Last Sunday, I sat with Tony, my college classmate, in a well-known coffee shop in Buenos Aires, Argentina. As we1our coffee, two men entered and sat on an empty table beside us.

    They2the waiter and ordered three cups of 3, two on the table and one on the wall. We heard this order with great4and observed that they were served with two cups of coffee5they paid for three. As soon as they6, the waiter pasted (粘贴) a piece of paper on the wall saying A Cup of Coffee.

    It 7that the matter was normal at this place. However, it was something8for Tony and me. Since we had nothing to do with the matter, we 9our coffee, paid the bill and left.

    After a few days, we again had a10to go to this coffee shop. While we were enjoying our coffee, a man entered. The way this man was dressed did not 11the standard nor the atmosphere of this coffee shop. Poverty was12from the looks on his face. As he13himself, he looked at the14and said, “One cup of coffee from the wall.” The waiter served coffee to this man with15, politeness and warmth.

    After a few minutes, the man finished his coffee and left16paying. We were amazed to watch all this when the waiter 17a piece of paper from the wall and18it in the dustbin.

    Now it was no 19for us because the matter was very clear. Although the man didn't know about the one who was giving this cup of coffee to him, he would have a better understanding of the wall which had a great role between the 20and receiver.

    A young painter just completed his course from his teacher. The painter decided to check his own 1, so he put his best painting at a busy crossroad. And just down below a board read. “Gentlemen, I've painted this piece. Since I'm2 to painting, please put a cross (叉) wherever you see a 3 in my painting.”

    4 he came back in the evening to collect it, he was shocked. The whole painting was filled with 5. The young painter ran to his teacher's place and burst into tears. He 6 told his teacher about what had 7 and showed him the painting. This young painter cried. “I'm 8 and I could not become a painter at all. I fed like 9.”

    His teacher smiled and suggested, “I'll prove that you are a great 10.” The young painter couldn't believe it and said, “I've lost11 and I don't think I'm good enough. Don't 12 me.”

     “Do as I say without asking 13. Just paint the same painting once again and give it to me. It will work,” his teacher persuaded (劝服) him. The young painter finally 14 and two days later, he painted the same painting once again and 15 it to his teacher.

    “Come with me,” his teacher said. They reached the same street-crossing and put the same painting there. His teacher took out another 16 which read. “Gentlemen. I've painted this piece. Since I'm new to painting, there might be some disadvantages in my painting. I've put a box with 17 and brushes (画笔) just below. Please do me a favor. If you see a disadvantage, kindly pick up the brush and 18 it.” They both visited the place in the evening. The young painter was 19  to see there was not a single corection done!

    It is easy to criticize (批评), but difficult to help others 20 .

    I can never wipe off the memory that I met my current stepmom for the first time. After I parted with my father for ages, I moved to America and was 1 with him. In the beginning, she made sure to let me know that I was welcome in her 2. I remember when I first saw her at the 3. It was different, but not 4. Over the past years there is 5 I needed that she did not provide. I'm the young woman I'm today because she made sure to 6 me properly. Yesterday I went to see her for Mother's Day. When I gave her 7, she held my face in both of her hands and kissed me straight on the mouth 8 I had the flu.

    Her simple act of affection 9 me back to my first night in America. After I was 10 up from the airport we went home and she11 my luggage and took me shopping for new clothes since the ones I had brought with me from Africa were a bit 12. That night before I went to bed, she came to my room, the first room I had ever had for my own. She told me she was 13 to have me and that she would take good care of me. Before she 14 she asked me for a hug. That was my 15 first hug and I was 11 years old at that time.

    I'm 23 years old now and I have received many 16 over the past years, but none has given me a greater 17 or deeper impression. I regarded her as my 18 mother because my new life began when I came to 19 with her. Today I say to my mother, Mrs. Sherrill Kirundi, thank you, mom. Thank you for your giving me my 20 childhood back.

    Can you love someone too much？1 you can express the wrong kind of love, but I'm sure you can't 2 too much.

    One of my favorite stories tells of a woman who finally 3 to ask her boss for a raise in salary. All day she felt4. Late in the afternoon she worked up the 5 to speak to her employer. To her delight, he 6 a raise.

    The woman arrived home that evening to a beautiful 7 set with their best dishes. Her husband had come home early and8 a festival meal. She wondered if he 9 knew that she would not get turned down.

    She found him in the kitchen and told him the good 10. They kissed and then sat down to the wonderful meal. Next to her plate the woman found a beautifully lettered 11. It read, "Congratulations, darling! I knew you'd get the raise! These things will 12 you how much I love you."

    After supper, her husband went to do some 13. As he left the room, she 14 a second card that had fallen from his pocket. Picking it off the floor, she read, "Don't worry about not getting the raise. You 15 it anyway! These things will tell you how much I love you."

    The measure of love is when you love without measure. What this man tried to show his wife was 16 acceptance and love. Whether she17 or not, he loved her regardless. Sometimes his love might celebrate her victories and other times it was there to give 18.

    Upon receiving the Nobel Peace Prize, Mother Teresa said, "What can you do to promote world 19? Go home and love your20." Yes, love your family, and also love your friends. Love them without pressure. And don't worry about spoilage（变质）. So remember, "Potatoes spoil, people don't spoil."

    I stood in the yard with my son. He had a 1of bubbles（泡沫） and would dip and dip and blow and blow, but no bubbles. He 2me the bottle and loop and asked me, “Daddy, can you 3bubbles?”

    I hadn't blown bubbles in years. Though as a 4, I have successfully performed various experiments, I was having no more5than my son. I would dip and puff（喷出）,but failed.

    After several 6attempts, I changed ways.7puffing on the loop of soapy water, I gently breathed on it. My son shouted with 8as a big beautiful bubble 9and floated away. He grabbed the loop, dipped and blew, but nothing happened as it was 10. I explained to him, “Son, you can't blow 11.You must so gently breathe on the loop.” He stopped his strong 12to create big bubbles by blowing with a lot of strength and 13my advice. Big bubbles came into being.

    There are some things that you can get with cruel14, but there are other things that only 15with the gentleness of a soft breath. Too often, we try to force 16and affection from whom we like. It won't happen. The greater force we put on it, the 17we will gain. Just like the bubbles, it bursts before it can ever 18because we put too much force on it. It can't be forced and is more often19in the soft things of life. Blow beautiful bubbles; breathe 20.

Fifteen years ago, I loved going to the gym, but family life and work commitments meant I was finding it hard to get there. With the help of my dad and uncle, I built my own gym in the garden. It's basically a beautified room with insulation(隔热层) and electrics and a small heater for the winter. We built a corner desk too intending it to be for me to do the paperwork for my small business. However, the desk served its real purpose when I started my writing journey two years ago.

I've always had stories going through my mind. I could be out jogging and I'd lose myself playing out thoughts in my head like movie scenes. Once seen, they stay in there. I have trouble keeping other information, but when it comes to story ideas, they lock in. I have many full novel ideas in my head waiting to be written. When I was younger, I wasn't brave enough to write. I didn't do well in school and I've spent most of my life in physical work, so the idea of becoming a writer felt laughable.

I now know there isn't a writer type; writers come in all forms. I still use the gym for its real purpose, but some of the equipment has been replaced by books and a small be d for the time when I want to relax and read. I like to have my desk looking colorful—some might say messy. My love for sport is clear to see, with photos around of my favorite boxers and the football team I follow. On the other hand, having my own writing room is important. Without it I wouldn't be where I am now on my writing journey. It's far from charming, but it is mine. It's my happy place.