I was lying in bed in the dark ready for sleep I got the heart-broken news that my parents lost their lives in the flight accident. I couldn’t accept the news for a long time, since nobody would stay with me in the empty house. In the weeks that followed, with depression and grief, I decided to continue seeing the counselor on my own. One day, he gave me a homework assignment: I was to write down a list of one hundred life goals in my rest of my life.

It took me two weeks to complete the task. When I finally handed over the list, I was instructed me to pick one goal and take two small steps toward it before the following week. Looking over my list of one hundred goals, I chose. “Fly an airplane.” I bought a flying magazine. That was one step. Then I went to a local airport and arranged with a flight instructor to take a low-cost “Discovery Flight.”

And so began my journey to become a pilot, starting from scratch. No knowledge. No experience. When I bought $300 worth of textbooks, I began to question what I’d gotten myself into. Then came the fear that accompanies every new challenge thrown at one while flying.

That’s when I realized I needed to adjust my mental attitude. Somewhere along the way, I had read that people should tell themselves they were the best at whatever they were attempting to do. I took this to heart. With that well-hidden confidence. I sought the help of flight instructors and ground instructors. The instructors encouraged me to believe that I was born to be a super pilot and just to recover all this “lost” ability. No way would I ever miss a flying training class.

Eventually, the time came for my first flight check with the chief instructor, an airline pilot with 11,000 hours. As if I wasn’t nervous enough already, one of my classmates told me that he’d recently been through the same routine. Not only did he fail but he actually cried. But passing the test is a must to get the pilot certification.

The chief informed me that it’s my turn to accept the order and the check.

Several years later, a terrible earthquake happened in my hometown. And I was invited to help teenagers regain confidence after the disaster.

It was such a nice day and it’s Sunday. I left for the park with my skateboard. There were so many kids in the central square. The parents chatted merrily in small groups, occasionally taking a glance at their kids. I skated for about half an hour and took a break on the nearby bench. Early summer morning was always the best time, the bird chirping in the trees and cool winds blowing in my face. How could I miss it? Dad said he was going to mow the lawn in the yard on the weekend and asked whether I could help. I made an excuse and just ran away.

I took a look around the park before I stood up and spotted an old man on the far side of the park. He kept bending forward and threw something into a plastic bag with him. I watched for a while and realized what he was doing. He was picking up the litter. At first, I thought he might be a cleaner working in the park but I had never seen him before. “Who is he? It’s Sunday and he is not here for fun?” I talked to myself. I went on skating and forgot about him.

Time went fast and the sun was already high up in the sky. It was getting hot and I was tired. I was ready to go when I saw the old man again. The park was half empty. He was still there, collecting the rubbish left on the benches with much effort. Time and time again, he stopped to straighten his body but he showed no sign of leaving soon. Clearly, it was hard work for people of his a age.

“Not to leave? What if he has no water left in such hot weather?” I wondered.

With some hesitation, I walked toward him.

Obviously, my father was surprised that I could offer to give him a hand.

It’s been over 40 years since I rode a bike on Saturday afternoons. But I bought myself a bike for Christmas this year. As one of the children growing up in the country, I had never had a bike of my own. Dad had managed to save an old bike from the local waste yard and gave it to me. But I found it hard to love the second-hand bike, which didn’t even have a proper seat.

Before I bought myself a bike, I didn’t think riding a bike was my thing. I was in my sixties and therefore I thought I was too old to start something new and possibly dangerous. And I often asked myself questions: Would my body cope with this tiring sport? Would I be truly willing to spend hundreds of dollars only to leave the thing in the garage (车库) until it will finally be broken? Would I be safe on the road?

But then I read an interview with Cadel Evans, a winner of the Tour de France, about his annual charity work for bike riders. He said cycling is good for our heart and muscles and that it will improve our body if done regularly. It’s also a good way for us to go outside and exercise. More importantly, he said his mother still chose to ride in a 65km race at an old age and that she didn’t feel fear while riding. Reading this, I felt inspired and I wanted to be just like his mother. Then I headed to the bike shop immediately and there was no turning back.

There were different kinds of bikes in the shop. I tried many of those bikes but they were just not what I wanted. Then I saw an amazing blue bike at the comer of the shop. That was it. I was happy that I found “my bike”. And it felt right the first time I sat on it. So it didn’t take me much time to make my choice. I bought it though it was expensive.

It didn’t fit in the back of my car, so I rode it home.

I’ve completely fallen in love with this sport.