Gemma jumped off the school bus feeling thoroughly miserable. Today had been one of the worst days of her life. How could she show her face at school ever again? It was a total shame. She would not face her classmates at all next Monday morning.

Gemma walked slowly up the tree-lined hill toward the park. She needed time alone to think and cry. Her mom wouldn’t be home from work for another hour or so and she needed fresh air and sunlight after being in school all day. She needed so much more than that; what she needed was a brain transplant. Reading out loud in class today had been terrifying, annoying, embarrassing; she hated every moment of it. She was sweating, her voice shook, her face flushed red, and her heart pounded uncontrollably. Breathing normally was simply impossible in the fear and panic she felt. Gemma wished the ground had opened up and swallowed her whole, which would have been preferable. She stood before the class feeling like a fool. She had heard the whispered comments between her classmates, and had seen the look on her English teacher’s face as she went back to her seat.

Gemma headed for the bench in the walled rose garden that she often visited, as far away from people as possible. She took off her heavy backpack and put it down heavily on the hard seat. The backpack was full of school books and she was glad to get it off her shoulders. She never wanted to go back to school. She sighed deeply, buried her face in her hands, and began to sob in despair. She was sure other kids didn’t have this problem. Some of her classmates even looked like they were enjoying reading out loud and took great delight in being the center of attention. Gemma didn’t know what she was going to do.

“Hello, are you alright, dear?” Startled (惊吓), Gemma abruptly pulled her hands away from her face and looked up in the direction of the voice, embarrassed that someone had seen her crying.

Unexpectedly, her English teacher came up and watched her with kindness and concern.

Gemma walked home feeling like she was walking a little taller and there was a spring in her steps.

I remember a time when I learned the true meaning of forgiveness. It was a period in my life that tested my patience and my ability to understand others.

It all started when I was in middle school. I had a close friend named Emily, and we spent a lot of time together. One day, Emily introduced me to a new girl in our class, named Olivia. Olivia was quiet and shy, but we quickly became friends as well.

One afternoon, after school, we were all working on a project in the classroom. As we were discussing our ideas, Olivia suddenly exclaimed out something that completely contradicted what I had been saying. I was shocked and felt a little embarrassed. I tried to explain my point of view, but Olivia was very stubborn and insisted on her own idea.

Emily, who was sitting next to me, tried to mediate (调节) the situation. But Olivia got angry and said some unkind words to me. I was hurt and angry, and I couldn’t believe that Olivia would treat me like that. I stormed out of the classroom, leaving Emily and Olivia behind.

The next few days were very difficult for me. I avoided Olivia as much as possible, and our friendship with Emily seemed to be stressed. I felt like I had been betrayed by Olivia, and I couldn’t understand why she would do such a thing.

One day, I asked Emily why she was still friends with Olivia after what she had done. Emily looked at me with a sad expression and said, “You know, Olivia has been through a lot lately. Her parents are going through a divorce, and she’s really struggling. Maybe she was rude to you because she was feeling overwhelmed and insecure.”

Hearing this, I felt a surge of guilt. I realized that I hadn’t taken the time to understand Olivia’s situation. I had been too quick to judge her and too focused on my own feelings of hurt. I decided to talk to Olivia and apologize for my behavior.

When I found Olivia, she was sitting alone in the hallway.

Olivia accepted my apology and we had a long conversation.

The clock read 11 p.m. and I was still in the lab but I couldn’t focus. But going home wasn’t an option. My adviser had required me and the rest of my lab mates to stay in the lab until she had time to read all of our reports. She had decided she wanted to meet early with each of us to discuss the single-paragraph descriptions of our work. We waited dutifully as each lab member took their turn. None of us dared to leave or to challenge our boss. I didn’t get home until 1:30 a.m.

It was one more reminder that I should have been more careful when selecting a graduate adviser. Unfortunately, I was foolish enough not to give the directing style a second thought. I was simply happy to have received an offer.

Part of the problem was that I had limited options. I moved to the United States with my husband, who had a good job in a particular city. It had only one university, with only one department that really interested me. So I started to volunteer in a research lab there.

I was a regular attendee at departmental discussion groups, and that was where I met my future adviser. After she presented a meeting, I approached her and we set up a time to chat. We had a productive discussion about her research. Later, I went to dinner with her lab group.

I didn’t pick up any signs of trouble, although one person who worked in a lab that shared space with hers did tell me about coming across one of her lab members crying in the break room. I ignored that warning sign. Within a few weeks, the staff member offered me a position in her lab as a master’s student. The opportunity seemed too good to pass up. I hoped it would work out.

It wasn’t long before reality set in. Group meetings were terrible. Our adviser was often angry.

The situation disappointed me.

A year later, I finally had the opportunity to change my adviser with a different lab.