“Ah!” I swing my arm heavily to throw the beetle that lands on my hand. A chill goes down my spine and I get goose bumps all over my body, feeling as if the beetle’s legs still remain on my hand. Jesus, I’ve never seen such an enormous insect.

This is my first day in this village, and as soon as I enter my “new home”, I am completely shocked, refusing to believe that I need to live in this ragged wooden room for five days. Small insects often appear unexpectedly on the dirty furniture, forcing me to tighten my nerves and look carefully whenever I sit down. The old, tumbledown fan keeps creaking and rattling without blowing away the heat at all, intensifying my headache.

Take a deep breath. I whisper inside myself. It’s only five days.

My only comfort is the lovely people. My “new family” is extremely amiable and caring, offering me their traditional berries and chatting with me passionately. Their radiant smiles are warm and sincere. Back in my home, I rarely even see my parents since they are always working, and when I share my school life they always reply with, “I’m busy. Go to study.”

As I chat with the people and explore the forest with other children, the intense heat and terrifying insects gradually become tolerable. Soon, the sky darkens and the first night arrives. After a difficult shower, avoiding all kinds of insects and unknown organisms and trying in vain to control the unstable water temperature, I finally get to rest. I lie down on the hard wooden bed, tossing and turning, impatient with the irritating heat, staring at the wrecked, peeling cement roof with looming spider webs fluttering under the moonbeam.

What time is it? Probably past midnight. But I don’t feel any sleepiness.

Finally, unable to tolerate the boredom and anxiety, I quietly get up and tiptoe toward the door. The air outside is fresh and cool. The night breeze blows gently across my face, taking away the tedious heat as well as my nervousness. I am surprised to notice the twinkling stars scattered all over the cloudless night sky. I can even see the ambiguous Milky Way.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I turn my head. It is my “mother”.

“No worries, continue being a stargazer.” She smiles and lies down on the meadow beside me. “It is natural. Most people are unable to fall asleep the first night they get here. You see, we don’t have comfortable beds or air conditioners. You’ve probably had a long day.”

“Yeah… No, I mean, I really like you and other kids. I’m just adapting…”

She puts a finger in front of her lips, eyes bending graciously as she smiles, and whispers, “Let’s enjoy the nighttime.”

Yes. A night that completely belongs to me: without continuous messages tweeting, without endless assignments to complete, without others’ expectations to fulfill. How rare is this? Probably never going to happen when I return home.

Gradually, I forget about the insects and the dirt, and sit down on the meadow and lay my head onto a thick oak log beside her. Night breeze. Fresh air. Twinkling stars. All unavailable in the crowded city where skyscrapers and polluted smoke block our vision from discovering the beauty of nature. Here, the truly fascinating essence of summer is portrayed vividly.

I feel a strange relief, followed by pure happiness. We look at each other, then to the stars, and both laugh.

As William Somerset Maugham said, “Life can never torture a person who can observe the fallen leaves, flowers, and appreciate everything from the details.” My “other family” is exactly so, and from that night on, I start understanding the idea as well. I see, I feel, I realize, and I meet myself within the details: the tentacles of a cute snail, the flower petals dancing in the wind, even the chirping cicadas that used to be noisy and turbulent now seem to embrace the sweetest dreams in their songs.

I start to love this place. The nature. The life.

Through this exchange of life, I get to meet the true essence of life.