【推荐1】Christopher Thomas, 27, was a writer by night and a teacher by day when he noticed he was always tired and was losing weight fast. Diagnosed with diabetes(糖尿病), Thomas would need to inject himself with insulin(胰岛素) three times a day for the rest of his life or risk nerve damage, blindness, and even death. And if those weren’t bad enough, he had no health insurance.

After a month of feeling upset, Thomas decided he’d better find a way to fight back. He left Canton, Michigan for New York, got a job to wait tables, nicknamed himself the Diabetic Rockstar, and created diabeticrockstar.com, a free online community for diabetics and their loved ones—a place where over 1,100 people share personal stories, information, and resources.

Jason Swencki’s son Kody, was diagnosed with type diabetes at six. Father and son visit the online children’s forums together most evenings. “Kody gets so excited, writing to kids from all over the world,” says Swencki, one of the site’s volunteers. “They know what he’s going through, so he doesn’t feel alone.”

Kody is anything but alone: Diabetes is now the seventh leading cause of death in the United States, with 24 million diagnosed cases. And more people are being diagnosed at younger ages.

These days, Thomas’ main focus is his charity, Fight It, which provides medicines and supplies to people—225 to date—who can’t afford a diabetic’s huge expenses. Fight It has raised about $23,000—in products and in cash. In May, Thomas will hold the first annual Diabetic Rockstar Festival in the Caribbean.

Even with a staff of 22 volunteers, Thomas often devotes up to 50 hours a week to his cause, while still doing his full­time job to wait tables. “Of the diabetes charities out there, most are putting money into finding a cure,” says Bentley Gubar, one of Rockstar’s original members. “But Christopher is the only person I know to say people need help now.”

【推荐2】Seventy-three-year-old Gary selected his food in Value Mart more carefully than NASA chose its candidates for the space shuttle. Skim milk was $2.99, on sale from $3.49; white bread, 89 cents with a discount; table salt, 99 cents, 20 cents off the regular price. Leaving the cashier (收银员), he estimated that he had saved 80 cents today. He was pleased that he had got good value for his money again.

At the exit, the cold wind reminded him of his gloves. “Now where are they?” Not in the coat pockets. Not in the grocery bag either. The worried man made a thorough search of all his pockets, again including the grocery bag. Now he was sure they must have been dropped somewhere inside the store.

Old Gary had bought the black gloves at a 25% discount ten years ago. His quick decision to buy the expensive gloves turned out to be a good one, which even promoted his social status on the bus, as poorer passengers stared at him enviously. Losing this favorite possession was almost like losing a child to him.

Gary re-entered the store with long steps. He followed the same route he had walked before. There were all open passages and it did not take long to be convinced that the gloves were not in sight.

“Society has changed, people have changed”, he murmured to himself. “Years ago, if somebody picked up something lost, they would give it back. Not anymore!”

On his way out, he went over to the cashier to ask if she had received any lost gloves. She asked him what color they were, and when he said “black”, there came a disappointing answer. He took his time now, finally walking out of the store.

Back home, Gary was at a loss. In deep winter, he could not do without a pair of gloves. He was very upset that people no longer returned things they found on the road.

After a month, Gary decided to buy another leather pair. Before boarding the subway, he stepped into Value Mart again to see if by any chance his gloves had been returned to the lost and found office. “What color are they?” the woman in the office asked again. “Black,” he gave the same answer. She looked into her drawer and drew out a pair of men’s leather gloves. “Are they?”

“Yes! Those are mine!” Gary exclaimed, his eyes glowing with joy.

【推荐3】I had not hugged a friend or a family member for more than two years until recently when my sister flew in for a brief visit. For safety, we met outside. Despite the wintry weather, her hug warmed me from the inside out. It’s strange, but only now do I truly realize how much I’ve missed embracing loved ones.

I grew up through war in my hometown of Sarajevo, Bosnia, and every moment was full of danger. On one peaceful morning, I had begged my mom to let me go outside after spending weeks indoors. She finally agreed. I was outside for only 10 minutes when I was caught in an explosion. I ran to my neighbor’s house for safety and hung my arms around her neck just as my legs collapsed underneath me.

Thankfully, I made a full physical recovery, but the emotional scars never left me. Years later there was another explosion near my house. I was safely inside, but my father had left to buy a loaf of bread. He had only just missed the explosion. When he came back inside, I gave him the biggest hug imaginable. I was caked in tears as I held him tight.

That same night my parents managed to arrange my escape from our war-torn city. I was 16 and came to America on my own. A generous host family took me in. They had a large dog called Oscar. Over the next several months, I secretly struggled with feeling homesick and worried about my family back home. Despite managing quite well at school, I couldn’t express my feelings. The only way I shared how I felt was by giving Oscar a big hug.

It is yet another sad aspect of our pandemic lives that hugging a stranger is the last thing on our minds. For many of us, even hugging a relative or a friend comes with stress and anxiety over risks and precautions. As I look back on my past, I count myself truly lucky to have been held, shielded and encouraged at some of the most key moments of my life by the power of a hug.