In the old days, children were familiar with birth and death as part of life. Now this is perhaps the first generation of American youngsters who have never been close by during of the birth a baby and have never experienced the death of a family member.

    Nowadays when people grow old, we often send them to nursing homes. When they get sick, we send them to a hospital, where children are forbidden to visit terminally （晚期的）in patients— even when those patients are their parents. This deprives（剥夺）the dying patient of family members during the last few days of his life and it deprives the children of an experience of death, which is an important learning experience.

    Some of my colleagues and I once interviewed and followed about 500 terminally in order to find out what they could teach us and how we could be of more benefit, not just to them but to the members of their families as well. We were most impressed by the fact that even those patients who were not told of their serious illness were quite aware of its potential（潜在的）outcome.

    It is important for family members, and doctors and nurses to understand these patients' communication in order to truly understand their needs, fears and fantasies （幻想）. Most of our patients welcomed another human being with whom they could talk openly, honestly, and frankly about their trouble. Many of them shared with us their great need to be informed, to be kept up —to —date on their medical condition and to be told when the end was near. We found out that patients who had been dealt with openly and frankly were better able to cope with the coming of detach and finally to reach a true stage of acceptance before death.

    Perhaps no one knows the power of imagination better than Chinese writer Liu Cixin. Until four years ago, Liu worked full-time as a computer engineer at a power plant in Shanxi province. He only wrote science fiction in his spare time. But it was during this time that Liu's imagination took flight. He did what he might never have the chance to do in real life – wander in space, fight with aliens, and visit planets light-years away.

    But even with such a powerful imagination, Liu, 55, probably hadn't expected that he would become the first Asian to win the Hugo Award, science fiction's highest prize, in 2015. Perhaps neither did he think that former US president Barack Obama would read his novel The Three-Body Problem, nor that on Nov 9 in Washington DC, he would win the 2018 Arthur C. Clarke Award for Imagination in Service to Society. It's the first time a Chinese writer has ever won the award.

    In his acceptance speech, Liu said that he owed his imagination to Arthur C. Clarke (1917-2008), a famous UK sci-fi author. He said that reading Clarke's 1968 classic novel 2001: A Space Odyssey in the early 1980s had a great effect on him.

    “My mind opened up like never before. I felt like a narrow river finally seeing the sea,” Liu said. “That night, in my eyes, the starry sky was completely different from the past. For the first time in my life, I was awed (使……敬畏) by the mystery of the universe.”

    But no matter how far away Liu's imagination takes him, somehow his novels always stay rational.

    In The Three-Body Problem, for example, Liu tells a tale of aliens invading Earth. But unlike other alien stories, Liu talks more about relationships between civilizations(文明), rules of survival, and the meanings of life. And in The Wandering Earth, Liu looks ahead to the day when our solar system comes to an end and humans have to look for a new place to live. However, all his visions and solutions are based on “hard science”. Liu's works aren't simply daydreams.

    Microsoft has developed a new smart phone app that interprets eye signals and translates them into letters, allowing people with motor neurone disease to communicate with others from a phone.

    The GazeSpeak app combines a smartphone's camera with artificial intelligence to recognize eye movements in real time and convert(改变) them into letters, words and sentences.

    For people suffering from ALS（渐冻症）, also known as motor neurone disease, eye movement can be the only way they are able to communicate.

    “Current eye-tracking input systems for people with ALS or other motor impairments are expensive, not robust under sunlight, and require frequent re-calibration and substantial, relatively immobile setups,” said Xiaoyi Zhang, a researcher at Microsoft who developed the technology.

    “To mitigate the drawbacks…we created GazeSpeak, an eye-gesture communication system that runs on a smartphone, and is designed to be low-cost, robust, portable and easy to learn.”

    The app is used by the listener by pointing their smartphone at the speaker. A chart that can be stuck to the back of the smartphone is then used by the speaker to determine which eye movements to make in order to communicate.

    The sticker shows four grids(方格) of letters, which each correspond to a different eye movement. By looking up, down, left or right, the speaker selects which grids the letters they want belong to. The artificial intelligence algorithm（程序） is then able to predict the word or sentence they are trying to say.

