There was nothing I wanted more than a trophy (奖杯). I was twelve, and the hope of placing a trophy on my dresser woke me up in the middle of the night.

All of my friends had trophies. Any of those would have excited me.

However, the problem for me was that I had no skills or gifts that would enable me to get a trophy.

My elder brother, Alan, had shelves of trophies, and most of them came from horse races. Before Dad died, he had bought each of us a horse. I named my horse Colonel. Alan’s was named Otis. When Alan kicked Otis’sides, he would run. Colonel always wanted to follow, and I could feel him speeding up, but I was afraid of falling, so I would pull on the ropes and we would fall behind.

After my father died, my mother seldom went to the stables (马厩) where we boarded the horses. Mostly she stayed in her room. Alan cooked our meals and paid our bills with money he made by waiting tables. This was also the year when I started smoking, cutting class, and hanging out with kids who, like me, had no trophies and couldn’t care less.

When the worst of my report cards arrived, Alan angrily asked, “What do you think you’re doing? Who do you think you’re fooling?” I answered, “I truly don’t know.”   I just felt life was meaningless, dull and aimless.

Alan started picking me up from school. He didn’t allow me to stay with bad kids, and we drove to the stables to ride until night fell. Through all of this, I still loved riding and still found comfort in being around Colonel, but I hated being made to ride.

After a week of being forced to spend my afternoons with him, I was angry. Alan just said, “I entered you in the horse race. It’s in two weeks.” I was surprised and excited, but I didn’t let on. I just asked angrily, “Why?”

“You still want a trophy, right?” he said.

I nodded and said, “Sure. But I’m unable to make it.”

Finally, Colonel and I crossed the finish line in third place.

In the spring sun, my aunt and I headed for her flower shop. Normally I would be delighted to help in her shop, but not recently because of Rosa. Rosa was my sister, just one month old, who was settled in my old bedroom. For ten years, the small room was full of my toys and books. But now it was transformed into her baby room, decorated like a garden with pinks and yellows. My space, my old life, was gone.

“Here we are!” We arrived at the shop, a wave of colour and sweet smell washing over me. My aunt said I could pick some flowers for Mum and Dad. I used to love this, but today I was so overcome with tiredness and envy. Why bother to bring them flowers when they were enjoying Rosa at home without me?

Silently I helped my aunt arrange flowers. “Your mum told me there hasn’t been much shut eye recently for any of you.” “Not much, since Rosa the alarm clock was installed (安装).” I complained with a huge yawn (哈欠).

“I remember having to creep (蹑手蹑脚地走) around like a worn-out mouse when your mum was a baby. I spent the first months hating her so much.” “But you and Mum seem so close,” I said, guiltily hiding away my envy of Rosa.

“Now we are. But it took me years to grow into the role of big sister. Few flowers blossom (绽放) overnight, you know.” She pulled me in for aside hug, glancing up at the clock, and suggested I take a walk outside.

Behind her shop was a field dotted with spring flowers. Stepping into the field, I began to pick little flowers. It was like gathering my childhood memories. I remembered how I’d sit with Dad, making flower chains, crowning (授予) each other with the silliest titles: Queen of Junk Food and King of Mess. My smile grew wider. The shining yellow flowers reminded me of the color in Rosa’s baby room. Was she awake? I wondered.

Suddenly I saw two familiar figures walking towards me.

Rosa was wide awake in her baby basket beside the picnic blanket.

In a house far from the city lived John and his mother. John’s only hobby was wandering in the nearby picturesque forest. In its center was a shiny clear lake with schools of fish dancing in it. Lovely animals such as deer or rabbits were playing around and cute birds were singing in trees. Fascinated by the beauty and liveliness of nature, he desired to become a great artist and present all the breath-taking scenes to the world.

John studied in the local primary school. Life was not easy for John and his mom after his father died. Knowing what hard work his mother did to make ends meet, John really didn’t want his mother to worry. His mother knew the significance of education in life but she was against his dream of becoming an artist. “The profession of artist can’t aid a person in meeting his daily expenses,” she would say. But as each day passed, John’s dream became more passionate.

