(Written by a freshman at the University of Macao)

          With the help of a friend of my parents, I made contact with a volunteer tutor in America almost three years ao and began to practice writing articles.  We communicate by e-mail, and most of the time I write on weekends.  One or two days after I send an article, I receive a response with corrections and advice.  During those years, I published an article in an American multicultural magazine named Skipping Stones and was also able to practice speaking in English during the conversations we had by phone.

          During this process, I found that it was becoming much easier to express myself in English, and I always wanted to share my excitement with my family and friends.  I told them that I'd found a good tutor who was making my writing skills boom.  Sometimes I'd talk about my stories with them to get their advice, and invariably they'd say something like "Are you really writing all this in English?"

          From their surprise, it was obvious that the classmates I talked with needed help.  Students in China study English, but they don't read enough English articles, and it's very difficult for them to write freely about what they're thinking.  As that was the case, I began talking with them about what they might do in order to begin writing sentences in English, and they were so serious in the way they went about it that I began having the wonderful feeling called happiness.

          It was challenging to squeeze in that work in my busy life at the university.  I have to read a great deal in all my courses, and helping others meant that I had to reduce my study time.  In addition, it wasn't just a matter of telling them about my experience with a tutor, I had to help them improve their writing so that their grades would improve.

          My mother suggested that I should be paying more attention to my own studying, but I continued to work with other students.  In order to provide the time for it, I listed learning strategies for each course and got up an hour earlier.  I found a quiet restaurant at the university where I could do necessar reading in the early morning and a corner of the library where I could review my courses every evening.  My times for studying became more effective so that I would have time to work with others.

          Recently I helped a classmate get a good mark on a presentation at his English class.  He had drafted an article about touring abroad, and over three days we spent four hours editing it.  In order to help him feel the pride of authorship, I encouraged him to tell me in English what he wanted to include in his article, and then we corrected the sentences and improved the vocabulary.  I did all of this with him in the same way that my American tutor had helped me.

          When his presentation in class was followed by applause, both he and I were very pleased, and I knew I hadn't wasted my time.

          There must be some kind of fantastic power within me that forces me to help others.  I've probably always had it, but it has become much stronger through working with my American tutor. 

(Written by an ex-Shanghai resident who now lives in Portland, OR)

          A former soccer coach in China used to be right in the middle of the play at each practice, as he was as swift as any of the players  although he was much older.  He was considered to be a master of the game and had achieved great success until quite suddenly - when he was 47 years old - he found that his fingers were numb.  Then the numbness spread to his feet.  He could still coach and was good at attracting new players, but he walked with great difficulty.

          He tried to hide the disability from his wife, but one of the athletes told her and she knew immediately that a doctor was needed.  She and her husband went to several, and the only diagnosis they received was that he had some kind of problem in his neck.

          His condition worsened and soon he was unable to walk.

          All of this happened in 1987 when there were only two hospitals in China that had MRI equipment.  They managed to get to one of them, and after the examination was done the doctor told the coach's wife that there were two tumors near the bone marrow of one of his  cervical vertebrae.  It would be dangerous to remove the tumors, but surgery could be done to reduce the pressure.  An estimate was made that he might live only three months or as long as three years.

          At that time, the coach was 49 years old, and his wife thought he was much too young to have such a problem.  When her husband asked what had been found, she told him the truth through her tears and tried her best to be encouraging.  She felt they'd prevail if they'd work together to extend his life as long as possible.

          He was so valued as a coach, that an offer was made to hire two attendants to take care of him, but his wife rejected that plan.  She said she would leave her career as an elementary teacher and do the work herself, as she wanted him to have a happy life.

          As soon as she was home full time, the two of them would listen to music, play checkers, and invite friends in for sociable get-togethers.  She became expert in keeping him clean and cut his hair whenever it was needed so that he wouldn't look like a patient.  Their neighbors heard them laughing together so often that they couldn't believe that there was a seriously ill person in their house.

          In the beginning, he could use his hand to move the checkers and to feed himself, but then he lost that ability.  Eventually he even became incontinent.  His wife never wavered in her desire to provide everything that he needed.  Through bathing him three times a day, she managed to keep him free of bedsores for thirteen years.  The doctors admired how adept she had become and asked the nurses working in the hospital to meet with her to learn more about how to care for disabled patients with special needs.

          During his illness, there were many occasions when he had to be taken to the hospital for emergency procedures.  Surgery was needed on two occasions to remove the pressure caused by the tumors, and as he lay in the litter waiting to be wheeled into the opereating room, he sang songs from the Beijing opera both times.

          He was always optimistic and constantly consoled his wife by telling her that he was fine and that she shouldn't worry about something bad happening.  Everyone considered him to be unusually brave.

