People from every corner flooded into the streets that Christmas Eve. "Frosty the Snowman," and "Jingle Bells" 1 in stores; on the pavements, the street singers performed happily. Everyone was 2 by someone else, delighted and cheerful. I was alone.

    As one of 8 kids of a Brazilian family, brought up in America's crowded apartment, I'd spent several years searching for aloneness. Now,3, at 27, a college student after the 4 with my girlfriend, every cell inside me wanted to be alone,5  not at Christmas. My family had 6to Brazil and my friends were 7with their own lives. Dusk was approaching, and the fact that I had to return to my 8 home made me sad. Lights from windows blinked (闪烁), and I hoped someone would 9 from one of those homes to invite me inside with a Christmas tree decorated with shiny fake snow and 10 presents.

    At a market, I felt more 11 when people were buying lots of goods, which12 the gifts we received as children in my mind. I missed my family and wanted to cry for wanting to be alone and for having achieved it.

    Outside the church, a manger (小耶稣) had been set 13. I stood with others watching the scene, some of them 14 themselves, praying. As I walked home, I realized that leaving Brazil was still a painful experience as I struggled with 15 I had become in 15 years in America. I'd mourned (悲叹) the 16, but for the first time, I recognized what I'd gained. I was independent, 17 and healthy. My life was still ahead, full of 18.

    Sometimes the best gift is the one that you give yourself. That Christmas, I gave myself 19 for what I'd obtained up to now and promise to go forward. It is the best gift I've ever got, the one that I most 20.

    Many years ago, I was working in an office in Halifax, Nova Scotia. We had a large1that looked out over a busy street. I was standing by it one day when a woman in a2 car looked up and made eye contact. Naturally I 3. As she turned and tried to identify me, a quiet laugh 4my lips. My co-workers began taking an interest, and stood back watching the5I received, and laughing happily. Then the stress of work was6away.

    Christmas approached, and job 7 were announced. Several of my co-workers were losing their jobs, and everyone was8. While I was working a night shift, a red jacket, a box of foam (泡沫橡胶) packing and strips of tape in the corner attracted my 9 They could be Santa's jacket and beard! Then I folded a red file into a 10 and tied the beard to it.

    The next day I walked 11 down into the office in the costume. My co-workers 12 around me and laughed for the first time in weeks. Suddenly, my boss came up to me13 shook his head and then left. I feared 14. Then the phone rang.

    With a bead of sweat 15 my forehead, I entered the boss' office.16he laughed: “Thanks, Mike! It's been hard to enjoy the Christmas season. Thanks for the laugh. I 17 it.”

    That evening, I stood 18by the window and waved at my fans, with my heart 19with joy. For a few minutes of that day, we'd been able to forget our 20

    Each year her husband sent her valentine roses, tied with pretty bows, and a card. The card would 1say, "I love you even more than last year on this day."

    The year he2, the roses were delivered to her door as usual. The card said, "Be my valentine. My love for you will always3with every passing year." She thought this was the4 time that the roses would appear. She5he ordered roses6without knowing that he would7.He always liked to do things ahead. Then, if he got busy, everything would work out 8.She put 9 in a very special vase, and then placed the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face. She would sit for hours, staring at his picture and the roses.

    A year went by, 10it was tough to live without him. Then, on Valentine's Day, the doorbell rang, and she saw roses sitting 11 her door. She brought the roses in, and then looked at them in surprise. Later she 12 the flower­ shop and asked them to explain 13 valentine roses were sent to her.

    The owner replied,"I know your husband passed away a year ago. The flowers you14today were paid for two years ago. Your husband always planned ahead. Here is 15 of many years. You'll get them every year till... and he also wrote a special little16for you...he did this years ago. He said, 'If you find out that I'm no longer here, the card should be sent to my wife the following year.'"

    She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears 17 her face. She found a card among the roses and read it slowly, "Hello, my love. I know it's been a year since I was gone. I hope it's not too hard for you to overcome. I know you must be 18 and the pain is real. The 19 we shared made everything so beautiful in life. I loved you more than20can say. Please try not to be too sad. That is why the roses will be sent to you for years."