Due to the living circumstances, even buying some new colors would be a luxury. John only used the worn drawing file and limited colors for his daily practice. Though lacking fine painting materials, he never gave up drawing. He spent a significant amount of time staying in the forest, secretly perfecting his craft. With continuous hard work and a distinct gift for art, he drew beautifully.

One day John read about a competition being held in the town, whose deadline was only two days away. He got the perfect opportunity to fulfill his desire but he was in a dilemma (两难境地) as for the competition he needed special paints and some brushes. He didn’t have the courage to ask his mother for money as he knew her prejudice against art.

That evening his mom returned from work and handed him a few paper notes, saying, “This is for your lunch at school next month.” The money was enough for his desired materials! John’s face lit up.

Early the next morning, John secretly left home with the money.

A week later, a phone call came to John’s home.

As a little kid, I was such a geek that I actually enjoyed math, and since my parents were often doing math with my older sister, I picked up some things by listening in on them. One of those things I learned ahead of my class was the impressive feat of adding a whole three numbers at once!

But when it came time for the class to learn the same thing, they didn’t add the numbers right — at least that’s what young me thought. Our teacher taught us to add all numbers in the ones column, then the tens, etc. By contrast, I’d always added the numbers by adding the first two and then writing the third number under the sum of the first two and adding those. The way I had learned seemed less error-prone(容易出错的). I mean, adding three whole numbers in your head at once — who could possibly manage such a feat? So, I chose to ignore the way our teacher was teaching it and keep doing things the way my father had taught me.

Then, one day, the teacher had multiple problems written on the board and she called four or five students to solve their problems at the same time in front of the class. I was on the far end, away from the teacher, but I was worried that she would catch me doing things the “wrong” way，so I did things my way, put the answer, and then quickly erased my work so she wouldn’t see how I did things.

She wasn’t having any of that. When she got to me, she agreed that the answer was right but insisted that I needed to show my work. So now, I got extra attention as she made me redo my work in front of the class with her watching me as I did my math in a “wrong” way.

Para1: I was honestly expecting a scolding for not doing things the way she had taught us.

Para2: The next day our next math test came, and I was shocked by but proud of the requirements on the test.

Eartha lost her balance and fell heavily onto the floor. “I’ll never be as flexible as you are, Grandma.” she sighed softly.

Eartha’s Grandma had been practising yoga for more than 50 years, who could twist, bend and curl her body with ease. She could even stand on her hands and pull her body into different poses.

“Eartha, your name means ‘patience’.You need patience for yoga,” said her Grandma.

Like many schools in the country,Eartha’ s school held an annual yoga competition. Eartha wanted to make her Grandma proud. But she could hardly stand on one leg.

Grandma returned to the kitchen.Eartha kept practicing hard. She stood straight, her arms at her sides. She moved her hands and knees, arching her back. All of these poses were easy,while the competition was certain to be harder. So she tried more challenging poses, lying on her stomach and pushing up on her hands. Her arms soon got tired and she collapsed to the floor. Eartha wandered into the kitchen.

“Finished already?” asked Grandma.

“It’s hard,” Eartha said. “How did you get to be so strong?”

Grandma smiled. “Patience.”

The next morning, Eartha felt ached and sore all over the body. Her legs hurt so badly from the poses she practiced that she even wanted to quit. However, her grandmother’s words echoed in her mind, and she held the pose for a longer time.

Each day Eartha would practice anew pose, before going over the poses she had practiced the previous few days.With the date of the competition approaching, she started to feel stronger and more flexible. Her arms and legs stopped trembling.

The day of the yoga competition arrived as expected. In the gym, Eartha lay on her back with her knees bent and placed her hands on the floor behind her. Everything went smoothly. Just then,so eager was she to win Grandma’s pride that her poses displayed a mix of impatience, and rigidness. Eartha fell on the mat, which cost her edge over other competitors. A bell rang, ending the first half of the competition.

Thinking she ruined all because of impatience, Eartha looked at the audience for Grandma.

Calm and confident, Eartha stepped on the stage for the second half of the competition.