a million penguins and bad language

I went to see amillionpenguins and it was somewhat like a Stephen King novel because things are happening everywhere and everyone is depressed and unable to come to terms with their unfulfilling, dirty little lives. Why do people like such unhappy but satisfyingly put things? I leave feeling depressed, complicated, and dirty. Maybe it is the enigmas that entrance people, further falling into the puzzles of each character's disgusting pasts and bleeding futures as they go along. Some of the characters are amusing, though, in a sick sense. Then they stop appearing. Is that what happens when many people come together to write one novel - something that is far beyond simplicity or joy? Can the combined effort of many ever come out as something inspiring and beautiful? Or is it because everyone is trying to express pent up depression on this one forum where everyone has a chance to shout out. Drug addicts, alcoholics, prostitutes, gangsters, infidility... all the sad things in life come out sounding normal. That's what I hate about Hollywood trends. There just has to be a sex scene or something extreme, and it rarely has to be when the people are married. Normal people are not like that. And being like that is definitely never going to be the recipe for happiness.
They say if you Japanese you start to go bad with your english, because Japanese contains a lot of english converted words - with bad pronounciation. Even though I am constantly in contact with Chinese for I am in a chinese speaking country, I have discovered of late that my chinese composition has slipped - rather drastically. I cannot even understand what I write. I know what I mean to write, of course, but the wording is all wrong and it makes no logical sense from a chinese viewpoint, nor does it hold any phrasing beauty that makes a chinese composition pleasing to the mind.
Perhaps I am not made to hold multiple languages within me with enough integrity.
My Chinese teacher is going to hate the translation I made of my last summer break homework. I had to write a piece about this poem we were reading. I wrote a story that was an extended and abridged version of the poem - in english, since I happily discovered there was no restriction concerning language in the homework assignement sheet. I hoped she would never read it. My last winterbreak homework was, afterall, unread.
But then I had a different teacher.
Perhaps it is because I haven't been reading much chinese literary work for the past half year or so. I've been reading english novels, english books, and chinese translated from english. They certainly don't make terrific literary reads in chinese. Sometimes I find them difficult to understand. The translations, I mean, and infinitely unpleasant to the mind, since they hold little beauty in the chinese language.
So now I have to set apart some time to read real chinese literary works in hopes that it will make my future composition classes more comfortable.
And I seriously need a dictionary, I cannot remember how to write words though I know how to say them and what they mean.
There just seems to be some feelings that can't be expressed in other languages. That's what makes learning other languages worthwhile. But then, maybe one can only capture the feeling if one learnt the language in one's youth and/or in the language's culture setting.
Here is an interesting article that I would like to share with my culture camp team. Interesting conclusion:Any attack on AIDS should therefore include an attack on poverty.