Alone in the wilderness. Nothing but jungle. A world of shadow with the rays of light falling like blonde hair from the crowns of the giant trees. Jungle in the middy sun. Everything motionless. Not a sound from sky or earth. Complete silence. Only some coconuts falling, very far away. The world reduced to the soft touch of cool grass along my naked back, and a sweet smell of rich soil and vegetation. Stretching out with closed eyes beside my heavy burden of fruit and firewood, I enjoyed the feeling of fresh blood streaming through every part of my body and fresh jungle air filling every corner of my lungs.

Resting motionless, I could see the sun through my closed eyelids, alone in the sky, as lonely as I, and as motionless and silent as everything else. The earth had surely stopped turning and somewhere on this planet there was supposed to be roaring traffic in busy streets. What a crazy, unbelievable thought!

Another coconut fell, to make the world come to a complete standstill. I had to roll over onto my stomach to feel that at least I could move and make noises. Then I found company. A little brown ant was struggling to find its way with a bit of dry straw (草) through the jungle of leaves and grass below my nose. I wondered if I could give the little fellow a lift with its burden, but it showed not the slightest sign of tiredness and struggled on with all six legs, head first or head last, waving its feelers energetically as if the trip had just started. Who ever saw a tired ant? Tiredness, disagreeable tiredness, is restricted to hunted animals, slaves and modern man. It is as great an effort for an office to walk five blocks with a heavy brief-case as it is for a jungle-dweller to cross a valley with a goat on his back. It is as hard to get up and climb or run when you have been seated for years as it is to get up and walk when you have been in bed for months. The body is strange. Spare it, and you get really tired for almost nothing; use it, and almost nothing makes you really tired.

I rose to my feet. I had heard a horse neighing down in the valley. Above me, on the open highland plains, there were wild horses. But down in the valley there was never a horse unless there was a man on it. Somebody was making his way up the valley and my wife was alone.

A while back I caught a news report on something called couchsurfing and the net work of trusting souls who make this phenomenon possible. They offer to put up(留宿) travelers free of charge and help them on their ways. At first, it sounded unbelievable. I mean, inviting strangers into one's home for one or two nights? Give me a break.

However, I was intrigued. I decided to investigate(调查). The only way to truly learn about this phenomenon was to dive in. So I planned a trip to Finland, a country I' ve always wanted to explore. I would couchsurf at every stop there.

If ever any anxiety existed when stepping into the unknown, it disappeared when my first host met me at the train station. Ari looked like my idea of a typical Finn: tall and blue-eyed. Finns were also supposed to be famously reserved((寡言少语的). Ari was anything but. He was a live wire, giving me an enthusiastic welcome and hiking with me to his apartment, where he showed me the sleeping sofa, served me tea and engaged me in warm conversations. He also handed me a key to come and go as I pleased.

If this was what couchsurfing was all about-trust and friendship- then I had gotten off to a good start. As I boarded my next train to continue my journey I began to think about this couchsurfing idea. What urged these people to open their homes to strangers? I concluded that there was a desire to lend a hand to like-minded folks who might enrich their own lives.

Seven cities in 14 days. Seven hosts. Seven new friends. If couchsurfing taught me anything, it's this: Most people are good and generous. Where will couchsurfing take me next? Who knows? But I can't wait to find out.

Two years ago, you were happy and whole. You had a plan for life — start a new business, get involved in the Parent-teacher Association, teach your sons how to ride bicycles, spend as much time with your friends and parents as possible, watch your children mature and grow old with your husband. You were a “glass half full” person who often felt so much joy. You always looked forward, smiled and danced.

Two years ago, on December 14, 2012, the world changed and you changed with it. Disturbed young men with access to high-powered guns went to your sons’ school and killed six educators and twenty first-graders. Your eldest son Jake survived, but was changed by the day he discovered some monsters are real. He describes it as the day “when evils came to my school.” Your youngest son, Dylan, whom you thought of as a pure love, with his charming eyes and infectious giggle(微笑)，was killed. Shot multiple times, he died instantly in the arms of his special-education assistant who also died while trying to protect him.

The tragedy changed all your life, not only because of losing your child, but because of the hole inside you that can never be filled. Your eldest son has been forced to grow up too fast because of the loss of his brother. The pain has altered the lines on your husband’s face. The way you look at the world has changed. Your interactions with friends and family seem foreign.

… …

But the things have moved on with hopefulness. You are now someone far more realistic. You control your feelings because you fear if you really let it out, you would never recover. It would destroy you. You know what you should do is try everything to protect more children. You’re fighting a good fight, what the whole society really needs.

With love,

Nicole Hockley, Dylan’s mom