the roof right away. I fell in love with him very deeply. I was surprised that I did. The feelings I had was so beautiful and made me so happy.

　　Mamun did come to my roof one day to talk to me but I wanted him to go away. I didn't want any one to see us talking. As you know, in Bangladesh rumors go around so fast. When we talked, I saw deep love in his eyes. I always smiled at him; I didn't talk to him much. Still, life was going on so wonderfully. Mamun never told me he loved me. I thought that was because, I was 5/6 years younger than him.

　　Very soon, I found out that me and my family are leaving Bang- ladesh and coming to Canada. I was devas- tated. I cried all night but there was nothing to do. When Mamun found out, he asked me on the roof, if it was true. When I said yes, he asked how long will I be in Canada. The answer was maybe forever, we were going to settle in Canada. He looked depressed, all he said was “Oh”, then I told him out flight date.

　　The next month, it was Ramadan again. Mamun came to say good bye to me on the roof, he was leaving to spend his Eid with his family. That day, I was so sad, I felt like I lost something very important in my life. We said goodbye to each other, he said he thinks I am such a sweet girl, he hopes I have a great life in Canada. Oh my god, I couldn't hold myself, I think my eyes became watery. I didn't want him to see that I was crying. I said “you too” and tried to smile and left the roof right away.

　　That was the last day I ever saw my first love. Now 4 years later, here I am in CANADA. I have guy in my life now, whom I am deeply love with after Mamun. I never lose him.

　　I am ... over Mamun now. Everytime I remember those days, looking at each other on the roof, talking, I feel really down. I wonder where he is now, if we will even meet again... I can never forget my first love.

　　A Special Breakfast

　　Until last year, the greatest sorrow of my life was that my wife Alice and I couldn’t have any children. To make up for this in a small way, we always invited all the children on our street to our house each Christmas morning for breakfast.

　　We would decorate the house with snowflakes and angels in the windows, a nativity scene and a Christmas tree in the living room, and other ornaments that we hoped would appeal to the children. When our young guests arrived—there were usually ten or fifteen of them—we said grace and served them such delicacies as orange juice garnished with a candy cane. And after the meal we gave each of the youngsters a wrapped toy or game. We used to look forward to these breakfasts with the joyful impatience of children.

　　But last year, about six weeks before Christmas, Alice died. I could not concentrate at work. I could not force myself to cook anything but the simplest dishes. Sometimes I would sit for hours without moving, and then suddenly find myself crying for no apparent reason.

　　I decided not to invite the children over for the traditional Christmas breakfast. But Kathy and Peter, my next door neighbors, asked me to join them and their three children for dinner on Christmas Eve. As soon as I arrived and had my coat off, Kathy asked me, “Do you have any milk at your house?”

　　“Yes,” I replied. “If you need some, I’ll go right away.”

　　“Oh, that’s all right. Come and sit down. The kids have been waiting for you. Just give Peter your keys.”

　　So I sat down, prepared for a nice chat with eight-year-old Beth and six-year-old Jimmy. (Their little sister was upstairs sleeping.) But my words wouldn’t come. What if Beth and Jimmy should ask me about my Christmas breakfast? How could I explain to them? Would they think I was just selfish or self-pitying? I began to think they would. Worse, I began to think they would be right.

　　But neither of them mentioned the breakfast. At first I felt relieved, but then I started to wonder if they remembered it or cared about it. As they prattled on about their toys, their friends and Christmas, I thought they would be reminded of our breakfast tradition, and yet they said nothing. This was strange, I thought, but the more we talked, the more I became convinced that they remembered the breakfast but didn’t want to embarrass Grandpa Melowski (as they called me) by bringing it up.

　　Dinner was soon ready and afterward we all went to late Mass. After Mass, the Zacks let me out of their car in front of my house. I thanked them and wished them all merry Christmas as I walked toward my front door. Only then did I notice that Peter had left a light on when he borrowed the milk—and that someone had decorated my windows with snowflakes and angels!

　　When I opened the door, I saw that the whole house had been transformed with a Christmas tree, a nativity scene, candles and all the other decorations of the season. On the dining room table was Alice’s green Christmas tablecloth and her pinecone centerpiece. What a kind gesture! At that moment, I wished that I could still put on the breakfast, but I had made no preparations.

　　Early the next morning, a five-year-old with a package of sweet rolls rang my bell. Before I could ask him what was going on, he was joined by two of his friends, one with a pound of bacon, the other with a pitcher of orange juice. Within fifteen minutes, my house was alive with all the children on my street, and I had all the food I needed for the usual festive breakfast. I was tremendously pleased, although in the back of my mind I still feared that I would disappoint my guests. I knew my spur-of-the-moment party was missing one important ingredient.

　　At about nine-thirty, though, I had another surprise. Kathy Zack came to my back door.

　　“How’s the breakfast?” she asked.

　　“I’m having the time of my life,” I answered.

　　“I brought something for you,” she said, setting a shopping bag on the counter.

　　“More food?”

　　“No,” she said. “Take a look.”

　　Inside the bag were individually wrapped packages, each bearing the name of one of the children and signed, “Merry Christmas from Grandpa Melowski.”

　　My happiness was complete. It was more than just knowing that the children would receive their customary gifts and wouldn’t be disappointed; it was the feeling that everyone cared.

　　I like to think it’s significant that I received a gift of love on the same day that the world received a sign of God’s love two thousand years ago in Bethlehem. I never found out who to thank for my Christmas present. I said my “Thank you” in my prayers that night—and that spoke of my gratitude more than anything I could ever say to my neighbors.

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