Last year, my Singapore-based sister insisted my mother and I join her for the Christmas. My mum, a fearless woman, would get strangely nervous on flights. Perhaps the only thing that convinced her to overcome her fears was the chance to piece together our declining bond.

Growing up, moments with Mum were painfully short-lived because I spent most time at the boarding school, reuniting only during the holidays. Every year, she would eagerly await my return, which would always lead to constant loving scenes. Those cherished moments were gradually vanishing as I moved away for university. Soon, our relationship became tense. She seemed unable to comprehend me and her stubborn and old-fashioned advice forced me to shut myself. But the more I pulled away, the more I felt a longing for the bond that had grown so dim. Perhaps Singapore would give us a chance to breathe it back to life.

I assumed the immersive exhibits at Art Science Museum would refresh my mother, who was an art student. However, I was surprised when she just turned her nose up at the Bruges Whale, a sculpture using plastic waste to raise awareness about ocean pollution. “It’s art, Mum! Be more appreciative.” I defended.

Disheartened by the distance between us, I led her to the kid’s zone. We signed up for a joint sketching activity, hoping that would help us connect. As our creative juices flowed, our faded relationship began to take on the hues and shades of something sincere and beautiful.

“Look!” she excitedly pointed towards a digital screen that displayed our creations. “That one’s ours.” Mum went up and reached out, touching the fish as it moved its tail back and forth in the virtual tank.

Looking around, I saw children sharing moments with their parents, and my own childhood flashed back. That rare instance where she let slip an inner innocence and delight at a new experience revealed the little girl in her, who was like me, had lost a vital connection to responsibilities of motherhood.

“Our time together was like that of friends. You were my mother, and I’m a child following you around.” My mum said to me with a smile.

It was an early September day, cool and bright and just right for running, and I was in the first few miles of a 10.5-mile race over a course through tiring hills. Still I felt rested and springy; despite the hills, it was going to be a fine run.

Just ahead of me was Peggy Mimno, a teacher from Mount Kisco, New York. She too was running easily, moving along efficiently at my speed. The pace felt comfortable, so I decided to stay where I was: why bother concentrating on pace when she was such a nice pacesetter for me? I would overtake her later on when she tired.

So I was running closely behind her. Then the race was getting tougher. We had four miles left and already it was beginning to be real work. I was breathing hard.

Peggy overtook a young male runner. Apparently she knew him, for they exchanged a few cheerful words as she passed him. Their exchange worried me. You don’t chat during a race unless you are feeling good, and Peggy plainly was, but whatever springiness I had once possessed had left me long since.

Still, I was close enough to overtake her if she tired, so I didn’t give up hope completely. We were approaching a long, punishing hill now and it would be the test. We were a mile from the finish line, so whatever happened on the hill would almost certainly determine who crossed it first.

As I moved up the hill, working hard, my attention wandered for a few minutes. When I looked up, Peggy was moving away—first five yards, then ten, then more. Finally it was clear that there was no hope of catching her. She beat me decisively.

There is an important lesson in that race. Much of what you read about running makes a sharp distinction between the sexes. Women are assumed to be weaker, slower and not nearly as skilled athletically. Yet as Peggy Mimno so clearly demonstrated, the similarities between male and female runners are more important than the differences.

The Swedish Academy announced on Thursday, 7 October that the Nobel Prize in Literature 2021 is awarded to Abdulrazak Gurnah. The 73-year-old author of 10 novels including well-renowned works such as Paradiseand, Desertion, received 10 million Swedish crowns.

After getting the award, Gurnah not only said he was grateful to the academy but added, “It’s just great-it’s just a big prize, and such a huge list of wonderful writers-I am still taking it in. . . I really had to wait until I heard it announced before I could believe it. ”

Born in 1948, Gurnah mainly grew up on the island of Zanzibar in the Indian Ocean. Gurnah was forced to leave his family and his country in December 1963 just because he belonged to the victimized(受害的)ethnic group, Then he arrived in England as a refugee(难民)at the end of the 1960s, Until his recent retirement, he has been the Professor of English Literature at the University of Kent in Canterbury and he mainly focused on writers including Wole Soyinka and Salman Rushdie. In total he has published 10 novels along with short stories. The Royal Academy has noted that the theme of the refugee’s suffering runs throughout Gurnah’s work.

While Swahili was his first language, English became his tool for literature. His first novel was Memory of Departure in 1987 and it is about the failed uprising in the African continent. His second work Pilgrims Way was published in 1988 in which the newest Nobel winner explored the various reality of life in exile. His third novel was Dottie in 1990 which is a portrait of a Black woman with immigrant background. His other works include Paradise in 1994. Admiring Silence in 1996, Gravel Heart in 2017. His latest novel is Afterlives which was published in 2020 and it takes up where Paradise ends. “I just want to write as trustfully as I can, without trying to say something noble, ”he said. One big difference between human laughs and animal laughs is that humans laugh much more loudly. Most sounds animals make during play are very quiet so they can only be heard by the animal they are playing with. But for humans, loud laughter is a sign that we’re part of a group. It’s really fascinating that so many animals use sounds during play. And those sounds are for reasons similar to why humans make sounds.