A Commitment to Life

    The snow was falling and the roads had become dangerous. The schools were dismissed early, but much to my surprise, my1wasn't canceled. So I went, feeling especially heroic. As far as I could see, I was risking my life to keep my2. Snow or no snow, I would be on time for my scheduled donation at the local 3 center.

    When I got there, I discovered I wasn't4. Four more “hero-types” were already lying back in donor chairs with lines5to their veins, and machines quietly pumping away to6their lifesaving gifts.

    Seeing my fellow donors honoring their own commitments, I realized why I was there. I lay back in my donor chair, ready to make a difference in the life of someone I would never7.

    To be honest, I'd never really thought about why I donate. I just do it. But a few months ago, during one of my8donations I learned that my blood was specifically for a cancer patient and for a newborn baby—both patients needed what I would give in order to live. I've viewed my visits to the blood center9 ever since.

    My wife Karen is a 10  too. And more importantly, she has been on the bone marrow (骨髄) list for fifteen years, ever since she signed up to provide bone marrow to a kindergartner with leukemia (白血病). That little girl died before Karen's bone marrow could help her, 11Karen was called again recently. Her test results were still on file, and it turned out she was a potential 12 for someone else. The caller asked Karen if she would still be willing to become a bone marrow donor. “Yes,” she said and then immediately began answering questions on the pages of paperwork for further testing. It was a race13time.

    I wish I could say that this 14was won. It wasn't. The caller later thanked Karen for her participation and asked a few more questions—including whether or not she'd15 on the donor list. “Of course,” Karen answered.

    Last week Karen gave blood and next week I'll make my usual donation. I'll16an afternoon from my schedule and make an appointment. I don't know whose life my donation may 17 .Most likely it will be a 18  but on any day the person needing a blood product could be you or me or maybe a loved one. It is worthwhile to 19our time to donate.

    I really do feel 20 every time I donate. And I like the feeling.

    Jane's mother worked on the farm from dawn till dark and she just could make ends meet. To make Jane live a1life, she was very careful about spending money.2, Jane didn't understand her. Every day she was busy with her 433while Jane was studying at school, so they had little time to enjoy themselves.

    One day, she realized Jane was unhappy and even 44to her, so she decided to go 45with Jane to make Jane happy.

    On Sunday morning they went happily to the snowfield. Since they were 6in white clothes, the manager advised them to buy ski clothes. He said 47there was an accident, they might be easily 48in their ski clothes. They couldn't 49them, so she refused.

    Then they went skiing in their white clothes. They were skiing happily on the 10when suddenly the snowfield began to11. It was a snow slide(雪崩). They ran a long way and

    12the snow slide finally, but they couldn't find their way. Later, a helicopter was flying above,13people on it couldn't see or hear them. Jane was14because she had hurt her head seriously and15dropped on the snow. Just then an idea struck her mother. She pierced (刺破) her own wrist16and let bright red blood drop on the snow. A red SOS was written. At last Jane17, but her mother died.

    Every time I18the blood dropping on the snow, I feel19. I believe anyone who hears the tragedy will20Jane's mother for her selfless love to her daughter.

    On Dec. 6, Kelsey Zwick boarded Flight 588 from Orlando to Philly with Lucy, one of her 11-month-old twin daughters. Lucy was born 11 weeks prematurely （早产）and 1 from severe lung disease as a result of a complication （并发症） of that. The brave baby girl was on oxygen 2 until recently. Today, Lucy needs oxygen at night and while 3— one small good deed reminded Zwick how "4" she and her husband, Yuri, truly are.

    "To the 5 in 2D. I don't know you, but I imagine you saw us 6. I was pushing a stroller （婴儿车）, had a diaper （尿布） bag on my arm and also 7 an oxygen machine for my daughter," Zwick wrote on her Facebook post. "We 8 the plane, sat down in our window seat and made 9 to those around us about having to sit by my yelling-but-happy baby. The flight attendant came over and told me a gentleman was waiting to 10 seats," she wrote. "You were giving up your comfortable, first-class seat to us. Not able to 11 tears, I cried my way up the 12 while my daughter Lucy 13! She felt it in her bones too... real, pure, goodness. I smiled and thanked you as we switched but didn't get to 14 you properly," the mom continued.

