Reading Comprehension - Social Issues and Personal Stories

How is risk viewed by the society?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Inovation, or at least talking about innovation, is all the rage these days, especially when it comes to addressing great social problems. But in order to innovate, you have to risk something. As in risk of losing something. Usually money. Possibly reputation. As much as people like to spout the latest literature about bringing risk-reward principles to social problems, when you actually come to them with a proposition that has high rewards and some measure of risk, their first response is, “Well, I like the idea, but it’s risky.”

The fact that it’s risky is not a problem. The fact that people think risk is a problem, or a flaw, is the problem. Risk is an essential attribute of introducing an innovation to the world. It’s not a flaw.
In the humanitarian sector, risk is viewed not only as a fl aw, but as unethical, immoral, sinful — criminal even. The entrepreneur seeking to fund a new idea that bears risk is looked upon as suspect, a shyster, an outlier living on the wrong side of principle, character, and propriety. Don’t associate with him or her, lest your own character be called into question.
These entrepreneurs are the recipients of countless hypersterile rejection letters and e-mails that say, “Thank you for reaching out to us but your idea is not a good fit for us,” or, “We are in the midst of a strategic planning process and thus cannot consider your proposal at this time.”

“We are in the midst of a strategic planning process and thus cannot consider your proposal at this time.”…what does this statement signify?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Inovation, or at least talking about innovation, is all the rage these days, especially when it comes to addressing great social problems. But in order to innovate, you have to risk something. As in risk of losing something. Usually money. Possibly reputation. As much as people like to spout the latest literature about bringing risk-reward principles to social problems, when you actually come to them with a proposition that has high rewards and some measure of risk, their first response is, “Well, I like the idea, but it’s risky.”

The fact that it’s risky is not a problem. The fact that people think risk is a problem, or a flaw, is the problem. Risk is an essential attribute of introducing an innovation to the world. It’s not a flaw.
In the humanitarian sector, risk is viewed not only as a fl aw, but as unethical, immoral, sinful — criminal even. The entrepreneur seeking to fund a new idea that bears risk is looked upon as suspect, a shyster, an outlier living on the wrong side of principle, character, and propriety. Don’t associate with him or her, lest your own character be called into question.
These entrepreneurs are the recipients of countless hypersterile rejection letters and e-mails that say, “Thank you for reaching out to us but your idea is not a good fit for us,” or, “We are in the midst of a strategic planning process and thus cannot consider your proposal at this time.”

What was Jude’s profession before she met Michel?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Part of the mutual attraction when Jude Smith and Michel Fanton met in 1981 was the interest each had in gardening and self-sufficiency. “Jude was intelligent and very warm but also practical and keen to make a difference,” recalls Michel. “I instantly felt she was a soul mate.”
“I noticed Michel because he seemed like a forest spirit,” Jude says. “He had panpipes with him, which he played during breaks. He was wise, knowledgeable and energetic.”
Although the two were drawn to one another, there were hurdles to overcome: Michel had left his job in the delivery arm of a publishing house, while Jude was scheduled to return to her high-school job in Adelaide, teaching social sciences and English.
Although they were making a home on a 600-hectare property on the edge of rain forest near Lismore, New South Wales, Michel found he was going to have to dig deeper to completely win over Jude’s heart. “She demanded only authentic French cooking,” he recalls. For Michel, this meant growing his own essential ingredients from scratch.
“To make her a summer ratatouille niçoise, I went on a search for seeds for a special meaty tomato that cooks well; a capsicum that is both red and green; round, flavour some courgettes de Nice; and a strong purple garlic. It was pure love that made me do that!”
“Watching Michel go to all that effort to source the plants and tend them deepened our growing bond,” says Jude. “When I finally tasted the food, it was incredibly rich and had a fullness and depth of flavour that made it more satisfying and also more filling.”
For months, the couple rose every day at 5am to establish a half-hectare garden, as well as work on an orchard of fruit and nut trees. Soon, their turmeric, ginger, 130 varieties of tomato, mandarins, macadamias, pecans and custard apples were thriving, along with spices such as cinnamon. But no matter how attentive they were, their cucumbers, rock melons and pumpkins continued to succumb to mildew in the hot, wet climate.
“We don’t believe in using pesticide, and we didn’t want to give up on growing those cucurbits, because we love their taste, so we found a gardener, Joe Connolly, who showed us the way forward,” says Michel.

