As I prepared for my Level 8 Royal Conservatory of Music piano exam, memories of previous disappointing marks filled me with dread and anxiety. The mere thought of booking the exam made me feel completely strained. However, fate had other plans in store for me.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, my trusty 10﹣year﹣old electric piano malfunctioned. The middle C note played as an F﹣sharp, and multiple other keys were out of tune.

Despite my distress, my father refused to buy a new piano and instead urged me to be more resourceful. Initially, I was at a loss without my beloved electric piano. But after struggling for a few days, I was determined to find every available piano room on campus. After discovering hidden pianos in corners, I spent countless hours practicing. As my exam drew near

One day, while practicing in a piano room, one of my teachers walked in and offered me a mini exam. To my surprise, I found a place where I could be anyone.

Playing the piano became my escape from the anxieties of adolescence and allowed me to express myself freely. When it was time to play in front of the examiner, I no longer feared judgment. Instead, I only feared not being able to represent all my hard work. As the lights came on

Eventually, I received my mark. Not only did I achieve a rarely given "well done", but I also discovered a newfound appreciation for music. Whenever I feel discouraged, some lessons are best learned the hard way.

Eighty-year-old retired tailor, James McKay, spent Saturday night in prison after hitting 30-year-old Keith Smith over the head with his walking stick. McKay's wife, Laurene said that, while McKay is usually a（n）1 and pleasant person, he had been driven to this act of2 by literally getting wet just once too often. He could no longer3 it.

Smith lives above the McKays. He is a（n）4 gardener, and also a fish collector. Unfortunately, the water he5 over his balcony（平台）every day ended up on the McKay's floor, or too often, on the unsuspecting McKays themselves.

"For the last two weeks, since Smith moved into the flat above us, we dared not go onto our6 ," said Laurene. She added that it wasn't only the water7 their balcony from Smith watering his plants that8 them, but also the way he cleaned his fish9 . "We'd be sitting there happily reading our newspapers, when suddenly so much water would come from above that we'd be as wet as if we had10 with our clothes on! We could hardly11 the smell of fish!"

And on Saturday evening it was just too12 , "It was James' birthday," Laurene recalled, "and it was such a beautiful night to enjoy the starry night13 . I made him a birthday cake. The candles were a great sight as you can14 , but James didn't get to blow them out." Instead,

Smith15 one of his larger tanks over his balcony and both the McKays and the cake were wet through. "I have never seen him move so fast and I couldn't stop him. He was up there in a（n）16 ."

Smith is not going to take things further with the police. He has also17 to change his ways from now on. And what of James McKay? As he left the18 station,a large crowd of supporters sang him "Happy Birthday". "Definitely the most exciting birthday ever!" said the19 old man. "The best since my20 , I'd say!"

At my first lesson in Chinese calligraphy, my teacher told me plainly: "Now I will teach you how to write your name. And to make it beautiful." I felt my breath catch. I was curious.

Growing up in Singapore, I had an unusual relationship with my Chinese name. My parents are ethnically Chinese, so they asked fortune tellers to decide my name, aiming for maximum luck. As a result, I ended up with a nonsense and embarrassing name: Chen Yiwen, meaning, roughly, "old", "barley （薏米） "and "warm".

When I arrived in America for college at 18, I put on an American accent and abandoned my Chinese name. When I moved to Hong Kong in 2021, after 14 years in the States, I decided to learn calligraphy. Why not get back in touch with my heritage? I thought.

In calligraphy, the idea is to copy the old masters' techniques, thereby refining your own. Every week, though, my teacher would give uncomfortably on-the-nose assessments of my person. "You need to be braver," he once observed. "Have confidence. Try to produce a bold stroke （笔画）." For years, I had prided myself on presenting an image of confidence, but my writing betrayed me.

I was trying to make sense of this practice. You must visualize the word as it is to be written and leave a trace of yourself in it. As a bodily practice, calligraphy could go beyond its own cultural restrictions. Could it help me go beyond mine? My teacher once said to me, "When you look at the word, you see the body. Though a word on the page is two-dimensional, it contains multitudes, conveying the force you've applied, the energy of your grip, the arch of your spine." I had been learning calligraphy to get in touch with my cultural roots, but what I was really seeking was a return to myself. Now I have sensed that the pleasure out of calligraphy allows me to know myself more fully.