    "So… thank you. Not just for the seat itself but for 15. For seeing us and realizing that maybe things are not 16 easy. For deciding you wanted to show a random act of 17 to us. I can't wait to tell Lucy someday. In the meantime... we will pay it 18."

    Zwick's story touched the hearts of many, giving rise to 19 comments on the post that has since been 20 over 164,000 times.

    The stage lights dimmed, and I took a quick look from behind the heavy black curtains into the audience. Blinded by the lights, I quickly 1. It seems that a great number of eyes were looking at me. I took a deep 2 as the music of my dance began to play. I entered the stage and began my 3, the graduation test of the classical Indian dance.

    After a decade of learning this art form, I had 4 been considered ready to take on the most difficult act. The test is the most important event in a dancer's life as it pays 5 to all the factors in one's life that 6 the dance form: one's culture and family.

    The performance is undertaken only by the most 7 and determined students. It is a difficult process that requires much 8. For more than six months, I spent two to three hours every day9 these dances. Many times, I 10 myself to my physical and mental breaking point, but still I would not stop. I could not give up. There was always so much more to do and so much more to 11.

    I 12 a lot about myself in those tiring hours. I learned that I was far too 13 to give up, and I was too proud to prove myself 14 after I had set an unrealistic goal. Even with physical pain and mental 15, I forced myself to meet my 16. Even when I was at the end of my 17, there was always something driving me on, forcing me not to give up.

    Fortunately, I made it. What I had done 18 the success. It was in those hours that I learned what a dancer 19 is. Those time was evidence that I could 20 something I set out to do.

    During my second year at the city college, I was told that the education department was offering a "free" course, called Thinking Chess, for three credits. I 1the idea of taking the class because, after all, who doesn't want to 2 a few dollars? More than that, I'd always wanted to learn chess. And, even if I weren't 3enough about free credits, news about our 4was appealing enough to me. He was an international grandmaster, which 5 I would be learning from one of the game's 6. I could hardly wait to 7him.

    Maurice Ashley was kind and smart, a former graduate returning to teach, and this 8was no game for him: he meant business. In his introduction, he made it 9that our credits would be hard-earned. In order to 10the class, among other criteria, we had to write a paper on how we plan to 11what we would learn in class to our future professions and, 12, to our lives. I managed to get an A in that 13and learned life lessons that have served me well beyond the 14.

    Ten years after my chess class with Ashley, I'm still putting to use what he 15me: “The absolute most important 16that you learn when you play chess is how to make good 17. On every single move you have to 18a situation, process what your opponent(对手）is doing and 19the best move from among all your options." These words still ring true today in my 20as a journalist.

It was my last class before summer break, and I was finishing up the first year of a Master of Fine Arts (MFA) program in poetry. Unsure if I deserved a 1 in the program, I worried I wasn't as2 as my peers. When the professor asked about our summer 3 , I panicked. I didn't want to appear idle (闲散的)，so without much 4 , I burst out "gardening". Surprisingly, my professor nodded and mentioned Emily Dickinson loved gardening. Emily Dickinson, a great American poet, studied plants as a 5 . But I was in my twenties and had no gardening 6 .

A few days later, I 7 some seedlings in a store. I thought I should get some. At least I could say I had 8 gardening. Wait, was that a jalapeno (墨西哥辣椒)? I 9 it up.

Over the summer, the plant grew, not big but 10 . I was proud. Maybe I didn't have 11 . But then I had to move out of my apartment for some reason. I 12 with my friends. It was December when I found my new apartment, and my jalapeno was suffering: its 13 had fallen off. I set it next to a window by the kitchen sink, and 14 for the best.

I 15 to work hard in school. Then spring came. My plant grew with new leaves. And it flowered when I 16 my graduate paper, a book of 17 , in May.

I was washing dishes one day when my professor called. "Your poems are strong..." he said. I'd done it! I went back to the dishes, but suddenly I found the flowers 18 my jalapeno were gone. Had I done something 19 ?  I looked closer. Where a flower had been, a tiny green fruit 20 through.