I met Gunter on a cold, wet and unforgettable evening in September. I had planned to fly to Vienna and take a bus to Prague for a conference. Due to a big storm, my flight had been delayed by an hour and a half. I touched down in Vienna just 30 minutes before the departure of the last bus to Prague. The moment I got off the plane, I ran like crazy through the airport building and jumped into the first taxi on the rank without a second thought.

That was when I met Gunter. I told him where I was going, but he said he hadn't heard of the bus station. I thought my pronunciation was the problem, so I explained again more slowly, but he still looked confused. When I was about to give up, Gunter fished out his little phone and rang up a friend. After a heated discussion that lasted for what seemed like a century, Gunter put his phone down and started the car.

Finally, with just two minutes to spare we rolled into the bus station. Thankfully, there was a long queue (队列) still waiting to board the bus. Gunter parked the taxi behind the bus, turned around, and looked at me with a big smile on his face. "We made it," he said.

Just then I realised that I had zero cash in my wallet. I flashed him an apologetic smile as I pulled out my Portuguese bankcard. He tried it several times, but the card machine just did not play along. A feeling of helplessness washed over me as I saw the bus queue thinning out.

At this moment, Gunter pointed towards the waiting hall of the bus station. There, at the entrance, was a cash machine. I jumped out of the car, made a mad run for the machine, and popped my card in, only to read the message: "Out of order. Sorry."

I ran back to Gunter and told him the bad news.

Four days later, when I was back in Vienna, I called Gunter as promised.

When I was a kid, my parents and I lived near the forest. They often told me that our family was a team that needed to work together for the household to function smoothly. There was always an abundance of work to do — cooking, cleaning, and walking dogs. I volunteered to walk our dog, Max, who had been adopted one month before. I never dared let this giant dog off the lead (牵狗绳), just in case he took off.

One morning, we were walking along in the forest when Max started pulling on the lead. At first, I was able to hold on despite the wet ground from a recent shower. But the more I tried to stop him pulling, the more it turned into a tug of war. And thanks to the slippery ground, I lost.

Pulling his lead, Max shot off like a bullet, leaving me screaming behind. I chased him but lost my footing and fell face-first into some mud. I stumbled (踉跄) to my feet, but looking ahead, I found him running back towards me. I thought he was going to stop and give me his “Sorry” look. But instead, the dog shot past me and returned after a while.

As soon as we got home, my mother immediately attended to Max with a warm towel and a doggy treat. I thought seeing me stumbling and covered in mud, I would also get a warm cup of tea and a motherly kiss. Instead, I got a very loud lecture about letting the dog loose in the forest.

I felt frustrated. It wasn’t fair that she didn’t understand how difficult it was to control Max. I fought back, “Stop lecturing me! Why is everything my fault?” With these words, I stormed into my bedroom and slammed the door shut.

In the evening, I heard my mother call Max and take him out. It wasn’t long before I heard my mother screaming and the door opening again.

I walked out of my room.

Dad stepped in, suggesting that we work together to train Max.

In my childhood, under the influence of my el der brother and my peers in the neighborhood, I tried a number of outdoor activities. Of course, I was not so taken by all of them. whether I was doing them for the first time or continuously. However, fate had its own plans in store. You never know when an outdoor activity will change my life.

The name of this activity is “fishing”. About ten years ago, I didn't really like the idea of sitting on the bank of a lake or river, spending long hours under the sun's ultraviolet rays, which can cause sunburns and skin damage, and anxiously anticipating some fish to be kind to take my bait(诱饵). In fact, I used to think of this outdoor activity as some kind of “hide-and-seek-game” that is popular with most young kids, except that it was much harder because I could see my “prey (猎物)” only after catching it.

However, all that changed when I paid a visit to my aunt in the countryside during a summer holiday. I was finally convinced by one of my cousins to accompany him to a nearby lake in order to do some fishing practice with him. In fact, he even assured me that fish would eat my baits. So I agreed and went to the lake expecting to catch some fish. Before throwing my fishing line into the water, my cousin did some tricks attaching some sort of food to my fishing pole.

Learning to fish in a river or lake can be challenging for the beginners like me. The act of dropping a line is easy, but being a successful fisher is hard. That's why they call it fishing but not catching But with practice and patience, it can become easier over time. Patience is essential in lake fishing. It may take some time to find the right spot or lure (鱼饵) that will attract fish.

My cousin had to repeatedly remind me to keep patient.

When we finally left the lake, I had caught three fish!

The Charm (魅力) of Schoolyard

In the charm of school life, where classrooms are seats of knowledge and the schoolyard becomes source of memory, there are a fund of stories mixed with humor, warmth, and teacher-student relationships.   