What was the final suggestion given to Brian by a psychologist?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

In 1999, Brian and Nerida Egan had to surrender their Darling Downs property in Queensland. They had run a mixed cattle farm for 12 years, but it hadn’t rained a drop for the last three and they couldn’t afford to continue. The couple walked away with nothing but their cattle dog, Stumpy. “It was soul-destroying to lose everything,” says Brian. “There was this ‘beast’ inside me that had taken over my life. I had no hope and just could not see any future.” At the age of 55, Brian had twice attempted to take his own life and was with severe clinical depression and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), as a result of disturbing experiences he witnessed while on naval service in Indonesia in his early 20s. Depression is one of the most significant human costs of the drought, with research showing higher suicide rates in rural communities, especially among men, due to social isolation and difficulty accessing help. The stigma of mental illness left Brian with only his mother, Hilda, and Nerida to rely on. He recalls running and hiding in the wardrobe when people came to the front door. “I was just so ashamed of what I had become, I did not want anyone to see me.”
Brian was sent to Greenslopes Private Hospital in Brisbane, where he would end up being admitted five times over the next two years. “I was catatonic. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t talk or write. I didn’t know who I was, or who anyone else was.”
The doctors tried many different types of medication and treatment on Brian, but with limited benefits. Finally it was suggested to Brian by a psychologist that maybe the best thing for him to do was to go out and find someone worse off, and help them.

What was the major challenge that they faced in their farm?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Part of the mutual attraction when Jude Smith and Michel Fanton met in 1981 was the interest each had in gardening and self-sufficiency. “Jude was intelligent and very warm but also practical and keen to make a difference,” recalls Michel. “I instantly felt she was a soul mate.”
“I noticed Michel because he seemed like a forest spirit,” Jude says. “He had panpipes with him, which he played during breaks. He was wise, knowledgeable and energetic.”
Although the two were drawn to one another, there were hurdles to overcome: Michel had left his job in the delivery arm of a publishing house, while Jude was scheduled to return to her high-school job in Adelaide, teaching social sciences and English.
Although they were making a home on a 600-hectare property on the edge of rain forest near Lismore, New South Wales, Michel found he was going to have to dig deeper to completely win over Jude’s heart. “She demanded only authentic French cooking,” he recalls. For Michel, this meant growing his own essential ingredients from scratch.
“To make her a summer ratatouille niçoise, I went on a search for seeds for a special meaty tomato that cooks well; a capsicum that is both red and green; round, flavour some courgettes de Nice; and a strong purple garlic. It was pure love that made me do that!”
“Watching Michel go to all that effort to source the plants and tend them deepened our growing bond,” says Jude. “When I finally tasted the food, it was incredibly rich and had a fullness and depth of flavour that made it more satisfying and also more filling.”
For months, the couple rose every day at 5am to establish a half-hectare garden, as well as work on an orchard of fruit and nut trees. Soon, their turmeric, ginger, 130 varieties of tomato, mandarins, macadamias, pecans and custard apples were thriving, along with spices such as cinnamon. But no matter how attentive they were, their cucumbers, rock melons and pumpkins continued to succumb to mildew in the hot, wet climate.
“We don’t believe in using pesticide, and we didn’t want to give up on growing those cucurbits, because we love their taste, so we found a gardener, Joe Connolly, who showed us the way forward,” says Michel.

Hearing capacity may start fading as early as

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

You’re bound to experience some perfectly normal changes as you get older. The trick is to come to terms with the things you simply can’t control and take charge of the things you know you can. Here’s a summary of what’s ahead.
Not so bright eyes? The first indication that you are getting older may be how far away from your eyes you have to hold the newspaper. If you hold it at arm’s length and your eyes tire easily, then you probably have presbyopia (‘old eye’). The lenses in your eyes are less flexible and can’t shift as easily from distant to near sight.
After the age of 40 you also have a higher risk of getting glaucoma, a build-up of pressure in the front of the eyes that can cause damage to the optic nerve and may produce blind spots or loss of peripheral vision. You may also develop cataracts that cloud your lenses and restrict your vision. Early detection is important for both problems.
What was that? Hearing losses actually begin in your twenties. High-frequency sounds start to fade first, then by the age of about 65, you may start to miss low-frequency sounds before hearing loss becomes noticeable. Not everyone becomes hard of hearing, but more than a third of people over the age of 65 have significant problems. Changes in the inner ear can also affect your balance, so you have to be more careful to prevent falls.

