That cold January night,I was growing sick of my life in San Francisco.There I was,walking home at one in the morning after a tiring practice at the theatre.With the opening night only a week away,I was still learning my lines.I was having trouble dealing with my part-time job at the bank and my acting at night at the same time.As I walked,I thought seriously about giving up both acting and San Francisco.City life had become too much for me.

    As I walked down empty streets under tall buildings,I felt very small and cold.I began running,both to keep warm and to keep away from any possible robbers.Very few people were still out except a few sad-looking homeless people under blankets.

    About a block from my apartment,I heard a sound behind me.I turned quickly,half expecting to see someone with a knife or a gun.The street was empty.All I saw was a shining streetlight.Still,the noise had made me nervous,so I started to run faster.Not until I reached my apartment building and unlocked the door did I realize what the noise had been.It had been my wallet falling to the sidewalk.

    Suddenly I wasn't cold or tired anymore.I ran out of the door and back to where I'd heard the noise.Although I searched the sidewalk anxiously for fifteen minutes,my wallet was nowhere to be found.

    Just as I was about to give up the search,I heard the garbage truck pull up to the sidewalk next to me.When a voice called from the inside,"Alisa Camacho"I thought I was dreaming.How could this man know my name?The door opened,and out jumped a small red-haired man with an amused look in his eye."Is this what you're looking for" he asked,holding up a small square shape.

    It was nearly 3 a.m. by the time I got into bed.I wouldn't get much sleep that night,but I had gotten my wallet back.I also had gotten back some enjoyment of city life.I realized that the city couldn't be a bad place as long as people were willing to help each other.

    When I was 16 years old, I made my first visit to the United States. It wasn't the first time I had been abroad. Like most English children I learned French at school and I had often been to France, so I was used to speaking a foreign language to people who didn't understand English. But when I went to America I was really looking forward to having a nice easy holiday without any language problems.

    How wrong I was! The misunderstanding began at the airport. I was looking for a public telephone to give my American friend Danny a ring and tell her that I had arrived. A friendly old man saw me looking like being lost and asked if he could help me.

    “Yes,” I said. “I want to give my friend a ring.”

    “Well, that's nice,” he said. “Are you getting married? But aren't you a bit young?”

    “Who is talking about marriage?” I replied. “I just want to give my friend a ring to tell her I've arrived. Can you tell me where there's a phone box?”

    “Oh!” he said. “There's a phone downstairs.”

    When at last we did meet up, Danny explained the misunderstanding to me.

    “Don't worry,” she said to me. “I had many difficulties at first. There are lots of words which the Americans use differently in meaning from us British. You'll soon get used to all the funny things they say. But most of the time British and American people can understand each other!”

    The idea of cloning your pet sounds like a laughable waste of money, because it is. But it starts to seem a little less laughable when your own beloved pet starts getting older. If I had had a few hundred thousand dollars to spare, I know I would have half-seriously considered it for my dear little cat, who died last year. One couple that does happen to have a few hundred dollars to spare is Barry Diller and Diane, who have reportedly cloned their beloved Jack Russell Terrier (a kind of dog), Shannon, and now have two identical Jack Russell Terrier named Deena and Evita.

    When your pet dies, you just want your pet back, or at least as close a copy as you can get. So it's really no surprise that of the around 600 dogs cloned by Sooam Biotech Reaserch Foundation most were cloned for sad pet owners. The lab in Seoul, South Korea, is now the only place on the planet in the business of cloning pet dogs for pet owners.

    But, in fact, the technology won't give you your pet back. There don't yet appear to be any studies on the behaviour of cloned pets, but research on cloned cows and pigs has so far shown marked differences in behaviour and even looks in cloned animals. The DNA is exactly the same, but there are still differences in personality and appearance.

Even if Diller and Von Furstenburg raise their new dogs in the exactly same environment in the exactly same way that they raised Shannon, the new dogs will still behave differently. “The promise of pet cloning is that your cloned pet is going to behave and look like the one you already have — and that will not be the case,” said Professor Jorge Piedrahita at N.C. State. “We have cloned animals that were raised in the same environment, but they still didn't act the same.”

    When I was a boy there were no smart phones. Computers were something you saw on STAR TREK(星际航行), and our television only got one channel clearly. Still, I was never bored. The fields, hills, and woodlands around my house were the nature ready-made playgrounds.

    I can remember once hiking to a nearby lake and slowly walking around it. At the backside of it I was amazed to find an old, one-lane, dirt road that I had never seen before. I immediately set out to travel it. It was full of holes and muddy tracks and deep woods bordered it on both sides, but exploring it still seemed like a fine adventure.

