1. The Memorable Shoeshiner Boy
In life, we meet many people. Some of them leave a deep impression on us even after just one encounter. One such person was a shoeshiner boy I met on the street, someone I had only met once but whose memory stayed with me. It was a chilly Saturday morning, and my parents took me out for breakfast. That was when I saw the shoeshiner boy. He was smaller than me, about a head shorter, and I guessed he was younger. Despite the cold weather, he wore a thin, short-sleeved t-shirt that had seen better days, paired with knee-length shorts that revealed his skinny, dark legs. His feet were clad in oversized flip-flops, likely handed down from someone else. His face was incredibly cute, but the harsh sun had darkened his skin. His large, round eyes sparkled like marbles, and his small face was dotted with dirt. What truly made his face stand out was his bright, cheerful smile. From that smile, I could sense a zest for life. Despite being so young and having to work hard to make a living, he remained joyful and carefree. I watched as he approached every table, asking if anyone wanted their shoes shined. Even when people declined, he didn’t seem upset or discouraged; he simply moved on with a smile. Feeling sympathy for him, I asked my father to have him shine his shoes. My father, understanding my wish to help the boy, called him over. When the boy heard he would get work, his eyes lit up, and his smile became even brighter. I felt deeply for him. He was younger than me but had already faced so many hardships. At his age, he should be enjoying carefree play, not out in the streets working to survive. That image of the little shoeshiner boy stayed in my mind long after I returned home. If I could make a wish, I would wish for all children to have a happy childhood, free from the need to work so young.
The Shoeshiner Boy
2. The Diligent Traffic Officer
Every day on my way to school, I pass by a busy intersection near my house, where traffic flows continuously. I often see a traffic officer standing at the roundabout, tirelessly directing the vehicles. However, today was the first time I stood close to him while waiting for a friend. He is someone I met for the first time, but his presence left a lasting and unforgettable impression. He was a tall, muscular young man with dark skin, a square face, bright and quick eyes. Like many other traffic officers, he wore a dark khaki uniform. His short-sleeved shirt had a badge on the shoulder, identifying him as part of the traffic police, and his nameplate, made of white plastic with green letters, was proudly displayed on his chest. He wore neatly pressed trousers and polished black shoes, with a thick brown leather belt slightly shifted by the weight of the gun holstered on his side, adding to his dignified and imposing appearance. The police cap on his head bore the police insignia, making his face appear both stern and resolute. He stood there like a commander, whistle in his mouth, arms giving commands with practiced precision—raising, lowering, gesturing left and right. Vehicles and pedestrians obeyed his instructions, moving in orderly, efficient fashion. Occasionally, a motorcycle would park over the white line, and he would blow his whistle to signal them to back up. Immediately, the bikes would reverse with the obedience of schoolchildren following a teacher’s instructions. He worked diligently and impartially, never favoring anyone. On one occasion, three girls on a Honda motorcycle sped through the intersection, honking loudly, causing pedestrians to step aside. The officer immediately raised his hand to stop them, and they pulled over. The girls sheepishly apologized, and the officer smiled before handing them a fine notice. He reminded them, 'Next time, please follow the traffic laws and don’t carry three people on one bike.' His tone was gentle but firm. Through his careful management, the intersection remained accident-free. I deeply respect his work ethic, which balances kindness with authority. I hope to become a traffic officer one day to help keep our streets safe.
The Diligent Traffic Officer
3. The Kind-hearted Doctor
The hospital was the last place I ever wanted to go! However, after seeing the way the doctor carefully took care of patients, my perspective changed, and I gained a more objective view of hospitals. I had caught a cold due to my own negligence, and my parents rushed me to the hospital because my condition became quite serious. It was there that I met Dr. Hung, someone I had never met before but who left a lasting impression on me. My room had eight patients, most of them around my age. My parents were reassured knowing that Dr. Mạnh Hung would be treating me. Dr. Hung was renowned for his excellent skills. Though over fifty years old, he had a large build, but his actions were swift and agile. His hair had turned gray, and his eyes gleamed behind his glasses. His white coat, although old, was spotless. Despite his large hands, they were gentle and cool. Every time he spoke to a patient, his voice was both tender and warm, much like a father’s. He visited each bed to monitor the patients' health, placing his hand on my forehead and saying, 'You’ve gotten much better today. Keep taking your medicine, and in a few days, you’ll be able to leave the hospital and return to school. Don’t worry!' Then he moved on to the next bed to check on Long, who had dengue fever, asking, 'Did you sleep well last night? Is your mouth still bitter?' Dr. Hung examined Long carefully, feeling his belly and checking his pulse. After a while, he smiled, telling Long, 'Drink more orange juice, and in a few days, you’ll feel better.' Dr. Hung’s care and attention won the trust of all the patients. Everyone praised him for being as nurturing as a mother. I admire Dr. Hung so much! Thanks to his devoted care, I recovered quickly. I feel deeply grateful to him.
