2 . As 17-year-old Norwood drove through St. Peters-burg, Florida, last February, the laughter and chatter from the four teenage girls inside her car quickly gave way to screams. As they approached a crossing, another car T-boned them, sending their car sailing into the yard of a nearby home, coming to a stop only when it crashed into a tree.

As smoke rose from the other car, a bystander shouted, “It’s about to blow up! Get out!” Shaken, but otherwise OK, she crawled (爬行) out through the window. Along with two of her friends, who’d also managed to free themselves, she ran for her life.

But halfway down the street, she realized that her best friend, Simmons, wasn’t with them. Norwood ran back to the car and found Simmons passed out in the back seat. She threw open the back door and pulled her friend out, avoiding the broken glass as best she could. She dragged Simmons a few feet to safety and laid her on the ground. “I checked her pulse.” Nothing.“I put my head against her chest.” No sign of life. “That’s when I started CPR (心肺复苏术).”

Had the accident happened a few weeks earlier, she might not have known what to do. But Norwood, who wants to pursue a career in medicine, had earned her CPR certificate just the day before. Kneeling on the lawn and looking down at her dying friend, Norwood knew she had precious little time to practice what she’d learned. She started pumping Simmons’s chest and breathing into her friend’s mouth in hopes of filling her lungs with the kiss of life. No response. And then, after the 30th try, Simmons began coughing and gasping for air. The CPR had worked! Soon, the ambulance arrived and rushed Simmons to the hospital, where she received treatment for a cut in her forehead. And then she heard how her best friend had saved her life. “I wasn’t shocked,” Simmons told CNN. “She will always help any way she can.”

I wasn’t the most popular kid in my freshman year. I wasn’t into fashion, preferred reading to sports, had difficulty talking to boys. Therefore, the first year of high school hadn’t been kind to me.I had no close friends. I mostly kept to myself with my head buried in a book.

Ashley was very different from me. She was outspoken and fashionable. She was quite popular. These were qualities I knew nothing about. We had always been in the same classes throughout school, but had never talked much.

During summer school, we were both taking classes. The teacher paired us up on an assignment. We met at the library to work on the project and really got well. Of course, Ashley did most of the talking. When classes ended we continued to hang out.

I looked up to Ashley; she was all of the things I thought I wanted to be. I began listening to the music she listened to, wearing the clothes she wore. I quit reading and started watching the TV programs Ashley watched. I even tailored my sophomore (大二) year schedule to her interests. I decided to take art class even though I had really wanted to take theatre.

When we started school again, Ashley introduced me to her group of friends, the“cool girls.” She was the leader of their group. Finally I ft in. I followed them around, laughing when they told jokes, agreeing when they had opinions. I didn’t say much. I wouldn’t want them to think that I was being rude by disagreeing. This continued for several months.

One day, I overheard Ashley and her friends were talking about me.

“She’s such a loser,“ one girl said to the group.“Ashley, she just follows you around trying to be you. She copies you;she doesn’t have a personality of her own.”

Then Ashley replied,“I know, I wish she would leave us alone. We were in summer school together and now she thinks we’re best friends or something."

I stood rooted to the spot, feeling mortified (受辱的) and heartbroken.

Hearing my mom ‘s advice, l decided I was going to stop crying and discover who I was.

“Now, parents and students separate into two groups. You will be reunited at the end of the campus tour.”

Groups of incoming freshman happily left their parents upon hearing this announcement. I was less than thrilled about starting college, let alone leaving my mother’s side to tour the campus with other freshmen; I felt a little anxious. We followed the senior tour guide. The other freshmen chatted and made causal introductions as I dragged behind. How could I have believed I was ready for this? After all, it had only been a few months since I left the hospital. I was feeling better for the first time in years. But college...?

My thinking was interrupted by a sweet female voice, “Hi, I’m Jennifer.” “I’m Lauren,” I replied. “Where do you prefer to live? At home or on campus?” she said. Before I could reply, the tour guide announced it was time to create our schedules and select the courses we wanted to take.