Mr. Smith was a country teacher, but not an ordinary one; he was a storyteller, a mentor (人生导师) , and a friend to all his students. His classroom was a world of its own, full of colorful characters and brilliant ideas. One day, during the noon break, a student named Alice noticed a wandering kitten padding (潜行) through the familiar grounds where many schoolyard tales were born. Alice took her to Mr. Smith, who had magical Tricks for handling even the smallest things. With Mr. Smitt’s permission, Alice and her classmates built a shelter for the kitten in a corner of the campus.

The days turned into weeks, and the kitten grew under the tender care of Mr. Smith and his students. Once in a while, she became a temporary resident of the classroom, much to the delight of the whole class. They named her “Schoolyard”, a name that generalized the spirit of their school days.

As the year progressed, Schoolyard became not just a kitten, but a tie connecting each of them and a thread of continuity in their lives. She played on desks, slept in chairs, and hid in folders, thus becoming an unofficial mascot (吉祥物) of the classroom. The students found comfort in her presence, and Mr. Smith, joy in watching them grow through her company.

As graduation neared, Mr. Smith gathered his students for one last lesson. He told them that they would soon be exploring new horizons. He reminded them that life was full of unforeseeable twists and tums along with unexpected potentials, just like the appearance of a kitten in their schoolyard. At the moment, the students were greatly touched and deep down there arose a strong love for those memorable warmth and hearty laughter of their school days.

Thereafter, Mr. Smith and the students agreed to meet here once again in ten years.

A decade later, Mr. Smith greeted his former students at the school gate.

“Isn’t that our Schoolyard?” cried Alice, gazing at the classroom door.   

Self-Portrait

Alia was disappointed to find herself in the drawing studio. She had been sick with the flu during the week when everyone else got to pick their classes. She had hoped for Astronomy or Marine Biology, but they were full by the time she got to choose. She loved everything about science, from the way it used facts and formulas to how it revealed the basic nature of things. But art was so un-scientific.

The first class project was self-portraits. Some students were drawing self-portraits using mirrors. Others were working from photographs. Alia glanced at the incomplete sketches, feeling like a cat in a dog show. But she had no choice. Hesitantly, she lifted a pencil, only to pause before the canvas. Confusion and reluctance were evidently written on her face; she had no idea how to proceed with her strokes.

The teacher came up to Alia’s easel (画架). Seemingly having noticed her trouble, he sat next to her.

“Every portrait begins with a circle,” he said. “Then you create a series of lines.”

To demonstrate, he drew a group of small, quick portraits. He began each one with a circle, some straight lines, and a triangle to determine where the eyes, nose, and chin should go. To Alia’s amazement, each portrait on the paper took form. Alia had never thought about it, but the features of everyone’s face were in the same spots. “Go ahead and give it a try.” The teacher handed the pencil back to her.

Taking a deep breath, Alia began her own self-portrait. She drew the basic form of a head, the way she had been shown. From there, she used lines to plot the features of her face. She had to take note of each detail, with each stroke, line and curve demanding her close attention. One wrong measurement could throw off the whole portrait.

The process took patience and precision.

Admiring her work, Alia suddenly realized drawing was just what she had hoped for.

I was a 15-year-old girl when my beloved grandma Rosie was placed in a group home in Brookfield because of sharply declining memory. I can vividly remember the unpleasant environments inside the nursing home. That impression has ultimately impacted me in a very great way, even after I graduated from university with a degree in architecture.

Grandma Rosie was the heart of our family. Her little two-bedroom home was truly where all her children and grandchildren gathered. She was also an amazing cook and her specialty was fried pork steak. Most of my nephews and nieces were fans of her specialty. She lived alone after my grandpa passed away but was cared by many relatives and friends. When she was in her late 60s, we began to witness a significant memory impairment (受损) in her. Everyone started checking up on her. A frequent question that people would ask her, “What did you have for dinner?”, almost always brought the same answer — fried pork steak. Every day she would report making fried pork steak. One day a group of us went to her house secretly, and found she was making fried pork steak!

After some lengthy consideration, our family were concerned for her condition and ultimately decided to place Rosie in a group home in Brookfield. A year later, Rosie caught heart disease and her condition required her to be moved to a nursing home in Oconomowoc. Her memory also declined sharply and she no longer remembered our names. It was heartbreaking for our family to know that.

By that time, I was in high school and thinking about plans for college. Seeing the cold, sterile (呆板的) long hallways and unfriendly surroundings in the nursing home, I was determined to become a professional architect concentrating on senior care and health care design. I wanted to design living space where seniors can not only live but benefit from lovely environments.

Bearing this goal in mind, I worked extremely hard.

Finally, Grandma Rosie moved into a senior living community I designed.