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The dark night is disturbed by my father’s failing attempts to place an emergency call. The familiar tranquility of our home is shattered by piercing shrieks. I stand as an observer, taking it all in. This night, seared into my memory, will always serve as a reminder of the wonder of life.
It is 2005. I descend the stairs to join mother. She splits a mandarin orange and hands me half, a simple act of sharing connecting us in the moments prior to the ensuing chaos. A light flickers outside the window, as if in warning. Even though she manages a smile, she is clearly in pain, as always tending to shield me from life. Today, I act as her crutch, helping her climb the stairs to her bedroom as I retreat into mine. I can hear her whimper. Later, the whimpers turn into primal groans dissipating into the darkness. My room suffocates as I lay on my bed, helpless and fearful. My father comes in to announce that mom’s water has broken as he dials 911. Overtaken by panic, the syllables are all foreign to him. He waves me over. My dad, my hero, appears as helpless as I feel. I have to take charge. Between the earpiece and my father, I translate his words. I am only eight!
What I witness at this young age is extraordinary. The process of my brother’s birth is simultaneously smooth and violent. I am overwhelmed by mom’s pain as I watch the slick mass that takes shape slipping out. I stand frozen but know I must keep my composure and help out. I wrap a blanket around mom’s shoulders and bring a sheet to swaddle the baby. The EMS team arrives: everything is under control. Relief! As I walk towards my room, I hear a shrill cry. I cover my ears, glancing back to see my parents smile as the baby takes its first breath. It is not a cry of pain or one of regret; it certainly isn’t a cry of bemusement or one of disappointment. After nine docile months inside his nurturing sphere of development, he cries for the joy of life, the joy of survival, and the joy of all the possibilities ahead. The ear-piercing cry proclaims his arrival, our enduring union, and our respect for life. I am both fascinated and disgusted by this miracle.
It is 2009. Captivated by mathematics and the sciences, taking after grandfather, a teacher, and provided the facility by the Chinese Mathematics Olympiad branch in Guangzhou, I am infatuated by patterns and probabilities. My brother is of 23 chromosomes pairs: possibilities are endless. Each parent provides 2^23(8,388,608) different possible gamete combinations, two parents: 7x10^13(70,368,744,177,664) combinations... only on the chromosomal level. 20,000-25,000 different genes occupy the human genome, and even if only 2 alleles to each gene, the number of genes in each cell can give 2^45,000 different possible combinations (roughly 1.6x10^12041). And it is he...
It is 2013! I have a philosophical fascination with life. As our world population grows, we lose sight of the wonder of birth, although everyone who comes into existence has gone through this struggle. However, each birth is unique, miraculously conquering the odds of survival. That first cry is universal; it is a cry for life. My first-hand experience has led me to appreciate how precious and glorious life is. I am fortunate to have experienced the essence of life so early, an experience which has built my compassion towards human beings and relationships, for every single life form must be cherished. As I prepare to set off for university, I look forward to forming new relationships and expanding my circle of friends and mentors. I know I have strength, I have purpose as well as determination, and I am fully capable of tackling any difficulties that I may encounter in the road ahead.
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幸福家庭圈
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