          There were times, however, when he couldn't endure the suffering and she had to console him.

          So, in effect, they supported each other.  Their philosophy was to make every day as happy as possible and to regard anything that might happen in the future as something they could overcome.  They were a very special couple.

          During those long years, there were occasions when other patients were disappointed to be told that they cancer.  They'd cry with their spouses, as they were so fearful of having to undergo surgery.  At such times, the doctors would suggest that they talk to the special couple who had handled adversity so well.  When they did so, they received encouragement and were then willing to have the necessary surgery.  When they were well again, most of them visited the special couple again to express their appreciation.

          The coach's wife cared for him meticulously for a long time and never complained about the hard work, as they loved each other very much.  Her devotion helped the wives of other long-term patients to wipe the idea of divorce from their minds.

          The friendship of the coach and his wife had begun in childhood when they were classmates in elementary school.  They subsequently went to different middle schools, but met again after high school and fell in love.  The man then worked for a famous soccer team in Beijing while the woman taught school in Wuhan.

          They wrote to each other many times, and in 1966 they were married.  It was difficult for the wife to move to Beijing so they had to live separately for ten years, but finally - in 1076 - she left Wuhan with her children and they all lived together in Beijing.  Even then, they were often separated, as he took his team to various cities and even foreign countries.  He was only home about a third of the time.  It was only after he became sick that they lived together for an extended period of time.

          A second operation - in 1995 - made no improvements in his health.  He actually worsened, and by the time he reached his 60th birthday, it was necessary for him to stay in the hospital. 

           One day he told her that he really didn't deserve all the loving care she had given him, and she replied that God had assigned him to her.  He then went on to say that he really appreciated all the help and love she had given, that she was his angel.

          She responded that the whole experience had taught her a lot, that it had been an inspiration to see how he had wanted to continue to live.  She said that she had been impressed with how brave he had been in coping with his illness and cooperating with the doctor.  He had encouraged and loved everyone with whom he had come in contact, and she told him that she felt fortunate to be his wife.

          She hugged and kissed him.  Their faces were wet as they smiled through their tears, and a month later, he died peacefully.   

Written by a Chinese student for a creative writing assignment while studying in England)

          The misty fog swirled around me like a dragon's breath and made me shiver.  My breath steamed on the icy evening air.  Sighing heavily, I looked once again at my watch.  The last bus was late.

          It has been late often.  As winter nears, I get more and more dejected.  I sat on the bench and wrapped my thin raincoat around me to try to keep warm.  The cold air seemed to cut like a knife across my face as I watched people passing by.  One lady looked quite chichi.

          I took a deep breath, and when I exhaled, it looked like smoke.  That brought back memories of going out with mum and dad in the winter.  When I'd let out a lot of air then, I'd tell them it was smoke just to shock them.  I liked to tease that way.

          As I was reminiscing, another strong wind hit me, and I shivered once more.  Glancing at my watch again in the hope that the bus would come didn't help.

          Fewer people were walking past, and I thought that most everybody was home by now and many were warm in their beds.  It was midnight.  I'd just heard the bells.  They reminded me of a death knell.

          I looked around the place where I'd already been waiting for an hour.  It was bleak and quiet until a girl about my age came and sat next to me.  I took a look at her and saw that she was even colder for she wasn't wearing a coat.  She seemed to be in a rush because she kept looking at her watch and murmuring "Why is the bus always late?"  It was a kind of soliloquy for she wasn't really talking to me.  In class, they'd probably call it a susurrus, as she was whispering.

          As I waited, I kept thinking that it would be Christmas soon.  If mum were still here we could celebrate like other people do, and that thought made me happy for a few minutes.

          Suddenly I blinked as the lights of a car caught my eye when it sped by, and I heard the girl asking me what time the bus normally arrives.  Her voice was shaking.

          "Hopefully, it'll come soon" was my reply, and then I thought about the last time I had heard that word being used.  It was when mum was really ill.  I'd asked dad if she was going to get better, and he had answered, "Hopefully".  He hadn't been right; she had passed away five years ago on Christmas Eve.

          It was impossible to enjoy Christmas the next day.  I'd been full of astonishment that she could actually die.  Normally I'm all agog when Christmas comes, but now it makes me cry.  I hate Christmas.

          I blew on my hands to warm them, as my breath was so much warmer than the air, and then looked at my watch again.  The bus was an hour and 30 minutes late.  As I looked up the road, there was only silence.  Nothing was in sight; everything was quiet, and I've never liked that feeling.  I like loud places.  Quietness is depressing.

          Then suddenly - way down the road - a light caught my eye.  It didn't look like a car.  I thought that maybe it would be the bus.

          It was.

          The bus had arrived!