It was a particularly dark and stormy night, with the fierce wind shook the windows wildly, as if some unseen force was beating them from outside. The clouds had gathered in a dense mass, blocking out the moon and the stars. Contrasting dramatically with the outside, the air in the house was filled with joy and warmth as family members gathered together, all eagerly anticipating the festival. The children were laughing and playing, chasing each other around the living room. Their laughter and chatter filled the air, creating a lively and festive atmosphere. The adults who sat around the dining table, sharing stories, were infected by their energy, finding themselves wearing smiles all the tire. It was New Year’s Eve and our annual party is in full swing.

Unexpectedly, our hearts skipped a beat as loud explosions echoed through the night, sending shivers down our spines. We rushed to the windows, hearts pounding, and looked out into the hills, where a terrifying sight awaited us. The electrical transformers (变压器) were now erupting in a chaotic display of sparks and flames. One by one, the lights in the surrounding areas began to flicker and fade. The darkness swallowed up the hills and just in a minute only a few scattered lights remained, twinkling weakly in the distance. And then, without warning, came a deafening explosion, and our own house went dark too.

I quickly gathered all the candles we had and lit them, casting a soft glow that transformed the room into a cozy atmosphere. However, we faced a challenge. With fifteen people gathering around. we still needed to prepare dinner. How could we possibly cook without electricity? The question hung in the air, but we knew we had to find a way to make the most of our situation and ensure everyone had a memorable New Year’s Eve.

The barbecue!

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, the excitement in the air reached a feverish pitch.

It was one of ordinary days in October, grey and drizzling all the time. I dragged myself out of the bed and all of the routines began early. I dropped my two older children at school with relief and unwillingly headed to the supermarket to buy groceries with my youngest. Never had I felt any tinge of gratitude for my comfortable home or lovely family.

I was getting mad and frustrated with this early day, and my son, just four years old at that time, was being difficult. I raced around to pick the items with no regard to the cost, while trying in vain to control my naughty child whose behavior had now added to my complete displeasure. Yes, I was that mother, threatening, roaring at a small child, the kind of behavior you see in others before you have children and think,“I will never be one of those people.”

Eventually we made it to the checkout and stood in the queue waiting our turn. After a short time, I noticed that someone had joined the line behind us. I turned and saw an old man. He wore a dirty overcoat, tied around the middle with rope. His shoes were worn-out, and his trousers tapped around sockless ankles even on this cold, wet day. In his hands he carried a small box of long-life milk.

As I had too many groceries, I asked him if he’d like to go ahead of me. It was more like an automatic reaction than an act of kindness on my part. Perhaps I just did it out of a sense of guilt, or I just wanted him gone. After all, it was his presence that made me uncomfortable, in the same way I feel uncomfortable and avoid my eyes when passing a homeless person.

He didn’t respond to me as if I had said nothing to him. Then I looked at him and repeated my words. This time, I was sure that he had heard what I said.