Blinding of the vision due to pressure build up is medically knows as?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

You’re bound to experience some perfectly normal changes as you get older. The trick is to come to terms with the things you simply can’t control and take charge of the things you know you can. Here’s a summary of what’s ahead.
Not so bright eyes? The first indication that you are getting older may be how far away from your eyes you have to hold the newspaper. If you hold it at arm’s length and your eyes tire easily, then you probably have presbyopia (‘old eye’). The lenses in your eyes are less flexible and can’t shift as easily from distant to near sight.
After the age of 40 you also have a higher risk of getting glaucoma, a build-up of pressure in the front of the eyes that can cause damage to the optic nerve and may produce blind spots or loss of peripheral vision. You may also develop cataracts that cloud your lenses and restrict your vision. Early detection is important for both problems.
What was that? Hearing losses actually begin in your twenties. High-frequency sounds start to fade first, then by the age of about 65, you may start to miss low-frequency sounds before hearing loss becomes noticeable. Not everyone becomes hard of hearing, but more than a third of people over the age of 65 have significant problems. Changes in the inner ear can also affect your balance, so you have to be more careful to prevent falls.

According to the passage, what is the greatest attribute needed for making an innovation?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Inovation, or at least talking about innovation, is all the rage these days, especially when it comes to addressing great social problems. But in order to innovate, you have to risk something. As in risk of losing something. Usually money. Possibly reputation. As much as people like to spout the latest literature about bringing risk-reward principles to social problems, when you actually come to them with a proposition that has high rewards and some measure of risk, their first response is, “Well, I like the idea, but it’s risky.”

The fact that it’s risky is not a problem. The fact that people think risk is a problem, or a flaw, is the problem. Risk is an essential attribute of introducing an innovation to the world. It’s not a flaw.
In the humanitarian sector, risk is viewed not only as a fl aw, but as unethical, immoral, sinful — criminal even. The entrepreneur seeking to fund a new idea that bears risk is looked upon as suspect, a shyster, an outlier living on the wrong side of principle, character, and propriety. Don’t associate with him or her, lest your own character be called into question.
These entrepreneurs are the recipients of countless hypersterile rejection letters and e-mails that say, “Thank you for reaching out to us but your idea is not a good fit for us,” or, “We are in the midst of a strategic planning process and thus cannot consider your proposal at this time.”

Why according to research are suicide rates higher in rural communities?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

In 1999, Brian and Nerida Egan had to surrender their Darling Downs property in Queensland. They had run a mixed cattle farm for 12 years, but it hadn’t rained a drop for the last three and they couldn’t afford to continue. The couple walked away with nothing but their cattle dog, Stumpy. “It was soul-destroying to lose everything,” says Brian. “There was this ‘beast’ inside me that had taken over my life. I had no hope and just could not see any future.” At the age of 55, Brian had twice attempted to take his own life and was with severe clinical depression and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), as a result of disturbing experiences he witnessed while on naval service in Indonesia in his early 20s. Depression is one of the most significant human costs of the drought, with research showing higher suicide rates in rural communities, especially among men, due to social isolation and difficulty accessing help. The stigma of mental illness left Brian with only his mother, Hilda, and Nerida to rely on. He recalls running and hiding in the wardrobe when people came to the front door. “I was just so ashamed of what I had become, I did not want anyone to see me.”
Brian was sent to Greenslopes Private Hospital in Brisbane, where he would end up being admitted five times over the next two years. “I was catatonic. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t talk or write. I didn’t know who I was, or who anyone else was.”
The doctors tried many different types of medication and treatment on Brian, but with limited benefits. Finally it was suggested to Brian by a psychologist that maybe the best thing for him to do was to go out and find someone worse off, and help them.

Hypermetropia is which of the following eye problems?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

You’re bound to experience some perfectly normal changes as you get older. The trick is to come to terms with the things you simply can’t control and take charge of the things you know you can. Here’s a summary of what’s ahead.
Not so bright eyes? The first indication that you are getting older may be how far away from your eyes you have to hold the newspaper. If you hold it at arm’s length and your eyes tire easily, then you probably have presbyopia (‘old eye’). The lenses in your eyes are less flexible and can’t shift as easily from distant to near sight.
After the age of 40 you also have a higher risk of getting glaucoma, a build-up of pressure in the front of the eyes that can cause damage to the optic nerve and may produce blind spots or loss of peripheral vision. You may also develop cataracts that cloud your lenses and restrict your vision. Early detection is important for both problems.
What was that? Hearing losses actually begin in your twenties. High-frequency sounds start to fade first, then by the age of about 65, you may start to miss low-frequency sounds before hearing loss becomes noticeable. Not everyone becomes hard of hearing, but more than a third of people over the age of 65 have significant problems. Changes in the inner ear can also affect your balance, so you have to be more careful to prevent falls.

