1 . I didn’t quite know what I was looking for when I flew to Mongolia for a term abroad. I just needed something different, far from the late-night libraries of my college town. Most different, I hoped, would be my rural homestay: two weeks in central Mongolia with a family of nomadic(游牧的) herders.

I was studying Mongolian at the time, but still, there was so much I couldn’t say or understand. As we walked in the snow behind the goats, my host mom would ask me if I was cold, then giggle (咯咯地笑) and copy a big shiver to make sure I understood. In the evenings, she showed me how to make dumplings with her fingers. My host siblings would talk with me, speaking too fast for me to understand, as we explored the rocks around our tent; I’d listen and nod.

This verbal(言语的) barrier was strangely freeing. In the crowded dining hall at home, meeting new people made me anxious. I’d stay quiet, measuring out my words, struggling for something to say that wouldn’t expose me as unfunny or boring. In Mongolia, I couldn’t perfect my words. I could only smile, and try out one of the phrases I’d mastered: “May I help?” “Where is the dog?” “Are you tired?” My host family laughed at my pronunciation, at the way I threw up my hands and eyebrows in a frequent gesture of confusion. But in their laughter, I felt safe, unembarrassed.

With my Mongolian family on the grassland, I found a feeling of ease I’d never felt before. We were so different, they and I, and not just in language. Their skin was hardened and darkened by sun; I’d been hidden under hats and sunscreen since birth. My host siblings(兄弟姐妹) grew up drawing water from frozen streams and jogging behind herds of sheep; I spent summers at tennis camp.

For me, these gaps made all the difference. Without shared social measures, I wasted no time wondering how I was measuring up. Only real things—kindness, helpfulness—mattered.

2 . It is difficult to name a female architect more iconic than Zaha Hadid, whose name can be translated from Arabic as glorious. She passed away five years ago at the age of 65, but the impact she has left on the world of architecture is profound.

Hadid was born into an upper-class Iraqi family in 1950. At the very beginning, she wanted to become a mathematician and studied science at the American University of Beirut, But at some point she realized that she preferred shapes to numbers. And she turned her concentration to architecture and went to London where she met the famous Dutch architect Rem Koolhaas.

“There are 360 degrees, so why stick to one?” Hadid once said. Despite her abundance of amazing ideas, before the beginning of the 90s, not a single building based on her blueprints had been built. Her highly expressive style, while initially criticized and believed to be crazy, is now regarded as pioneering work. Her striking contemporary architecture, inspired by natural landforms, has graced the skylines of major metropolitan cities.

“Women are always being told, ‘you’re not going to make it; It’s too difficult. You can’t do that Don’t enter this competition; You’ll never win it’,” Hadid said. “They need confidence in themselves and people around them for support.”

Never one to be boxed in by conventions, Hadid proved society wrong. She received her first prize, the “Gold Medal Architectural Design” for her British Architecture in 1982. From then on, the awards kept rolling in. But the true triumph for Hadid came in 2004. Her project for the London Olympics Aquatic Center won her the Pritzker Architecture Prize. She became the first woman and first Muslim to earn the award, making a name for herself and paving the way for female architects.

Hadid’s genius lives on in the array of many other spectacular buildings she has left behind in the world. Among them are the Guangzhou Opera House, the Beijing Daxing International Airport, as well as the Al Wakrah Stadium in Qatar where the 2022 FIFA World Cup will be held.

Hadid may be gone, but her global influence on a new generation of female architects is here to stay.

6 . Award-winning Chinese shoe designer, Huang Qinqin, shares her transformative journey, combining cultural heritage and international design to shape the art of practical wear.

Believing that the value of her products doesn’t lie in business operation, Huang always focuses on how to convey the stories behind her shoes to customers instead.“It is like storytelling, a natural ability I possess,” she said with a smile.

However, Huang’s journey into design was unforeseen and it took her several years to discover her true passion. Huang switched her major from physics to international communications studies at university.While she found great enjoyment in these courses, she still didn’t know what she could do in the future.

“One day, I grabbed a sheet of paper and began drawing some shoe designs I saw online.It was at that moment that the light suddenly dawned.” recalled Huang.

To her astonishment, Huang discovered while international luxury shoe brands like Jimmy Choo and Christian Louboutin are household names, Chinese brands are rarely seen.This finding fueled Huang’s determination to pursue her career as a shoe designer, hoping to fill the blank in the international market.

After returning to China from the UK, Huang established her own shoe brand.“I think Chinese students studying abroad today all share a strong sense of mission—to showcase what China truly has to offer to the world,” Huang said.

Looking back, Huang said that she took a long time to finally find her lifelong passion.“There is a saying that one must achieve fame at a young age, but I believe it is never too late to unlock one’s potential, since everyone operates on their unique ‘time zone’,” she said.

Before her current career path, Huang never stopped trying new things, including garden design and dance.These diverse experiences have all become precious treasures in her life, nurturing her self-directed learning abilities, which have turned out to be essential skills for her startup business today.

We met Bailey 5 years ago. He was a standard poodle (髦毛小狗) born on Valentine’s day in 2020, and came to us in a small blue box. His previous owner posted the news online and we adopted him. Our only request was that he behave calmly and be able to put up with the pushing and hugging of our eight-year-old daughter and six-year-old son.

We were a sweet family: me, my husband, our children Angela and Tony. But for years. I’d felt that we wouldn’t be truly whole if we didn’t have a dog. Also, my husband worked for a commercial company and traveled around 200 days a year. and I knew that having a large animal sleeping by the door made me feel safer.

The last piece of our purzle fell into place when we opened the box. With his dark hair and smart eyes, Bailey was beautiful. He was so small that he could fit in the palm of my hand, his big paws (爪子) resting at his sides. He was a little scared, too. As I pulled him close, I felt his heart racing, and 1 wondered if we had done the right thing by taking him away from his mother. But it was too late. Angela and Tony were already arguing about who would carry him and who had the right to bathe him.

Over the following months, we spent countless hours watching Bailey play with his toys or roll around on the living room floor. Like most poodles, he was smart. He quickly mastered house-training and never chewed (咀) on our furniture or shoes. He considered himself one of us.

One night we were sleeping in the bedroom when I heard some strange noise.     1    

At that time, Bailey ran towards me.     2