We crowded into the Student Activity Center. Three seniors handed out thick course bulletins (课程公告) and forms that needed to be filled out. All around me, the sounds of turning papers and writing sounded like those given by an alarm clock. Others seemed to be moving through the process quickly but I hadn’t even opened my course catalog (目录).

“Focus,” I told myself. “just read through the catalog and find the course you like and a schedule that works” psychology A or B, Geology 101, English, history, sections 1, 2, 3…The list went on and on.

I panicked and almost started to cry. How was I supposed to know how to complete it? I was just relearning how to live in the real world, and they wanted me to make a schedule. How I wished someone could help me.

Soon, other freshmen were handing in their forms.

Then, I felt a warm hand on my shoulder.

5 . We journalists live in a new age of storytelling, with many new multimedia tools. Many young people don’t even realize it’s new. For them, it’s just normal.

This hit home for me as I was sitting with my 2-year-old grandson on a sofa over the Spring Festival holiday. I had brought a children’s book to read. It had simple words and colorful pictures — a perfect match for his age.

Picture this: my grandson sitting on my lap as I hold the book in front so he can see the pictures. As I read, he reaches out and pokes (戳) the page with his finger.

What’s up with that? He just likes the pictures, I thought. Then I turned the page and continued. He poked the page even harder. I nearly dropped the book. I was confused: Is there something wrong with this kid?

Then I realized what was happening. He was actually a stranger to books. His father frequently amused the boy with a tablet computer which was loaded with colorful pictures that come alive when you poke them. He thought my storybook was like that.

Sorry, kid. This book is not part of your high-tech world. It’s an outdated, lifeless thing. An antique, like your grandfather. Well, I may be old, but I’m not hopelessly challenged, digitally speaking. I edit video and produce audio. I use mobile payment. I’ve even built websites.

There’s one notable gap in my new-media experience, however: I’ve spent little time in front of a camera, since I have a face made for radio. But that didn’t stop China Daily from asking me last week to share a personal story for a video project about the integration of Beijing, Tianjin and Hebei province.

Anyway, grandpa is now an internet star — two minutes of fame! I promise not to let it go to my head. But I will make sure my 2-year-old grandson sees it on his tablet.

6 . He was an old man who fished alone in a small boat in the Gulf Stream and he had gone eighty-four days now without taking a fish. In the first forty days a boy had been with him. But after forty days without a fish the boy’s parents had told him that the old man was now definitely and finally salao, which is the worst form of unluck, and the boy had gone at their orders in another boat which caught three good fish the first week. It made the boy sad to see the old man come in each day with his boat empty and he always went down to help carry either the fishing lines or the spear. The sail was old and, rolled, it looked like the flag of permanent defeat.

The old man was very thin with deep wrinkles in the back of his neck. The brown spots of the skin cancer the sun brings from its reflection on the tropic sea were on his cheeks. The spots ran well down the sides of his face and his hands had the deep scar from handling heavy fish on the thick ropes. But none of these scars were fresh. They were as old as erosions (侵蚀) in a fishless desert. Everything about him was old except his eyes and they were the same color as the sea and were cheerful and undefeated.

“Santiago,” the boy said to him as they climbed the bank from where the boat was pulled up. “I could go with you again. We’ve made some money.”

The old man had taught the boy to fish and the boy loved him. :

“No,” the old man said. “You’re with a lucky boat. Stay with them,”

“But remember how you went eighty-seven days without fish and then we caught big ones every day for three weeks.

“I remember,” the old man said. “I know you did not leave me because you doubted.”

7 . I was with my mom one day as we took a walk while window shopping. We both knew we wouldn't be buying much. I remember I was looking up at the people we passed as we walked. Ladies wore 5-inch heels and bright clothes. Men wore expensive perfumes and creams that wiped away the wrinkles on their faces. An uneasy feeling started to settle in my chest. I could deny it no longer and I was ashamed of my mom.

We were in a high-class neighborhood. We lived in a small, expensive apartment building at the edge of our county. Mom chose to move there because she knew the schools were good. I realized for the first time that we didn't belong there.