What special efforts did Michel make for Jude?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

Part of the mutual attraction when Jude Smith and Michel Fanton met in 1981 was the interest each had in gardening and self-sufficiency. “Jude was intelligent and very warm but also practical and keen to make a difference,” recalls Michel. “I instantly felt she was a soul mate.”
“I noticed Michel because he seemed like a forest spirit,” Jude says. “He had panpipes with him, which he played during breaks. He was wise, knowledgeable and energetic.”
Although the two were drawn to one another, there were hurdles to overcome: Michel had left his job in the delivery arm of a publishing house, while Jude was scheduled to return to her high-school job in Adelaide, teaching social sciences and English.
Although they were making a home on a 600-hectare property on the edge of rain forest near Lismore, New South Wales, Michel found he was going to have to dig deeper to completely win over Jude’s heart. “She demanded only authentic French cooking,” he recalls. For Michel, this meant growing his own essential ingredients from scratch.
“To make her a summer ratatouille niçoise, I went on a search for seeds for a special meaty tomato that cooks well; a capsicum that is both red and green; round, flavour some courgettes de Nice; and a strong purple garlic. It was pure love that made me do that!”
“Watching Michel go to all that effort to source the plants and tend them deepened our growing bond,” says Jude. “When I finally tasted the food, it was incredibly rich and had a fullness and depth of flavour that made it more satisfying and also more filling.”
For months, the couple rose every day at 5am to establish a half-hectare garden, as well as work on an orchard of fruit and nut trees. Soon, their turmeric, ginger, 130 varieties of tomato, mandarins, macadamias, pecans and custard apples were thriving, along with spices such as cinnamon. But no matter how attentive they were, their cucumbers, rock melons and pumpkins continued to succumb to mildew in the hot, wet climate.
“We don’t believe in using pesticide, and we didn’t want to give up on growing those cucurbits, because we love their taste, so we found a gardener, Joe Connolly, who showed us the way forward,” says Michel.

What was the couple left with after their cattle farm was sold off?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

In 1999, Brian and Nerida Egan had to surrender their Darling Downs property in Queensland. They had run a mixed cattle farm for 12 years, but it hadn’t rained a drop for the last three and they couldn’t afford to continue. The couple walked away with nothing but their cattle dog, Stumpy. “It was soul-destroying to lose everything,” says Brian. “There was this ‘beast’ inside me that had taken over my life. I had no hope and just could not see any future.” At the age of 55, Brian had twice attempted to take his own life and was with severe clinical depression and symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), as a result of disturbing experiences he witnessed while on naval service in Indonesia in his early 20s. Depression is one of the most significant human costs of the drought, with research showing higher suicide rates in rural communities, especially among men, due to social isolation and difficulty accessing help. The stigma of mental illness left Brian with only his mother, Hilda, and Nerida to rely on. He recalls running and hiding in the wardrobe when people came to the front door. “I was just so ashamed of what I had become, I did not want anyone to see me.”
Brian was sent to Greenslopes Private Hospital in Brisbane, where he would end up being admitted five times over the next two years. “I was catatonic. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t talk or write. I didn’t know who I was, or who anyone else was.”
The doctors tried many different types of medication and treatment on Brian, but with limited benefits. Finally it was suggested to Brian by a psychologist that maybe the best thing for him to do was to go out and find someone worse off, and help them.

