Like many new graduates, I left university full of hope for the future but with no real idea of what I wanted to do. My degree, with honors, in English literature had not really prepared me for anything practical. I knew I wanted to make a difference in the world somehow, but I had no idea how to do that. That’s when I learned about the Lighthouse Project.

I started my journey as a Lighthouse Project volunteer by reading as much as I could about the experiences of previous volunteers. I knew it would be a lot of hard work, and that I would be away from my family and friends for a very long time. In short, I did not take my decision to apply for the Lighthouse Project lightly. Neither did my family.

Eventually, however, I won the support of my family, and I sent in all the paperwork needed for the application. After countless interviews and presentations, I managed to stand out among the candidates and survive the test alone. Several months later, I finally received a call asking me to report for the duty. I would be going to a small village near Abuja, Nigeria. Where? What? Nigeria? I had no idea. But I was about to find out.

After completing my training, I was sent to the village that was small and desperately in need of proper accommodation. Though the local villagers were poor, they offered their homes, hearts, and food as if I were their own family. I was asked to lead a small team of local people in building a new schoolhouse. For the next year or so, I taught in that same schoolhouse. But I sometimes think I learned more from my students than they did from me.

Sometime during that period, I realized that all those things that had seemed so strange or unusual to me no longer did, though I did not get anywhere with the local language, and returned to the United States a different man. The Lighthouse Project had changed my life forever.

Agassi was very emotional at the end of his final game. On September 3, the American tennis player said a tearful goodbye to his 21-year career after a third-round defeat in the US Open. The 36-year-old tried his best, but was unable to keep up with German Benjamin Becker, more than ten years his junior.

“The scoreboard said I lost today, but what the scoreboard doesn’t say is what I’ve found,” Agassi said to the fans. “I have found inspiration and you willed me to succeed.” It was an emotional speech at the end of a long career. Agassi hated tennis as a teenager as much as he loves it now. His father made him play when he was a child. He got bored, and became a rebel (叛逆者). The strict training that his father pushed upon him got in the way of his wild lifestyle. He grew hair long, wore colorful clothes and spat (吐口水) at an umpire (裁判). Over the years, he has made bad jokes during news conferences.

Asked what he would say to his 17-year-old self, Agassi answered, “I would say, I understand you a lot more than I want to be you.”

The turning point in Agassi’s career came in 1992 when he unexpectedly won his first Grand Slam (大满贯赛事) at Wimbledon. It was the first time Agassi understood what real champions finally understand: “winning is a test of nerves and not just power; it’s a marathon, not a sprint (短跑)”.

And a marathon Agassi was about to begin. He cut his long hair, got fitter and tightened up emotionally. On the court, he was ranked No. 1 for almost two years. His lowest point came in 1997 when his ranking dropped to No. 141. He didn’t quit though. “I knew that I would try to get the most out of myself every day from that day forward. That was my promise,” he said. “That never stopped.”

Thirty-three summers ago, a diverse group of passengers and I rode a bus from the residential areas, each of us wrapped in our own world, silent and serious. Among us was a small, grey man, a regular passenger who silently boarded the bus each morning, heading to the senior center. He moved with a stoop (弯腰), his face marked with sadness, unnoticed by the rest of us.

One July morning, he greeted the driver and smiled at us, a gesture met with cautious acknowledgment from the driver and silence from the rest. The following day, he boarded with renewed energy, greeting us all warmly. Shocked, some of us responded in kind, and over time, we began to acknowledge each other more.

The old man, now in a neat suit and tie, with his hair carefully combed , became a daily source of greeting. One morning, he surprised us with a bouquet of wildflowers, slightly wilted from the heat. The driver, with a smile, teased him about having a girlfriend, to which he shyly confirmed. The bus erupted in cheers and applause, and Charlie, our old man, took a bow before sitting down. From then on, Charlie brought flowers every day, and some of us started to contribute to his bouquet, shyly offering them to him. The atmosphere on the bus transformed; men began to joke, chat, and share the newspaper.

As autumn approached, Charlie missed his stop one morning, and his absence continued for several days, prompting concern. Upon reaching the senior center, we learned that he was fine but had lost a close friend and was expected back on Monday. The bus ride back was filled with a quiet silence.

The following Monday, Charlie was there, a bit more stooped, his hair a touch grayer, and without his tie. The bus was quiet, like a church, as we, who had been touched by his presence that summer, sat with tears in our eyes and wildflowers in our hands, a silent tribute to our friend Charlie.