    Until a few years ago, I had what most people would call a good life. I had a 1job that paid the bills; I had a good family that I was close to, and I had a place to live and money in the bank for trips and 2, and there was nothing much wrong in my life.3, I was bored.

    I wanted 4. I wanted to live brightly and loudly and make sharp memories instead of the 5 ones of everyday life. But I was 6. I've never had any7in myself. As a child, even buying something in a shop caused me a great deal of 8, and even though I did get better as I got older, I never really9 that childhood shyness.

    And I tried everything, like reading books about confidence. I took tiny steps leading to my goals. But none of them really10.

    So I 11 that the small steps weren't enough. I signed up for an internship（实习期）teaching English in Vietnam, an12 huge step, one that13 me as much as it excited me. And then the day came and I left my home and my loved one. I was alone in a country where the food was14 and the streets were dirty. I had no idea whether I would be able to 15everything this very strange environment would16 at me.

    I spent five months in Vietnam, teaching and exploring and laughing. I'd learned to 17 myself, my skills, my abilities and my decisions. I returned home 18, even to myself, let alone to others. The19 that had controlled my life and the self-doubt completely20.

    That one big chance changed everything for me, and in me.

    Everyone should go to his or her 50th high school reunion. There was a time I thought I'd never go even if the opportunity 1. But now I feel 2for people who don't go.

    I went to the 3of my high school on a Saturday evening, and I am glad I did. It was a gift to recognize some4classmates right away — and to be recognized. 5, we had name tags and our 6photos on our clothing to help identify us. I recognized one woman immediately!

    The most memorable and moving experience of the night was 7by a schoolmate and neighbor to whom I was once close. Unfortunately, we had a falling out in the high school. I never saw her after 8, but this time, I saw her name on a place setting. At first, I feared that I would 9her. But my better self won over, and I 10 her out. I kept looking until I got a(n) 11on my shoulder. There she was 12. We hugged as if nothing had ever 13and exchanged affectionate words. When the party 14, my old-new friend walked towards me, 15me again and wished me well. I returned her good wishes. All the bad 16melted into thin air.

    I am grateful I had this 17to reunite with old classmates. After all, we are almost 18the final lap of our lifelong journeys. Some classmates had already left this 19, and their names were deleted from the list. Sometimes we have to walk back into the past because time does heal old wounds. We're not the 20people. We are better people.

    I was facing a decision. While delivering laundry (洗好的衣服) into the 1 bedrooms, I came across my thirteen-year-old sister's diary, suffused (弥漫) with 2. What was I to do?

    I had always been 3 of my little sister. Her charming smile, endearing personality and many talents 4 my place as leading lady. I competed with her secretly and grew to hate her natural abilities. 5, we seldom spoke. I sought opportunities to 6 her. Her diary lay at my feet, and I didn't think of the 7 of opening it, considering not her privacy, nor the morality of my action.

    I took the book from the floor and opened it 8, looking through the pages, searching for my name, convinced that I would discover 9. As I read, the blood ran from my face. I felt 10 and sat on the floor. There was neither charge nor hate. There was a brief description of herself, her goals and her dreams followed by a short description of the person who has 11 her most.

    I started to cry. I was her 12. She admired me for my personality, my achievements and, ironically (嘲讽地), my 13. She wanted to be like me. She had been watching me for years, quietly admiring my choices and actions. I stopped reading, 14 with the crime I had committed.

    I had wasted years hating her and now I had violated her 15. It was I who had lost something beautiful, and it was I who would never 16 myself to do such a thing again. Reading the earnest words my sister had written seemed to 17 an icy barrier around my heart, and I longed to know her again. On that fateful afternoon, as I 18 the laundry and rose to my feet, I 19 to go to her—this time to experience instead of to judge, to 20 instead of to fight. After all, she was my sister.