The Kind-hearted Doctor
4. The Hardworking Builder
Every day on my way to school, I pass by a construction site where I often see the cheerful and familiar face of Mr. Hung, the builder. The first time I met him, I was immediately drawn to his eyes, which sparkled with confidence and determination. With a muscular build, he walked leisurely up the scaffolding and began his daily tasks. He bent down to scoop cement and carefully spread it over the bricks that had already been laid. Then he expertly placed each bright pink brick, ensuring it was perfectly aligned. When a brick didn’t fit, he would use a trowel to trim it and then tap it gently with the handle to make sure it was in place. His large, rough hands worked skillfully, with every movement precise and steady. He worked tirelessly, seemingly oblivious to the noise and commotion around him. Occasionally, he would pause to check if the wall was standing straight using a plumb line. When the materials ran out, he would call down, 'Bricks! Cement!' And the supplies would be thrown up, and he caught them effortlessly, like a skilled goalkeeper, neatly stacking each brick. As the day went on, the wall grew higher and higher, and the sun beat down harder. Mr. Hung took off his shirt, revealing his broad, sweaty back and muscular arms. He whistled a happy tune, trying to forget the scorching heat. Watching him work so hard and with such skill, I wished I could be an artist and paint a picture showing the difficulty and danger faced by workers who create towering, sturdy buildings that withstand the forces of nature and time. These buildings provide homes and happiness to countless families, including mine. I am thankful for builders like him and hope that one day, machines can help reduce the hard labor and danger these workers face when working at great heights.
The Hardworking BuilderIn society, everyone has different roles, and while some professions are widely recognized and respected, such as doctors, teachers, and police officers, there are also those who work in less acknowledged fields, like security guards and janitors. These workers truly deserve admiration and respect. One afternoon, while strolling through Thu Le Park with my mother, I observed a janitor cleaning along the roadside. There was something special about her. She appeared to be in her early thirties, with a full, warm figure. She wore a faded green worker's uniform, which, though old, was still neat and tidy. Her long, dark hair was tied up in a neat bun, and she wore a bright yellow safety helmet. Even though she wore a face mask, I could tell that her skin had a healthy tan, probably from working outside every day. Her skin was far from the fair complexion of office workers, but it had a vibrant, strong glow. When she removed her mask, I saw her beautiful features. Her large, sparkling eyes, neatly shaped eyebrows, and constantly smiling lips gave off a sense of joy and contentment. Her hands moved swiftly as she swept the street with a bamboo broom, gathering the trash into a pile and then tossing it into a bin. Every few steps, she would pull her cart along, moving quickly and efficiently. In no time, the street was spotless, with no leaves or garbage in sight. Whether the weather was sunny or rainy, she worked tirelessly every day. The janitor left a lasting impression on me. The work she did was vital for society, and she truly deserved respect. I aspire to study hard so that I can contribute positively to society, just as she does.
The Diligent JanitorDuring the summer of fourth grade, my family moved to a new house just one block away from our old one. After settling in, my mother arranged for the installation of cable television. This gave me the opportunity to observe a worker from the cable company, SCTV, as he installed the service. This was the first time I had met him, but his work left a deep impression on me. The worker, dressed in a blue uniform with the SCTV logo printed on the back, appeared to be about 26 years old. He had a strong and well-proportioned physique: tall, broad-shouldered, and with long, muscular arms. His face was calm, with large eyes and broad eyebrows, which softened the look of his eyes. His skin was dark from sun exposure, and his hair was thick and sun-bleached, tucked under his hard hat. After introducing himself as Tân, he immediately began his work. First, he checked the TV socket, then proceeded to pull the cable. He strapped on a safety harness and climbed the utility pole, where the cable was connected. From there, he skillfully fed the cable into our house, running it along the exterior and into the living room, where the TV was located. His tools were simple: a fiber-optic cable, pliers, and a few screwdrivers. He used the pliers to cut the cable and a screwdriver to connect it to the TV outlet. The entire job took just forty minutes. Afterward, he tested the TV to ensure the picture and color were perfect. Once everything was set, he completed the contract for the cable subscription, and my mother signed and paid. Tân politely said goodbye before leaving. Watching this cable worker at work, I gained valuable knowledge. I truly appreciated his excellent service, which allowed my family to enjoy cable TV just one day after moving in. Skilled and hardworking workers like him are role models for us to learn from. No matter what field I choose to study in the future, I know that I must work hard and hone my skills to serve others well.
