Last night, just as I was about to fall asleep, the heat became unbearable. Half-asleep, I reached for a nearby piece of paper to fan myself. The room was silent and dark, and the only sound was the soft flutter of paper cutting through the air. That simple sound brought me back, all the way to the summer nights of my childhood in Vietnam.

Back then, my family lived in a city where electricity was rationed. Each district would lose power at night on a rotating basis to prevent overconsumption. When it was our turn, the heat would wake me up. The air felt thick, still, and stifling.

My parents would gently wake my siblings and me. Together, we would go up to the rooftop where the air was a little cooler. There, my parents used paper fans to cool us down so we could fall back asleep. The rooftop was dark; they lit two candles to give us just enough light. I remember lying there, between my parents, listening to the rhythmic sound of the fans, feeling safe and loved.

Even though those nights were hot and probably tiring for my parents, they remain some of my sweetest memories. There was something so comforting about being close to them, under the open sky, with nothing but candlelight and the quiet hum of the night.

Now, years later, as an adult lying in a quiet room once again fanning myself with paper, I can’t help but wish I could return, even just for a moment, to those simple, tender nights.