As a senior editor in a famous press, I always think of days twenty years before when I was 18, I lived with my grandparents, and my parents earned their living in another city, struggling to support our family. I had taken to delivering newspapers to support myself and my education.

I would be up every morning by 5 am and walk five kilometres from where I lived to the newspaper office. By 6 am, I would collect 50 copies which must have weighed over five kilograms. My delivery range spanned (横跨) three kilometres. After distributing the copies, I would rush home—another three kilometres away—cook my breakfast, and be off to my school.

One Friday morning, I got home after my deliveries, finding Afzal, a boy from the neighbourhood, at my doorstep. Afzal said his mother wanted to see me. When I asked him why, Afzal said, “She will tell you.” Tired after walking around for over 11 kilometres, I was looking forward to breakfast and some rest. I assumed his mother wished to subscribe (定期订购) to the newspaper, so I followed him to his home nearby.

A woman in her 40s opened the door. I later learned she was Afzal’s mother, Mrs Kader. She asked me to sit, pulled up her chair next to mine and gently asked, “Tell me about your routine, right from the time you wake up in the morning.” I wasn’t quite sure why she wanted to know, but I told her about my morning job in a few words. She asked me, “How many miles do you walk every day?” I replied, “A little more than 11 kilometres.” My reply shocked her.

Then she patted my back and went inside, reappearing carrying a large plate full of food for breakfast for me. It was a heart y breakfast, one that brought back memories of happy days spent with my parents. Later, as I was about to leave after thanking them, Mrs Kader asked me to wait and she went inside again.

Then Mrs Kader appeared again, with a new bicycle.

I bowed to Mrs Kader gratefully and left for school.

My family and I were taking a well-deserved vacation to Disneyland. I had never been there before and was eagerly anticipating experiencing the magic.

There was another reason that this trip was special. My father was a workaholic who worked long hours. I longed to spend time with him. I wanted to be able to sit down with my father, who I loved more than life, and just talk. It always seemed like there was never time.

The day finally arrived when I was allowed to pack my clothes. I chose only my favourite outfits. I threw in my autograph book and then muscled the suitcase zipper around the overflow of clothes. I set my suitcase on my comforter and smiled. I was ready.

I didn’t get any sleep that night. I lay in my bed and stared out the window. I knew that my father’s work was going to be left at home, finally.

After a brief breakfast we hit the open road. It was all smooth sailing for the first couple of hours until I unexpectedly felt a sharp stop. We coasted to the side of the road, and my dad said something was wrong with the engine. We were in the middle of four lanes of traffic, so he decided the easiest thing to do would be to signal someone to stop and get a ride into town.

An hour later, my dad was still waving his hands at each and every passing car but it wasn’t doing any good. Not a single person would stop to assist my helpless family. Finally, Father gave up and decided to walk into town. I was certain it was a very long distance. I pleaded with him to stay and try again, but he was deaf to my pleading. He just said that he wouldn’t let anything ruin this trip for me. My heart ached as he put on his coat and began to walk away from our car. My dad has a back problem, and he was too stubborn to admit that he wasn’t in any condition to even walk a couple of miles.

Then I saw a man out of the window, who was a truck driver.

After reaching the town, we expressed our thanks again.

I was invited to a cookout on an old friend’s farm in western Washington. I parked my car outside the farm and walked past a milking house which had apparently not been used in many years. A noise at a window caught my attention, so I entered it. It was a hummingbird (蜂鸟), desperately trying to escape. She was covered in spider-webs (蛛网) and was barely able to move her wings. She ceased her struggle the instant I picked her up.

With the bird in my cupped hand, I looked around to see how she had gotten in. The broken window glass was the likely answer. I stuffed a piece of cloth into the hole and took her outside, closing the door securely behind me.

When I opened my hand, the bird did not fly away; she sat looking at me with her bright eyes. I removed the sticky spider-webs that covered her head and wings. Still, she made no attempt to fly. Perhaps she had been struggling against the window too long and was too tired? Or too thirsty?

As I carried her up the blackberry-lined path toward my car where I kept a water bottle, she began to move. I stopped, and she soon took wing but did not immediately fly away.

Hovering (悬停), she approached within six inches of my face. For a very long moment, this tiny creature looked into my eyes, turning her head from side to side. Then she flew quickly out of sight.

During the cookout, I told my hosts about the hummingbird incident. They promised to fix the window. As I was departing, my friends walked me to my car. I was standing by the car when a hummingbird flew to the center of our group and began hovering. She turned from person to person until she came to me. She again looked directly into my eyes, then let out a squeaking call and was gone. For a moment, all were speechless. Then someone said, “She must have come to say goodbye.”

A few weeks later, I went to the farm again.

I was just about to leave when the hummingbird appeared.

My writing career began quite accidentally. It was all because of my friend Henry.

Born into a poor family, Henry had no chance to attend school. He couldn’t read but he liked my reading for him greatly. One day I played a little trick on Henry. I was reading him a story from my textbook. Suddenly I moved away from the story and made up my own, pretending to turn pages regularly. Henry, of course, had no idea at all. Upon finishing the story, Henry began to clap.

“That was the best story you’ve read me in a long time,” he said, still clapping.

I laughed. “Really?”

“It was great. Will you read me more of it tomorrow?”

“Fascinating,” I thought, feeling like a man who discovered a buried treasure in his own backyard. That same night, I tried writing my first short story. It was a story about a man who found a magic cup. If he cried into the cup, his tears turned into pearls (珍珠), but he was a happy man and rarely cried. So he managed to find ways to make himself sad. The story ended with the man sitting on a mountain of pearls, unable to feel happy any longer.

The next day, I ran to Henry after school, asking him to hear the story and told him I wrote it last night. Henry was totally absorbed in it, his face shifting as the story developed.

“Some day, you will be a great writer,” Henry said. “And your stories will be read all over the world. But can I ask a question? Why didn’t the man just eat some onions to make himself cry to get pearls?” I was shocked because I never expected Henry could be helpful to my writing. I rewrote it and with Henry’s encouragement, I sent it to a magazine. To my surprise, it was published and sold well.

Whenever I finished a new story, I would turn to Henry.

I decided to use the money to help Henry.

Pride and Defeat

I had always prided myself on my talent in debates and arguments. Thus, when I was selected to represent the school in the national debate series, I was naturally confident of my readiness for the task Little did I know that this would turn out to be one of the most important lessons in my life.

The run-up to the finals was a breeze for my team. Our teacher was very experienced and we were all good speakers. My teammates were open to communicate so we showed perfect teamwork. But I was undoubtedly the most outstanding. In each round, the judges had always selected me as the best speaker. This means that my confidence was at an all-time high by the time we found ourselves with one week to train before the finals. I had no reason to even think that I would not be voted the overall best speaker for the debate series.

Unfortunately, I began to get self-focused about the whole business and started putting on airs with my teammates. I saw myself as the natural debater who would be let down by their bad performance. I became so dissatisfied that I began missing practices, which disappointed my kind teammates and teacher. They had no choice but to continue their training schedule.

The day of the finals dawned bright and fine. Actually, I just passed my teammates to enter the hall of the debate finals, feeling the excitement of being able to finally show off my debating power. But the reality was something quite different. My absence from the practices had created a gap between my teammates and me. We could not work perfectly as we did previously. Instead, our teamwork was so bad that even our school supporters were shamed into silence. When it was my turn to conclude as the last speaker of the team, the hall was quiet. Everyone knew that I was the most likely to win the overall best speaker for the series.

But as I launched into my speech. I knew that things were very wrong.

Suddenly, one of my teammates came up and patted me on the shoulder.