What was the author amazed at?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

On my way home that afternoon, I saw the same man in the same place. He was crumpled over, his head almost on the ground. Two ambulance attendants were crouched beside him. This time my step paused. He wasn’t a derelict at all. He was old certainly, but he wore a nice suit and was clean-shaven. And in a very bad way.
Shame rocked me. How torturous for that sick, old man to have endured the coldness of the entire day, sitting on the hard, unforgiving ground. He probably reached out to passersby for help. No-one stopped. No-one cared. Out of sight, out of mind.
A different season and I again came across an old man half lying on the footpath, not far from where the Winter Man had been. The morning heat was stifling. Caught up in the familiar stampede of people commuting, I barely glanced at him. However, the memory of the old Winter Man came back to me vividly. I walked back to the man on the ground. He was dressed in smart clothes with a neatly trimmed beard and only a straw hat for shade. I knelt down to ask if he was OK. His kind face looked at me.
Beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee and sugar sachets lay open. A flow of people kept walking by. He regained consciousness, albeit weakly, and told me he was diabetic and it might be a good idea to call an ambulance, which I did — it was a few minutes away.
In barely a whisper, he said to me, “Nobody stopped. Thank you.” Fighting back tears, I asked his name. “Greg,” he said. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Volumes were spoken without a word being uttered. I saw a proud man who didn’t like what was happening to him. As the approaching ambulance’s siren proclaimed the arrival of help, a number of emotions rushed at me. I felt sadness tugging at my heart for the Winter Man and shame that I had almost walked past another person in need. I was amazed that it had been so easy to be helpful.

Why was the author fighting back tears when he asked the name of the old man?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

On my way home that afternoon, I saw the same man in the same place. He was crumpled over, his head almost on the ground. Two ambulance attendants were crouched beside him. This time my step paused. He wasn’t a derelict at all. He was old certainly, but he wore a nice suit and was clean-shaven. And in a very bad way.
Shame rocked me. How torturous for that sick, old man to have endured the coldness of the entire day, sitting on the hard, unforgiving ground. He probably reached out to passersby for help. No-one stopped. No-one cared. Out of sight, out of mind.
A different season and I again came across an old man half lying on the footpath, not far from where the Winter Man had been. The morning heat was stifling. Caught up in the familiar stampede of people commuting, I barely glanced at him. However, the memory of the old Winter Man came back to me vividly. I walked back to the man on the ground. He was dressed in smart clothes with a neatly trimmed beard and only a straw hat for shade. I knelt down to ask if he was OK. His kind face looked at me.
Beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee and sugar sachets lay open. A flow of people kept walking by. He regained consciousness, albeit weakly, and told me he was diabetic and it might be a good idea to call an ambulance, which I did — it was a few minutes away.
In barely a whisper, he said to me, “Nobody stopped. Thank you.” Fighting back tears, I asked his name. “Greg,” he said. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Volumes were spoken without a word being uttered. I saw a proud man who didn’t like what was happening to him. As the approaching ambulance’s siren proclaimed the arrival of help, a number of emotions rushed at me. I felt sadness tugging at my heart for the Winter Man and shame that I had almost walked past another person in need. I was amazed that it had been so easy to be helpful.

What was the problem with the second man that the author saw, who was lying on the footpath?

Directions: Read the passage and answer the following question.

On my way home that afternoon, I saw the same man in the same place. He was crumpled over, his head almost on the ground. Two ambulance attendants were crouched beside him. This time my step paused. He wasn’t a derelict at all. He was old certainly, but he wore a nice suit and was clean-shaven. And in a very bad way.
Shame rocked me. How torturous for that sick, old man to have endured the coldness of the entire day, sitting on the hard, unforgiving ground. He probably reached out to passersby for help. No-one stopped. No-one cared. Out of sight, out of mind.
A different season and I again came across an old man half lying on the footpath, not far from where the Winter Man had been. The morning heat was stifling. Caught up in the familiar stampede of people commuting, I barely glanced at him. However, the memory of the old Winter Man came back to me vividly. I walked back to the man on the ground. He was dressed in smart clothes with a neatly trimmed beard and only a straw hat for shade. I knelt down to ask if he was OK. His kind face looked at me.
Beside him, a takeaway cup of coffee and sugar sachets lay open. A flow of people kept walking by. He regained consciousness, albeit weakly, and told me he was diabetic and it might be a good idea to call an ambulance, which I did — it was a few minutes away.
In barely a whisper, he said to me, “Nobody stopped. Thank you.” Fighting back tears, I asked his name. “Greg,” he said. We looked into each other’s eyes for a moment. Volumes were spoken without a word being uttered. I saw a proud man who didn’t like what was happening to him. As the approaching ambulance’s siren proclaimed the arrival of help, a number of emotions rushed at me. I felt sadness tugging at my heart for the Winter Man and shame that I had almost walked past another person in need. I was amazed that it had been so easy to be helpful.