During a recent lesson, my teacher pointed at the word I had just finished, telling me: "This word is much better. I can see the choices you made, your calculations, your flow. Trust yourself. This word is yours." He might as well have said, "This word is you."

Juleus Ghunta is a published children's author and award-winning poet. But when young, he could 1 read.

He grew up with his three sisters in rural Western Jamaica, raised by their single mother. Life was tough, and proper schooling was out of the question due to 2 resources.

When Ghunta finally went to school, he couldn't 3 on reading. Not only had he been kept home from school as a child, but he had not been 4 to books.

By sixth grade, he could spell his name, but still couldn't make out words or read with 5 . He struggled in school with a deep sense of 6 and worthlessness.

At age 12, a young teacher-in-training 7 a special reading program for 8 students. Ghunta was the first to join. That teacher, whose name he does not 9 now, became Ghunta's unsung hero — the person who changed his life.

The teacher was incredibly kind to him. Under her guidance, Ghunta's reading skills saw marked improvement, and his sense of inadequacy began to 10 .

"She had left me with the gift of literacy," he said. "And a deeper 11 of my talent."

After Ghunta's experience with the teacher, his life course 12 . He graduated with academic 13 and is now the author of two children's books, including "Rohan Bullkin and the Shadows."

Years later, Ghunta returned to his old school and asked the principal and teachers if they knew her 14 , but none did. Carrying this memory, however, he still hopes to find and thank her for seeing his 15 and being a source of light and hope in his life.

Grief ran through the first decade of my career. I photographed stories about terrible topics: immigration, conflict, war. On the cover of my notebook in 2019, I wrote, "Discover the joy again." It was intended to remind me to play more.

Sometimes I'd get a rare assignment where I could breathe — for example, photographing an article on tea for an airline magazine. I took the job hoping to make interesting, almost movie images, but at the end of the day, I found I'd made nothing of the sort. Packing up my camera, I felt like a failure.

On the drive back to the hotel, I noticed heavy steam rising from a building up ahead. Arriving at the scene, I opened the car door — and realized it was a tourist attraction traditionally pulled by a steam engine. Then, out of nowhere, a figure ran toward me. I picked up my camera and quickly made three pictures. One was out of focus. One was poorly composed. But one worked.

When I submitted my pictures to the editor for the tea article, this one wasn't chosen to be published, but I knew it meant something to me. I had been looking for good luck in my own life. This photograph symbolized exactly that.

I was 27 when I first traveled to India after the sudden passing of my father. Over many months, with my best friend, I traversed India with no phone, with limited Internet, and with healing as my compass. I climbed mountains, swam in the sea, and lived in relief entirely.

As I learned to travel to some of the world's cities with the largest population, I began to see life with more color and magic. I permitted myself to walk aimlessly, with no goal but to observe, and each moment became a dance. If this journey taught me anything, it's that what comes next will bring its own magic.

The Beauty of Creative Friendships

I recently walked through an incredible exhibition in Venice. It 1 about 75 art works that a Dutch-American artist created during the time he spent in Italy in 1959 and 1969. The pieces on show included his ink-on-paper drawings, some gestural drawings, landscapes and sculptures.

Born in 1904, de Kooning spent the majority of his artistic career as a (n) 2 but in 1969, while visiting Rome, he 3 an old friend, the sculptor Herzl Emanuel, who invited him to his studio and 4 him to try working with 5 .

At age 65, de Kooning 6 his first sculptural works, 13 small clay items. It was the 7 of a new artistic era for him and, over the next 15 years, sculpture became a (n) 8 and inseparable part of his career.

Later, after I left the exhibition, I was 9 by how beautiful it was that de Kooning began making sculpture because of the initial 10 and encouragement of his 11 . It got me thinking about the often unacknowledged role that some friendships play in the creative process of 12 across all types.

We often think about those friendships that journey deeply with us in our private lives, 13 us through emotional ups and downs. But friendships that develop our professional selves are also 14 .In offering courage, insight and clarity on the work that we produce, these friendships 15 the overall quality of our lives.