    I walked on and on for what seemed like hours. I was sure my guardian angel was whispering in my ear to turn around and head back home but I was stubborn and even a bit stupid, so I walked on.

    The dirt road give way to a rock one and then a paved one, yet there was still neither a car nor a house in sight. My legs were getting tired. I noticed that the sun was starting to go down and I grew scared. I didn't want to end up trapped on this road in the dark of night, but I was sure it would be dark before I could make my way back to the lake again.

    I was almost in tears when I turned one last curve(弯曲处) and saw something in the distance. It was a house that I recognized. My heart leapt up! I jumped up and down and laughed out loud. I knew the way home! It was still over a mile away but my legs felt like feathers and I hurried back to my house in no time. I walked in with a big smile on my face just in time for dinner.

    I remembered this recently when I saw a sign that said, “All roads lead Home.” This is true. In this life all roads no matter what their twists(弯曲) and turns are can lead us home again. They can lead us to our homes here on Earth. They can lead us to our homes in our heart, if we can insist.

    In a world full of Kates and Sarahs, you might think it'd be nice to have a unique name to help me stand out in a crowd. Being named Stacia (pronounced stay-sha) is not so lucky to me. I'll get the occasional "Your name is so pretty" after introducing myself, but eventually my name causes me more frustration than happiness. For example, Microsoft Word always tries to tell me my name isn't a real word. I couldn't even pronounce my own name correctly until I was five.

    I once had a professor who pronounced my name differently each class. After a while I stopped correcting him, and that's been my reaction to strangers ever since. In other cases, I'd rather tell the seller my name is Staci and save both of us, as well as the people standing behind me in line, valuable time.

    Meeting new people gives me anxiety, and I've realized it's easier just to lie about my name altogether in certain cases. Actually I did—so many times that Brittany is now my chosen "going out" name. It may have caused some confusion for my friends at first, who would let out a small laugh or have a confused look, but I've trained them to keep a straight face whenever I whip out this fake (假的) name. Now going out on weekends means I get to have a shift of identity.

    Frustrations aside, being the owner of a unique name has made me appreciate the little things in life. Someone pronouncing or spelling my name correctly on the first try brings me more joy than it probably should. I also love it when I meet another Stacia and we get to bond over our shared struggles.

    To any other Stacias reading this—I feel you, girl. P. S. I apologize to any real Brittanys out there. Thanks for letting me borrow your name.

    Like many other people who speak more than one language, I often have the sense that I'm a slightly different person in each of my languages­more confident in English, more relaxed in French, more emotional in Czech. Is it possible that, along with these differences, my moral compass (指南针) also points in somewhat different directions depending on the language I'm using at the time?

    Psychologists who study moral judgments have become very interested in this question. The findings of several recent studies suggest that when people are faced with moral dilemmas (困境), they do indeed respond differently when considering them in a foreign language than when using their native tongue.

    In a 2014 paper led by Albert Costa  volunteers were presented with a moral dilemma known as the "trolley problem": imagine that a runaway trolley is moving quickly toward a group of five people standing on the tracks, unable to move. You are next to a switch that can move the trolley to a different set of tracks, therefore sparing the five people, but resulting in the death of one who is standing on the side tracks. Do you pull the switch?

    Most people agree that they would. But what if the only way to stop the trolley is by pushing a large stranger off a footbridge into its path? People tend to be very hesitant to say they would do this, even though in both situations, one person is sacrificed to save five. But Costa and his colleagues found that presenting the dilemma in a language that volunteers had learned as a foreign tongue dramatically increased their stated willingness to push the sacrificial person off the footbridge, from fewer than 20% of respondents working in their native language to about 50% of those using the foreign one.

    Why does it matter whether we judge morality in our native language or a foreign one? According to one explanation, such judgments involve two separate and competing ways of thinking­one of these, a quick, natural "feeling," and the other, careful deliberation about the greatest good for the greatest number. When we use a foreign language, we unconsciously sink into the more careful way simply because the effort of operating in our non-native language signals our cognitive (认知的) system to prepare for difficult activity.

    An alternative explanation is that differences arise between native and foreign tongues because our childhood languages are filled with greater emotions than are those learned in more academic settings. As a result, moral judgments made in a foreign language are less filled with the emotional reactions that surface when we use a language learned in childhood.

    There's strong evidence that memory connects a language with the experiences and interactions through which that language was learned. For example, people who are bilingual (双语的) are more likely to recall an experience if reminded in the language in which that event occurred. Our childhood languages, learned in the middle of passionate emotion, become filled with deep feeling. By comparison, languages acquired late in life, especially if they are learned through limited interactions in the classroom or dully delivered over computer screens and headphones, enter our minds lacking the emotionality that is present for their native speakers.