The Cable Worker
7. A Healer Like a Loving Mother
One day, I had a fever and my mother took me to the hospital for a check-up. It was there that I had the opportunity to meet Dr. Nga, a skilled doctor from the city hospital. Although it was the first time we met, she left a deep impression on me with her dedication to the patients. She wore a white coat, white pants, and a white hat. A name tag with the words 'Doctor Nguyen Phuong Nga' was pinned on her coat. Her appearance radiated simplicity, like a pure white flower. She was slim, her movements quick and nimble, and her face was a gentle oval shape. What stood out most were her bright, dark eyes, which resembled those of my teacher. I found myself gazing at her as she gently approached each patient, asking about their eating and sleeping habits. She would place her hand on their forehead, her small hands moving swiftly as she performed checks. Using a medical instrument, she measured heart rates and blood pressure, carefully rolling up the patients' sleeves to listen to their heartbeats, all the while taking notes. After the check-up, she administered medication and injections while comforting the patients, easing their pain. For those who were worried about their condition, she explained everything thoroughly, with kindness and patience, never showing any signs of irritation. Her caring demeanor truly made a difference for the patients. Dr. Nga embodied the true spirit of a 'doctor as a mother'. I will always remember her and strive to study hard so that I can become a doctor like her in the future.
A doctor as a mother
8. The Determined Boy Selling Toothpicks
While the entire country was celebrating the reunification and liberation of the South, I couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia for those who heroically sacrificed their lives to restore independence to our nation. During moments like these, I often think of a young boy I met who was affected by Agent Orange. Although I had only met him once, the image of him stayed with me. One summer afternoon, as my parents and I strolled through the Kim Dong flower garden, we encountered a boy selling toothpicks, smiling cheerfully at everyone. When I got closer, I discovered that he was paralyzed in both legs and had to use a wheelchair. His clothes were worn and torn, patched in several places, making him appear pitiful. His small, frail body and dark skin, a result of working in the sun to sell toothpicks, only added to his struggle. But his face, despite the hardships, radiated confidence and determination. Sweat dripped from his face, showing how hard he worked. I couldn't help but wonder, 'Why would fate be so cruel to create such lives?' I approached a vendor nearby and asked about him. She explained that he was an orphan whose parents, both members of a volunteer youth brigade, had died from exposure to Agent Orange while serving on the battlefield. The boy had inherited his parents' fate, but remained strong. I bought two packs of toothpicks from him, and as I left, the image of the boy stayed with me. Even as I grew older, I would never forget him, as he left a profound impact on my heart.
Illustration
9. The Kind Police Officer
In the early morning, the streets of Hanoi were bustling with activity, filled with a never-ending stream of vehicles. My mother and I were caught up in the same busy flow of people. As we reached an intersection, I noticed a traffic officer diligently doing his job, and it made a lasting impression on me.
From a distance, I saw the officer standing tall on a white circular podium. He was dressed in a golden-yellow uniform, black shoes on his feet, and a black belt around his waist. What caught my attention most was the cap he wore, with a shiny golden star in the center. In his left hand, he held a whistle, and in his right, he held a baton. When the traffic lights turned red, he blew the whistle and waved the baton, signaling for vehicles to stop. Then, he gestured for the cars on the other side to proceed. Despite his efforts, I could see the sweat on his face, his eyes reddened with exhaustion. But in his eyes was also a sense of contentment. Suddenly, an elderly man riding a bicycle fell over. The officer rushed over, helped him up, and asked if he was okay. He lifted the bicycle, gave the elderly man a few words of advice, and reminded him to be careful while riding.
After witnessing such a beautiful moment, my desire to become a police officer grew even stronger. I imagined myself wearing the green uniform, standing tall, saluting. I was determined to make that dream a reality.
Illustration
10. The Little Boy Selling Lottery Tickets
- Lottery tickets, get your lottery tickets here!
As I was sitting by the roadside enjoying a drink with my friends, I suddenly heard a sharp voice calling out, 'Lottery tickets!' I turned around and saw a young boy selling tickets. Though I had just met him, his image stayed with me. The boy was around eight or nine years old, tall and slender, dressed in a short-sleeved brown shirt similar to the ones worn by shepherd children from my hometown. His worn-out, faded jeans were frayed at both knees. A few rays of the late afternoon sun gently illuminated his worn hat, revealing a square-shaped face with large, bright eyes. His eyes sparkled with intelligence, but there was also a hint of sadness in them.
