The power cut in our street

Tuesday, 9 p.m. The power went out at about half past seven, just as I was starting to cook dinner. The whole street went dark at the same time, and for a moment everybody stood in their doorways looking at each other. My neighbour, Mr Hung, shouted that the electricity company had warned us about it last week. Nobody had read the message.

I found two candles in a kitchen drawer, but I could not find any matches. In the end I borrowed a lighter from the shop on the corner. The shop owner was selling candles for double the usual price, which made some people angry. Still, she was the only person with any left, so we paid.

By eight o'clock it was getting hot. Without the fan, my room felt like an oven, so I took my homework down to the street. Half of the neighbours were already sitting outside on plastic chairs. Somebody had brought a small radio that ran on batteries, and an old man was telling stories about the war years, when power cuts lasted for days. The children were running around with their phone torches, playing a game of catch.

Around nine, Mrs Lan from the second floor brought out a plate of sliced watermelon and shared it with everyone. It was warm, but nobody complained. I realised I had not talked to most of these people for months, even though I live next to them. We are always busy, and when we come home we close the door and look at our screens.

At half past ten the lights came back on with a loud click, and everybody cheered. Strangely, I felt a little sad. I said goodnight, went upstairs and turned on the fan. Tomorrow I will probably forget about it, but tonight I want to write this down. Maybe I should bring some watermelon downstairs next weekend, with or without a power cut.