I could see the heavy lines around my mom's eyes and mouth. She wore cheap clothes and worn-out shoes. Her eyes were tired from working long hours to make ends meet, and her hair was too gray for her age. She was nothing extraordinary, yet at that moment, she stood out because she was just so plain. I didn't want to be seen with her although there was no one important around to see me anyway. I felt embarrassed about being at her side. We were standing in the middle of a high-end store, and she was holding a sweater.

Mom said, “Anna, this will look good on you. Do you want it?” It Was much too expensive, but I almost thoughtlessly answered “Yes”. Then I took a closer look at the small, tired woman with a big smile and a sweater in her hands, happy to be giving me something so nice. My words died in my throat. Her clothes were worn and old because she spent her money buying me new ones. She looked so tired because she was busy working to provide for me. She didn't wear jewelry or perfumes because she was content with spending what little money she had on me. Suddenly, my mom was beautiful and extraordinarily wonderful in my eyes. I was no longer ashamed of her, but of myself.

“Do you want it?” Mom repeated.

“No, thanks,” I replied.

“Go back, Mom! Go back!” shouted my six-year-old daughter, June. I quickly turned around to cast my doubtful eyes on the back seat, worried I had forgotten her younger sister. I was relieved to see the girls safe and sit in their car seats, but June’s expression was one of pure anxiety. “Mom, we have to go back,” she insisted. “Someone needs our help!”

As I looked back from the driver’s seat, I spotted a young man in rags playing his guitar. His skinny, poor-looking dog rested next to his feet near an old, worn cardboard sign that read, “Homeless, please help.”

We’d come across homeless people before and had talked about their needs and struggles. I should seize the chance to set a good example for my daughters to give a helping hand. So I searched for some cash, only to find I had nothing but credit cards. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t have any cash,” I said. “I have some, Mom!” June replied. She opened her little pink purse and pulled out a five-dollar bill. “Oh, good. I’ll pay you back when we get home,” I responded with a sigh of relief. “No. Mom.” she insisted, “I want to help him. I don’t want you to pay me back. I want to give him my money.”

As we drove down the crowded rows of the parking lot, I reassured her that we would get to him.

When we got there. I called out, “Excuse me, sir!” He cautiously walked toward our car and answered, “Yes, ma’am?” “Here you go, sir.” June stretched out her entire body to hand him her five-dollar bill through the window and explained, “I want you to have this.” He smiled and hesitatingly asked, “This was your money?” “Yes! I want you to have it,” she proudly answered. “Thank you,” he said, touched by her thoughtfulness.

We exchanged a smile, and as we drove away, my younger daughter Scarlett began to cry. I hadn’t noticed that she had emptied her purse and was holding two quarters in her tiny hands.

“Mom, I wanted to help, too,” she sobbed.

Now with tears in his eyes, he said in disbelief, “You want to help me?”

9 . Recently, our school held an activity called “Us After Ten Years”, where the speakers presented what they would become in the future. At first, I didn’t care about the______, but just four days before the ceremony, my head teacher asked me to______ one student who got ill.

There were three barriers during my______. Firstly, I didn’t have a clear career path at that time. Luckily, my classmates ______ that I choose to be a diplomat, who is eloquent (善辩的), ______, and enjoys critical thinking, like me. Secondly, I had to choose a representative scene to show my career. My first ______ was to hold a press conference. However, that would have taken ______ than the scheduled time. Ultimately, I decided to give a speech to the current students about my job. Finally, I had to decide the presentation ______. During my first two practices, I tried to ______ the present Chinese Foreign Ministry spokesmen. But I couldn’t find myself like them when speaking. I told myself: “You are ______, so be yourself and create your own style.”

Then came my time. I took a deep breath and walked ______ onto the stage, ______ to my audience. The bright lights and screams from the auditorium suddenly surrounded me tightly. Fortunately, everything went as expected. When the last speech concluded, the heavy burden suddenly ______ into a whole sense of relief, then a sense of pride.

I’m proud that I have ______ the mental barriers. I’m also proud of Chinese diplomats, who meet all kinds of questions and ______. but manage to keep showing Chinese wisdom. That’s the kind of person I want to be.