The boy ran up and down the street, offering his tickets at fruit and newspaper stands, but his efforts were met with cold indifference, some people even yelling at him. His eyes would drop, and his face would show clear signs of disappointment. He walked away slowly, each step heavier than the last. I could tell that he was probably thinking, 'If I don't sell these tickets, how will I have enough to eat tonight?' Suddenly, a tall, robust man sitting in a café called him over. The man examined each ticket carefully, his face lighting up with excitement, as if he were about to win the jackpot. The boy stood there, his eyes shining, his face glowing with hope. Perhaps he was silently wishing that the man would buy many tickets and that his sales would improve. Once the man paid, the boy's energy seemed renewed, and he quickly moved on, calling out for others to buy.
I felt moved by his dedication and stopped to buy a ticket from him. He smiled, showing his white, even teeth, and offered me a stack of tickets to choose from, saying, 'Which one would you like, sir? Let me pick for you! My choice is a lucky one.' Then, with swift hands, he selected a ticket for me. I handed him the money and wished him luck selling the rest. He thanked me repeatedly. I knew that the chances of winning were slim, but I bought the ticket because I felt sorry for the boy, who was so young yet had to work so hard every day. Children his age should be playing, not working.
As I walked home, the image of the boy selling lottery tickets stayed with me. It made me reflect on how many children, like him, have to struggle to survive. If someone asked me what I wished for, I would say, 'I wish every child could go to school.'
The Lottery Ticket Boys
11. The Friendly Electrician
The evening sun gently bathed the road as I made my way home. Along the way, I spotted a group of electricians working on a meter near my neighborhood. Among them, one person caught my attention—an electrician climbing a utility pole to inspect the meter. I learned his name was Hiep. I watched him for a while. He appeared to be about thirty years old, wearing a fitting orange work uniform that matched his tall, sturdy frame. His face was square, with black hair and a warm, tanned complexion. He had a gentle expression.
Noticing me staring, he smiled warmly. I walked over and greeted him, saying, 'Hello, sir!' He ruffled my hair and said, 'You're a good kid. Do you think you'd like to do a job like mine when you're older?' I replied, 'I'm not sure, but what is a meter used for?' He laughed and said, 'A meter measures how much electricity has been used.' Even though sweat was soaking through his shirt, he continued working with enthusiasm, his hands moving quickly. Though I didn't fully understand his work, I could tell he loved what he did. If electricians like him didn't fix things promptly, people's daily lives would be disrupted. While I stood there, he looked down and said, 'It's getting late; you'd better go home before your parents start worrying.' I was surprised by his kindness. With that, I had to say goodbye. Though he walked away, I would always remember Hiep, the kind and caring electrician who made a difference.
The Friendly ElectricianLast week, I had to visit the provincial hospital because I was ill. There, I met a lovely young nurse. She was about 25 or 26 years old, with a delicate frame and slender arms and legs. Her skin was smooth and fair, like a baby's. Her hair was neatly tied under a white nurse's cap, with a few strands of hair peeking out. She had an oval face, large eyes, and graceful, arched eyebrows. Her lips were shaped like a heart, with a soft pink hue, making her look particularly charming. She wore a short-sleeve white coat, which revealed her elegant arms, and her hands were small, with slender fingers that looked like they could hold a pen perfectly.
The nurse called out patients' names clearly and directed them into the examination rooms. Before the doctor saw the patients, she measured their blood pressure and recorded it in their files. She worked efficiently and gently, always reminding patients, 'Please take off your coats before I measure your blood pressure and put them back on afterward.' She carefully helped an elderly man sit in a chair while he waited for the doctor. Her voice was soft and kind. After the doctor prescribed medicine, she carefully explained how to take it and guided the patients to the pharmacy to pick up their prescriptions. Despite the large crowd, she continued working tirelessly, yet a bright smile never left her face. If anyone went to the wrong department, she kindly directed them to the correct one. Her friendly attitude was truly heartwarming.
With her lovely face, grace, and solid skills, the nurse radiated a warm, caring presence. Her professionalism reflected the motto on the hospital wall: 'A good doctor is like a mother.' After the visit, I couldn't stop thinking about her gentle smile. She was beautiful not only because of her looks but also because of her beautiful heart. I realized that true beauty comes from within, and this nurse was the perfect example of that. Watching her work made me even more determined to pursue a career in medicine. I will study hard to enter medical school and become a good doctor, just like her.
The beloved nurse
Buzz
