Rudi Gonsalves could barely contain his excitement as he sped downhill. It was the first day of his holiday in the Romanian ski resort of Poiana Brasov and he was 6,000 feet up one of its highest mountains, breathing in the cleanest air.

Weather and snow conditions were perfect. An experienced skier, he tackled the difficult “black” run with ease, knees gently bent to meet the uneven surface of the snow.

Rudi, a part-time youth worker from Epsom Downs, Surrey, regularly booked a winter holiday with his wife Sue. But Sue was scared of heights and could not overcome her sense of foreboding as the skiing season approached.

So this time Rudi, a keen sportsman and fit for his 57 years, had come alone.

As he snaked his way down the mountain on that March afternoon last year, snowflakes began to fall—lightly at first, then more heavily until the clouds blotted out the sun entirely, transforming everything into a ghostly whiteness.

He could just make out other skiers descending the slopes as fast as they could. I’d better stay close to them for safety, he decided. This could be tricky.

Straining to see ahead, Rudi was only vaguely aware of a looming outline lumbering up the mountain.

“Did anyone see me fall? Where am I?”

He looked around him, trying to get his bearings, but in every direction there was only the same vast whiteness.

Then he took out his gold watch, a treasured present from his wife. It not only told him the time, 1.54pm, it also seemed to give him strength.

It was getting dark when Rudi finally gave up his attempt to scale the mountain and decided to head downhill instead. He knew it would mean moving away from the best route back to his hotel, but there seemed to be no alternative.

Despair began to dog Rudi as he faced up to the reality of spending a night in the open. It was 5.30 pm and the temperature was dropping fast. He began to shiver, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. He felt very alone.

After three hours he was very tired, colder than he had ever felt.

He was barely aware of two horses drawing a wagon along the lane towards him.

“I’ll bet Anjali knows. Right, Anjali? Why don’t you show us since you’re the star student,” Deepak taunted (奚落).

Anjali was confused. She wasn’t trying to show off. She was just playing tabla (印度塔不拉鼓), like everyone else. And why was Deepak being so mean lately? Is it because tabla is a boy’s thing? She didn’t care that people thought it was a boys’ instrument. Anjali knew there was no such thing. She danced her fingers across the tabla to perform the composition in confusion. “Ugh!” Anjali heard someone groan, and she stopped playing.

“I guess I don’t know it that well after all,” Anjali said sheepishly to the teacher, Mr. Zakir. Her stomach was doing flip-flops. That wasn’t true. Not even a little. Mr. Zakir’s eyes narrowed. He looked like he was about to say something, but changed his mind. “The recital (演奏会) is next week, everyone. Keep practicing. I will be announcing who will get to perform onstage with me at my next concert!” Anjali had dreamed of a moment like that. She wanted to win the opportunity, but she needed to sort things straight with Deepak first.

As the class was dismissed, Anjali hurried over to Deepak. When she finally made eye contact with him, he purposely looked away and walked off. The next day at school, Anjali overheard Deepak whispering to Mary. “People are only interested because she’s the only girl in tabla class and they want her to feel special. She’s not that good—” Anjali was furious. She excused herself and went to the bathroom. She took some deep breaths but couldn’t relax. Her heart was pounding:

“It’s not my fault that people make a big deal about a girl playing tabla. I make mistakes too, but I work really hard. Maybe he should too. He should be less mean and practice more.”

“If I play in this concert, no one will talk to me again. He will turn everyone against me.”

“I don’t want to see a tabla or hear a tabla or play a tabla EVER AGAIN!!” Anjali yelled at the mirror. It was quiet for a moment. She believed it was one of her darkest days ever.

Stepping out of the bathroom, Anjali saw some inspiring posters on the wall.

After the recital, Deepak walked up to Anjali.

We moved here a few days ago, and I don’t know anyone, not one person, at the new place. Dad says things will get better. He says I’ll take to city living just like I took to climbing trees and playing ball. I look out the window of our new apartment.

“This was a good move for us, Sonny,” Dad says, “You’ll see.”

“I miss the guys,” I say. “I miss Michigan. I miss” — I gaze up and down the street — “trees.”