    We were silently waiting on the platform in the late afternoon. There he was, my 80-year-old grandfather with his silvery hair. And there I was, a teenage girl in my jeans and T-shirt. His aged but still clear blue eyes were taking in the scene as I wondered how I was going to get through the next two days. Why did I ever agree to accompany my cranky grandpa on a train ride from New York to Georgia?

    No one else wanted to be the fellow traveler since my grandfather refused to fly. In contrast, I loved to fly since I wanted to get to the destination as quickly as possible. No matter what anyone told my grandfather about the comfort and safety of flying, he refused to book a flight, saying, "It's not just the trip; it's the adventure of getting there."

    With my first step onto the train, the journey was already different from what I expected. The train was modem and filled with friendly travelers. We settled into the club car, where we could enjoy food and drinks while watching the scenery pass. Instead of listening to my music, I became a willing audience and learned family history that I had never had the time or patience to learn. With teary eyes, he told me that going to family events was hard for him since my grandmother died. It always made him think about those who were no longer with us. For the first time I felt I understood him. I gained a new appreciation for our time together.

    In this fast-paced world, we often miss important moments. There is great significance in listening to elders who offer a piece of their history and experience. I may be more open to opportunities to stay with my grandpa. Life isn't just about the destination; it's about the journey.

    For all the technological wonders of modem medicine, health care-with its fax machines and clipboards (写字板) —is out of date. This outdated era is slowly drawing to a close as the industry catches up with the artificial-intelligence (AI) revolution.

    Eric Topol, an expert in heart disease and enthusiast for digital medicine, thinks AI will be particularly useful for such tasks as examining images, observing heart traces for abnormalities or turning doctors' words into patient records. It will be able to use masses of data to work out the best treatments, and improve workflows in hospitals. In short, AI is set to save time, lives and money.

    The fear some people have is that AI will be used to deepen the assembly-line culture of modem medicine. If it gives a "gift of time" to doctors, they argue that this bonus should be used to extend consultations, rather than simply speeding through them more efficiently.

    That is a fine idea, but as health swallows an ever-bigger share of national wealth, greater efficiency is exactly what is needed, at least so far as governments and insurers are concerned. Otherwise, rich societies may fail to cope with the needs of ageing and growing populations. An extra five minutes spent chatting with a patient is costly as well as valuable. The AI revolution will also enable managerial accountants to adjust and evaluate every aspect of treatment. The autonomy of the doctor will surely be weakened, especially, perhaps, in public-health systems which are duty-bound to cut unnecessary costs.

    The Hippocratic Oath (誓言) holds that there is an art to medicine as well as a science and that "warmth, sympathy and understanding may outweigh the surgeon's knife or the chemist's drug". There's lots of sense in it: the patients of sympathetic physicians have been shown to recover better. Yet as the supply of human carers fails to satisfy the demand for health care, the future may involve consultations on smartphones and measurements monitored by chatbots. The considerately warmed stethoscope (听诊器), placed gently on a patient's back, may become a relic of the past.

    Of the several films Hirokazu has made about childhood and children, this one is the most modest, but no less pleasing for its delicate style and small setting. I Wish was originally called Miracle, and the change is for the better. The two-word title makes you want to know who's wishing for what, while the single word sounds plain and self-praising. This wise and funny film works small miracles in describing such a moment when kids turn from the wishfulness of childhood into shaping the world for themselves.

    The sweetly reflective hero, a sixth-grader named Koichi, starts out by wishing for a volcano to erupt. Not just any volcano, but the one that towers above his town, smoking heavily and giving off ash. An eruption would lead to a withdrawing, which would lead, at least in his mind, to a reunion with his father and kid brother, who've been living in Hakata while Koichi lives with his mother and retired grandparents in Kagoshima. The volcano, knowing nothing of this, refuses to erupt, but Koichi hears of another approach to realizing the desired miracle.

    One of the pleasures of I Wish is watching how kids behave—how Koichi attacks his dinner, for example. Another pleasure is rediscovering how kids think. These kids can be logical and ever so tricky. But children's thought processes can also be fancy. A boy wishes he could play baseball like one of baseball stars, who eats curry for breakfast; so he, too, starts eating curry for breakfast, instead of practicing on the field. Another boy tries to wish his dead dog, Marble, back to life. And what does Koichi finally wish for? I wish you'd see this delightful film to find out.