I grew up in a poor family with six brothers, three sisters, my father and mother. We had little money and few goods, but plenty of love and attention. I was happy and energetic. I understood that no matter how poor a person was, he could still afford a dream.

My dream was athletics. By the time I was sixteen, I could throw a ninety-mile-per-hour fastball and hit anything moving on the football field. And I was so lucky that my high-school coach was Ollie Jarvis, who not only believed in me, but often told me “Dream is priceless”. However, when I was about to get off the ground, one particular incident happened, which almost ruined my long-held dream.

It was the summer holiday in senior two and a friend recommended me for a summer job. I was offered $ 12.25 per hour. Compared with the average $3.5, that was a big sum. I was so excited, because this meant a chance for money in my pocket, certainly money for a new bike and new clothes, and the start of savings for a house for my mother. The prospect(前景)of the job was inviting, and I wanted to jump at the opportunity.

Then I realized I would have to give up summer baseball training to handle the work schedule. I didn't dare to tell my coach, I thought of the advice my mother often gave me when I lacked courage, "If you make your bed, you have to lie in it." I decided to talk to my coach in person. After all, my dream of buying my mom a house and having money in my pocket was worth facing his disappointment to me.

I was the kind of girl who always left my things out of order all round the room, while my roommate Jane was extremely organized. Each of her things was usually in the right place, but mine always somewhere or difficult to be found. She even labeled (做标记) everything. By contrast, I always looked for everything or even depended on her to help me.

Over time, Jane got neater and I got untidier. Most of the time, she would push my dirty clothing over, and I would lay my books on her tidy desk. We both got tired of each other. War broke out one evening. Jane came into the room, looking extremely tired. Soon, I heard her shouting, “Take your shoes away! Why under my bed!” Before I knew it, I saw my shoes flying at me. I jumped to my feet and started yelling. She yelled back louder. The room was filled with anger. We could not have stayed together for a single minute if it were not because of a phone call from her mother. From her end of the conversation, I could tell right away that her grandma was seriously ill. When she hung up the phone, she quickly crawled (爬) onto her bed, crying. It was obvious that it was something she should not go through alone but at that time she had no one to share her sadness. All of a sudden, a strong feeling of pity rose up in my heart.

Before I turned 10, I lost my parents. My siblings(兄弟姐妹) left Hyderabad after relatives adopted them, but I insisted on staying back to continue my education. I lived alone in a room that a family member allowed me to use rent-free. To support myself, I began to deliver newspapers.

I would be up every morning by 5 am and walk five kilometers to the newspaper office. By 6 am, I would collect 50copies of Manzil (Urdu Daily)-the bundle(一捆)must have weighed over 5 kilograms. My beat (工作区域)spanned(跨越)3kilometers. After distributing(分发)the copies, I would rush home-another 3 kilometers-quickly eat and be off to high school.

On a cold winter morning, I got home after my deliveries to find a boy of my age at my doorstep. He introduced himself as Afzal and said his father wanted to see me.

I was greeted at the door by Afzal’s mother, Naseem. She served tea and snacks as Afzal’s father, Mr. Kader, joined us. She gently asked me about my daily routine. I told her about my morning job.

Later,as I was about to leave after thanking them, Mr. Kader asked me to wait. Naseem asked me,”How many miles do you walk every day?”

“A little more than six.” I replied. My reply shocked her.

“That’s too much! You must be really tired every day.” Naseem looked at me with misty eyes.

“I have been used to that.” I said, managing a smile.

A little while later, I saw Mr. Kader emerge again, wheeling(推)a new bicycle. It was a Hercules, quite expensive in pre-Independence India. If only I had such a bicycle!

“This is for you!” he said.

Confused, I asked Afzal how he knew so much about me.