“Los Angeles isn’t a bad place,” he says. Then he tells me about a park he saw down the street. “It has a couple of basketball courts. Get out there and sweat today. You’ve kept yourself inside too long.” I nod.

That afternoon, I grab my basketball and head down the street to find the courts. Dad was right about being kept inside too long. It’s about time to shake the cobwebs(蜘蛛网)off my basketball legs, see if I can still dribble(运球)with both hands, and remain a good shooter. I walk past all the shops with bars on their windows. This is home?

When I get to the courts, I see three guys shooting around. They’re playing some kind of one-on-one, taking turns with the third guy in. Two of them are taller than me, but one is about my size. I can tell that the short kid knows how to play by the way he handles the ball, dribbling well with either hand. But the other guys are too tall for him. One-on-one isn’t his game. He needs someone to pass to.

I go down to the other basket to shoot around. I’m pretty cold at first. But after I warm up, the old feelings come back — the proper knee bend, the feel of releasing the ball just right.

“Hi, there.”

No sooner had I finished the midterm exam than I knew I failed in maths again. Mrs. Steward, my maths teacher, asked me to stay after school to talk about my maths study. I was among those students who worked hard and achieved academic success at school — apart from maths. Though I did well in many other subjects, I wouldn’t be on the honor roll (光荣榜) that term if I couldn’t make significant progress in maths. And, the honor roll would be announced in just several weeks. I was frustrated.

Having spotted my depression, Mrs. Steward said, “There will be another important maths test before the honor roll is fixed. Cheer up! I could spare some time after school to help you. You can make it.” “No, thanks,” I declined, adding that I just wanted to go home and never think about maths again. “I am just naturally a poor maths learner.” I almost cried.

Mrs. Steward didn’t give up. She looked me in the eye and said, “You are good at learning. I believe you can change it if we work together.” For a moment, I kept silent, wondering if she might be right. “What time does your bus come?” she asked. “In half an hour,” I replied. She asked if I would like to use the time to deal with the math problems I met in the exam. Encouraged by her, I began to look at my midterm maths paper.

We settled the difficulties in the paper and made a plan to meet every other day after school for the following three weeks. She went over each problem, carefully explaining the solutions. Sometimes I had difficulty understanding her explanation, and she would come up with a different approach to getting across the answer. Soon, the day to take the test came.

Mrs. Steward walked around in the classroom, handing out the test papers.

The next Monday. Mrs. Steward came in, with the honor roll in her hands.

You can always believe patience and perseverance (毅力) are always rewarded whatever you do. This was a lesson Eli learned. Eli is my seven-year-old grandson. I always teach him things I think he should know, and he tries to teach me to play some of the games that I have for him on my iPad. He is very patient and persistent, but so far no success with that. It’s all just foreign to me.

The other day, Eli and his dad came for a visit. I could tell something was bothering him and asked him what was wrong. At first, he just shrugged and said nothing was wrong. But his body language told me a different story.

I asked again—pushing a little. Eli said that he was having a problem. He was trying to learn how to blow bubble-gum bubbles (口香糖泡泡). It seemed like all of his friends could blow bubble-gum bubbles, but he just couldn’t do it. I tried to explain how to do it, but aside from making funny faces and sticking out my tongue, nothing got accomplished. He tried to do what I said. His cheeks puffed out (鼓起). His face got red. He made funny noises. But no bubbles.

Then I had an idea. I asked Eli if he had another piece of gum—and not the ABC kind. He did. He gave it to me. Now, I hadn’t chewed a piece of bubble gum for years. Wow, it’s sweet. And one piece is huge. It filled my entire mouth. I don’t remember a piece of bubble gum being that big. I chewed and chewed and chewed. Finally, that piece of gum became more manageable.

I worked that piece of gum around in my mouth and wrapped it around my tongue, and then I slowly blew a bubble. Nice! I guess it’s like riding a bicycle. Even though I hadn’t tried blowing bubbles with bubble gum for years, I completely remembered how to do it at the first attempt.

After the bubble burst, I began to show Eli how to blow bubbles, but still nothing worked.

Just when we were both about to give up, he got that knowing kind of look on his face.

