We have been driving in fog all morning, but the fog is lifting now. The little seaside villages are 1 one by one. "There is my grandmother's house," I say,2 across the bay to a shabby old house.

    I am in Nova Scotia on a pilgrimage (朝圣) with Lise, my granddaughter, seeking roots for her, retracing (追溯)3 memory for me. Lise was one of the mobile children,4 from house to house in childhood. She longs for a sense of 5 , and so we have come to Nova Scotia where my husband and I were born and where our ancestors 6for 200 years.

    We soon 7 by the house and I tell her what it was like here, the memories8back, swift as the tide (潮水).

Suddenly, I long to walk again in the 9where I was once so glorious a child. It still 10a member of the family, but has not been lived in for a while. We cannot go into the house, but I can still walk11the rooms in memory. Here, my mother 12 in her bedroom window and wrote in her diary. I can still see the enthusiastic family 13 into and out of the house. I could never have enough of being 14 them. However, that was long after those childhood days. Lise 15 attentively as I talk and then says, " So this is where I 16 ; where I belong. "

She has17her roots. To know where I come from is one of the great longings of the human 18. To be rooted is "to have an origin". We need 19 origin. Looking backward, we discover what is unique in us; learn the20 of "I". We must all go home again—in reality or memory.

    These days，upcycling(升级改造)is popular with people.They 1 something unique from existing materials rather than buy more.My granny，Bobo has spent 92 years doing just that out of necessity.

    Wasting time and resources was 2 an option in the world she grew up in.With seven children to 3she lived a hard and economical life.Bobo has been upcycling 4 the day Great-Granny Annie put a needle in her hand and taught her how to give new 5 to every fabric(织物)in their farmhouse.

    Just like Bobo，my mother，Cindy6making her clothes.She7 her homecoming dress and bought the fabric with money she earned8 at the can factory.One generation passed on to the next the 9of creating something beautiful and useful by hand.

    Granny's and Mom's sewing skills meant that no matter the budget，Christmas，birthday，and wedding gifts were 10From a baby blanket to a bib(围嘴)，each treasure 11a special quality of personalization.In my home I am 12 by upcycling at its best.

    Thanks to Bobo's13 ways，the artistry of handwork lives on in four 14 of crafters.Granny Bobo lived it.Mom carried it on.I am picking it up by listening and 15Now my daughter，Greta，is also learning to use those 16.

    I sit and watch 17 as Bobo's hands weave needle and thread.In 92 years，her hands have known and 18 life，home and family.Age has brought the19 of some memories.But if you listen to her stories while she20you'll journey back to the old farm with her.

    I lifted my wet woollen gloves to my face and wiped the snowflakes from my eyes. I could not feel my nose and my 1 formed a thick fog in the air. The biting wind was making me2. I was fed up! I didn't want to be here. I wanted to go home. But Mum and Dad had 3me to go for a Sunday afternoon walk in the park. I could see my 4 in the snowy path, like a trail of breadcrumbs (一串面包屑) in the forest showing me the way 5.

    I stopped and listened to my 6. I could 7 the wind crying like a homeless dog hungry for a delicious 8. The once-green tree 9, which used to wave gently in the breeze, had become bare, and the grass was covered with a 10 blanket of fresh snow. Then I saw a broken spider's web shining golden beneath a pale sun. My breath was like silky soft 11 floating up into the freezing cold air.

    Suddenly there was Mum, 12 handing me a big cup of hot chocolate. Her big smile immediately 13 my heart.

    "Here you are, Jo. This will keep you 14," she said as she placed a comforting arm around my shoulders and 15 her cheek against mine.

    I slowly took a mouthful of the hot 16 and felt it slowly dripping down my throat like lava (熔岩) 17 down a mountainside. My wet woollen gloves were now warm, not 18. My breath warmed, and I was 19 fed up or cold. I was happy and 20.

The Little Angel

    Sally jumped up the moment she saw the surgeon come out of the operating room. She asked, "How is my little boy?"

    The surgeon said, "I'm 1. We did all we could, but your boy didn't2 it."

    Sally 3 into the chair. The surgeon asked, "Would you like some time with your son before he was transported to the 4?" Sally nodded. While saying goodbye, she ran her fingers 5 through his thick curly hair. "Would you like a lock of his hair?" the surgeon asked. Sally nodded yes. The surgeon cut a few hairs, and handed them to Sally. The mother said, "It was Jimmy's idea to 6 his body to the university for study. He said it might 7 somebody else. "I said no at first, 8 Jimmy said, 'Mom, I won't be using it after I die. Maybe it will help some other little boy spend one more day with his Mom.'"

    "My Jimmy had a heart of 9, always thinking of someone else, always wanting to help others if he could." she went on.

    Sally walked out of the hospital. She put the bag with Jimmy's 10 on the seat beside her in the car. The drive home was 11. It was even harder to enter the 12 house. She carried Jimmy's belongings, and the lock of his hair to her son's room. She started placing the model cars and other personal things back in his room 13 where he had always kept them. She lay down across his bed and, hugging his pillow, 14 herself to sleep.

    It was around midnight when Sally 15. Lying beside her on the bed was a letter. The letter said,

"Dear Mom,

    I know you're going to 16 me, and me too. I will always love you, Mom, even more 17 each passing day. Someday we will see each other again. Until then, if you want to 18a little boy so you won't be so lonely, that's OK with me. He can have my room and old toys to play with.

    Don't be sad thinking about me. I don't hurt any more. The cancer is all19. I don't have to stand that 20 any more. The angels in Heaven are so tender. They say I'm a Special Angel! I love you, Mom."

    Kids who live a happy childhood dream about what they will be when they grow up. But less 1 kids, who live in poverty, sometimes wonder why they were born in the first place.

    Children like these 2 Lebanese director Nadine Labaki's new film Capernau (《何以为家》), which arrived in Chinese mainland 3 on April 29 , 2019.

    In the slums (贫民窟) of Beirut, Lebanon's capital, Labaki saw kids selling gum or flowers or 4 carrying heavy gas tanks. Some of them were alone on the street, unfed and 5.

    One of these kids told her, "I don't know 6 I was born if no one is going to love me, if no one is going to 7 me before I go to sleep, or if I'm going to be beaten up every day."

    This is how Capernaum begins: A 12-year-old boy named Zain who lives in one of Beirut's slums, charges his parents for giving 8 to him, even though, he says, they knew they couldn't 9 him.

    Capernaum is fictional but ifs as 10 as it gets. There are no 11 actors in this film. Zain, for example, is 12 by a boy with the same name, a Syrian refugee (难民) called Zain Al Rafeea. He had never slept in a 13 before the film, or gone to school. He didn't even have papers to 14 he was a human being—just like his character in the film.

    By making the film, Labaki wanted to "become the voice of these kids", according to The Guardian. The voice is being heard. It ran first at Cannes Film Festival in May, 2018, and 15 the Jury Prize. Soon after the festival, under the 16 of the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, Zain and his family got the chance to resettle in Norway. They now live in a house by the sea, and Zain is going to school.

    When Labaki told The New York Times that she wanted the film "to go beyond the borders of just being a film" and be "a 17 for help", she wasn't 18 how big an impact it would have. "I might never get anywhere, but 19 I want to try," she said.

    But she has certainly gone somewhere indeed—to say the least, the real-life Zain is now able to 20 his future.