Ethan was a young man living in a small town. He was a bright soul with dreams, but he was also trapped by the chains of fear and doubt.

Ethan worked at a small bookshop, yet deep within, he had a strong desire to become a painter. Every evening, as the setting sun painted the sky in orange and pink, Ethan would sit by his window, a blank canvas (油画布) before him. Yet, no stroke (笔画) graced the canvas. The fear of failure and the whispers of doubt prevented him from painting. “What if I’m not good enough?” he often thought.

One cold autumn evening, an unexpected visitor came knocking at Ethan’s door-Mrs. Wilkins, an elderly well-known woman of wisdom. “Ethan,” she began gently, “I’ve noticed the light in your room night after night, and yet, I’ve seen no color grace the world from your hands. Why is that?”

Ethan sighed, the weight of his unspoken dreams heavy on his shoulders. He whispered, “I’m afraid that I’ll never be good enough and that my work will never touch the hearts of others.”

Mrs. Wilkins smiled, a kind, understanding smile. “Ethan,” she said, drawing closer, “let me tell you a story of a young bird, much like yourself, afraid to leave its nest. The little bird was always scared at the thought of flight. Day after day, it watched other birds fly into the sky, while it remained where it was, full of fear. The bird feared the unknown, feared failure, and most of all, feared that its wings were not strong enough to carry it. But then, one day, a storm approached, and the little bird had no choice but to jump into the storm. It was not an easy journey; the winds were very strong, and the rain blinded its eyes. Yet, with each flap (拍打) of its wings, the bird realized that it was able to fly.”

Ethan felt a sense of warmth and hope wash over him as Mrs. Wilkins spoke.

That night, for the first time in many years, Ethan picked up his brush.

On a sunny summer weekend, little Sam, accompanied by his parents, left the noisy city for the peaceful countryside. They drove through green meadows and clear streams. In the afternoon, their journey brought them to a charming lake where they encountered a weathered man who introduced himself as Ben, Ben sat calmly by the water with his fishing rod(鱼竿) leaning on a nearby rock.

Sam’s eyes had been fixed on the bobber(浮漂) floating on the water’s surface since their arrival. His fascination with nature had always driven him to ask questions and seek out new adventures.“Uncle Ben, are you fishing? Have you caught a fish?” he asked, his curiosity bubbling over.

A warm smile spread Ben’s face as he regarded the young boy’s eager expression. “ Indeed, I am, young man, “he replied, “but as for catching a fish, well, that’s a story yet to be told.”

Observing their son express his curiosity and effortlessly strike up a conversation with Ben, Sam’s parents exchanged warm, knowing smiles. They realized that this chance encounter with Ben could lead to some valuable lessons.

“Can you teach me how to fish?” asked Sam, his voice filled with enthusiasm. “Well, young man,” Ben replied, “fishing is more than just catching fish. It’s about patience and embracing the wait. If you’re willing to learn, I’d be happy to teach you.”

With that, Ben reached for another fishing rod and invited Sam to join him. He demonstrated how to cast the line into the lake, hold the fishing rod steady, and patiently await a curious fish to take the bait. He then showed Sam how to respond when the bobber moved. Charmed by the graceful art of fishing, Sam couldn’t wait to give it a try. As he sat down beside Uncle Ben, he appeared as calm and relaxed as the skilled fisherman. Sam’s parents watched with keen interest.

Time went by, but Sam’s bobber stayed still.

Just then, Sam’s bobber suddenly dipped below the surface.

I did not know why I had chosen to be here. It felt as though my mind were at home, sitting and watching television, feeling relaxed and having fun, and yet my body was standing here in absolute fear. I looked in the mirror again. My face had been washed clean before applying the heavy make-up. My skin looked deathly white and powdered so that there was no shininess. My eyes looked dark and I was wearing lipstick. I should have been thrilled that I was allowed to wear make-up, but somehow, this didn’t feel like a treat.

Now I had to wait. How easy it should be to simply wait but this felt like a never-ending suffering. I stared at my white shoes as I stretched my feet, trying to distract myself from the way I felt. This dressing room was not small, but there were lots of girls in here. Mum and Dad were sitting in the audience but I was missing them so much. I wished they had been here with me. They were only on the other side of the stage, but that felt like a world away. The speaker asked for the black swans (天鹅) to get ready and as a sudden rush of girls danced into line and headed off towards the stage, I knew that I would be called next. My hands felt wet and sticky. I did not want to go on stage. I did not want the audience staring at me as I performed.

I tried to sit down but it was difficult when you were wearing a tutu (芭蕾舞裙). I wanted to rest my forehead on the mirror, but I knew that I would ruin my make-up and that wouldn’t do. The speaker was asking again, “Calling for white swans, will all white swans make their way to the stage?” I shook my arms, and joined the queue of other white swans. I felt really faint now and I wanted to be sick. I looked around in desperation, waiting to catch the eye of someone, anyone, who could get me out and save me.

The music started and a girl beside me caught my hand with a comforting smile.

We took off our white clothes, a little tired but excited.