“I blew a bubble.” Eli shouted excitedly.

In order to add variety to our lives, a tug- of-war (拔河) competition was held by our school recently. Before the game, we were quite unsure of ourselves, as we had no significant advantage over our competitors. We even joked, “we’ll be satisfied just as long as we don’t get last place.”

Though we had no great ambitions, everyone looked forward to the game and took it pretty seriously. Right before the games started, our participants gathered together to discuss the right strategy, while the rest of us formed a cheer leading team.

Finally, the first match began. Fortunately, neither of the two competing classes were particularly strong rivals. Despite being tired, our first victory came smoother than expected. After that first success, we all gained some confidence. A day later in the semi-finals, we were determined to make it into the top two—and we did it!

The final game was the toughest. We faced off with the champions from the last game: Class 5. By the time we arrived at the playground, we were excited to discover, unlike the other classes, almost all of our teachers were there to cheer us on!

However, that excitement didn’t last very long. As we went up to compete with the class that had won with a score of 2:0, we were once more full of doubt - how could we possibly beat them?

The cheers of the crowd were deafening. The instant we heard the whistle, we fell back with all of our might and held onto the rope as tightly as we could. At first, it was unclear who had the advantage. It seemed like centuries, and we were suddenly amazed to find that the marker was slowly moving towards our side.

Encouraged, we pulled harder and harder.

As the competition was over, the result was announced.

The Trouble With Chores (家庭杂务)

The twins, Jenna and Jeff, were good at most things. Their dad was good at most things, too. But there was one thing the twins and Dad were not good at—that was chores. It wasn’t that Dad and the twins didn’t want to do their chores. It was just that they always seemed to have reasons not to do them. And they had such good excuses.

“You’re right, my dear,” said Mum. “The grass does need cutting. But a spider has spun a wonderful web on the lawn mower and I haven’t the heart to put all her hard work to waste.”

“Mum,” said Jenna, “I know it’s my week to put up my cards. It’s just that I’m waiting for them to dry. They’ll be easier to scoop up that way.”

“Mum,” said Jeff, “may I skip setting the table tonight? There’s a TV show on the Ice Age, and I have to do a report on the Beast of Baluchistan.”

There were also the endless quarrels about who did what and who got the easy job. Mum sighed. If only Dad and the twins were as good at doing their chores as they were at arguing about them, life would be easier. Talking of chores, Mum thought instead of pushing them for chores, it would be a lot easier to do them herself. And that was what she did. She put away all cards and set and cleared the table. She chased the dust bunnies from under the furniture and cleaned up the twins’ messy room.

The twins did pick up and put away things occasionally. Dad did cut the grass once in a while. Not surprisingly, things began to slide. Everybody got a little unhappy, especially Mum, who spent much time doing chores. Something had to be done. But what?

My mom is really a good cook （I bet all of us have this same claims） and she never really taught me how to cook.She enjoys experimenting various dishes and occasionally she will ask for my help to grind chili，onions or garlic.Basically all simple chores.I sometimes look at how she prepares the dishes and became more observant over the years.Every day she will buy meat or vegetables from a local market near us and just store it in the fridge to be cook later for dinner.She works for the government and she is not available to cook lunch.Every day after coming back from school I would always open the refrigerator and see what she bought and I can always tell what will be for dinner that night.If I see chicken，potatoes and shredded coconut，I would be very excited because I know she will make my favorite dish – Chicken Curry.

My parents do okay but we are by no means wealthy.I think we are comfortable in our daily basic needs but we definitely have no room for luxuries.But when it comes to our dinner，my mom will always make 3 dishes for dinner without failure.It’s almost like eating in a restaurant.I have to admit I was spoiled by my mom when it comes to my eating habits and have high expectations when eating somewhere else.      

One day my mom came back from work in the office and she was really in bad mood.She was complaining about how untidy we are and we （my siblings） never contributed in the household chores.To me that is not a fair statement as my elder brother and I took turns to wash the dishes.I was also given the privileged of ironing my mom and dad’s office attire each week.I was 14 at that time and being a boy，I have no intention of letting my friends know.Most of my friends have a maid to do all this but my parents simply couldn’t afford one.