At the age of 17, I formed a band with three classmates. After we won the first prize at our school’s talent show, we decided to see if we could get some local performances. When we found out we’d gotten booked for a charitable event at a large hospital, we were excited. For two weeks, we practiced hard, getting together every day after school to sharpen our skills and learn enough songs to fill a one-hour show.

On the day of the concert, we showed up early to check out the stage. We set up and did a quick sound check, then went backstage to have a soda and rest. While we were back there, the hospital’s entertainment director came over to talk to us.

“Okay, boys, I just want to fill you in on a couple of important details,” she told us. “A lot of the people in the audience are suffering from severe physical or mental disabilities. Also, many of them are very old. Don’t let that alarm you. They have very few chances to see live entertainment of any kind, so they enjoy any kind of musical talent. Just play your regular show, and you’ll do fine.” With that, she left, going to help the volunteers and staff that were assisting the patients to their seats.

Soon enough, it was showtime. Everything was perfect, and we played probably the best show of our lives. We hardly missed a note on any of our songs. Unfortunately, we couldn’t enjoy our performance. As each song finished, there was a short pause. This was the time when the audience would normally applaud. Now, we were getting nothing. Zero. The deafening silence only made us more determined to win the audience over. We tried harder. Loud songs, soft songs, it made no difference. After forty-five minutes, we decided to end our set early. Why bother finishing when no one was appreciating us anyway? We unplugged (拔去) our instruments and went backstage.

A moment later, the entertainment director ran back to us.

Returning to the stage, we played our final three songs.

Bob and I hung out the whole summer, running in the field, swimming in the lake and exploring everywhere joyfully.

It was a typical summer afternoon. Bob suggested we skip a language lesson to play basketball. Ahal I would show my defense, lay-ups and three-point shooting. I loved to explore, I loved sports, and I loved basketball most. I believed I would be the next LeBron James.

But my passion for sports came to a sudden stop when I began experiencing extreme back pain later that day. After several visits to doctors, finally I was told that a spine(脊柱) surgery was necessary. Unfortunately, the surgery accidentally damaged my spinal cord(脊髓). I was in the ward hanging face down to relieve the pressure on my spine.

After four-month rehabilitation training(康复训练) in hospital, reality slowly set in—I was unable to walk again. I couldn’t believe this should have happened to me, that it wasn’t possible to recover, that I wouldn’t become a famous basketball player, that my life as I had known it, was over. My future would be chained to a wheelchair. I was just 16 years old!

Back home, I learned how hard it was going to be to get around in a wheelchair. I withdrew from my friends and my basketball. At Bob’s repeated invitation, I agreed to go to our regular swimming hole. Unable to make it down the riverbank alone, I was too proud to ask for help. When I finally realized my pride would keep me away from people and sports I loved, I let Bob carry me on his back to the river’s edge.

Allowing others to help was a turning point. I realized my attitude was the biggest barrier I had to face. How could I expect others to see my potential if I didn’t see it myself? How could I realize my basketball dream if I withdrew into myself?

Daniel’s mother, Debbie Ashworth struggled to raise her two kids. As the older child at home, Daniel was a good help to his mother, cleaning the room and caring for his younger brother, Tony.

On a cold winter morning, Debbie asked the kids to go to the supermarket for some groceries. A toy panda on the she If caught Tony’s eyes. It was so adorable that he could hardly tear himself away from it. Knowing that they couldn’t afford it, Daniel told his brother to put it back. But Tony really wanted it and was unwilling to leave. “Please, I can wait until Mom’s salary came in on June 15th,” Tony said. Daniel hesitated for a while, then took out a pen and wrote a note, which read, “Please keep the toy panda for my little brother until June 15th, when my mother gets her salary to pay for it. Thanks.” Placing the note on top of the box, they left the supermarket relieved.

One of the staff spotted the note, who then showed it to the manager. The note melted everyone there and they decided to do something thoughtfully. They put away the toy panda so that it wouldn’t be purchased by other shoppers. After that, they tried their best to search for the two boys, but in vain. There was no other clue(线索)on the note to identify them. It appeared that they had no alternative but to wait until June 15th, which was about half a month away.

The big day finally arrived. Unexpectedly, the two boys didn’t show up. “Maybe they have forgotten all about the toy,” one clerk whispered. “Impossible. A toy animal might not mean much to an adult. But for a child, it could mean the world,” the manager said. “We must come up with a way to contact them.” They decided to turn to the Internet by posting the note and their phone number online, hoping it could bring a surprise.

The post eventually attracted the attention of Debbie.

“I lost my job last month,” Debbie sighed(叹气).

Jack and Dane were great friends. Every evening they played together. They studied in the same class in the same school. They were good students.

One evening, Jack and Dane were playing with a ball. After a while, Jack said, “I am so bored. Shall we go for fishing in the river?” “That is a great idea.” replied Dane.

Jack called out to his mother, “Mama, we are going fishing in the river, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack’s mother said, “but be careful not to get into the water. Your father said there are crocodiles in the river.”

Both the children said that they would not get into the river. They gathered their fishing lines with the hooks (钩), and a can full of fish food. They headed to the river, and soon began fishing.

However, even after a long time, they did not get any fish. They began to feel bored again. “This river looks not so deep. Why does mother say not to swim here?” asked Jack.

“Remember, your mother said there are crocodiles here.” said Dane.

“Well, I don’t find any.” said Jack.

Dane was quiet for a while. Finally he asked, “Do you think we can swim?”

Jack jumped up and shouted excitedly, “Yes, let us swim. Come on, dive.”

The two friends dove in, and splashed (泼水) around happily. They found some logs of wood floating on the river, and tried floating with them. It was then that something unexpected happened.

Dane was playing with a log of wood, and suddenly, the log was caught in a strong current (水流), and he was hit in the head. He became unconscious immediately.

Jack saw what happened, and he swam fast to his friend’s rescue.

Suddenly, a loud splash was heard.

Walking into and volunteering at an orphanage (孤儿院) for the first time, I was filled with a mix of excitement and nervousness.

As a half-Filipino, I felt a sense of pride and joy to be back in the country where my family was from, but I wasn’t sure what to expect from my time there. Would I be able to connect with the kids? Would I be able to make a meaningful impact? These were the thoughts running through my mind as I walked through the gate.

When I arrived, I was greeted by a group of shy and curious children. They looked out from behind doors and around corners, eyeing me carefully as I made my way through the halls. I was struck by their shyness, and I couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous myself.

I was a stranger in their home, and I knew that it would take time to earn their trust and build a connection with them.

However, as days went by and I spent more time with the kids, I began to see their walls come down. They started to open up to me, sharing stories and jokes, and even asking me to join in their games.

Soon enough, they welcomed me into their home with open arms, quite naturally. From that point on, I had a kid attached to me at all times. They were always eager to hold hands, give hugs, and jump on my back whenever I wasn’t looking. It was hard to believe that these same children had once been so guarded and distant.

These were kids who had experienced more hardship and trauma (创伤) in their young lives than most people could even imagine. And yet, they still found reasons to smile and laugh every day. They were incredibly stubborn and strong-willed, which could be challenging at times, but it also gave them a strong sense of perseverance.