The swish swish sounds of my grandma sweeping the room slowly entered my dream, becoming more and more clear until I became aware of my closed eyelids. My grandma made her way across the room and silently drew open the curtains, spilling sunlight onto our pale and sleepy faces. Wincing at the sudden brightness, I rolled around in an attempt to find a new comfortable position. Finally, I let out a morning groan, followed by a stretch spasm, and stood up to throw my blanket on my cousin’s face. 

“Ow!” My cousin mumbled sleepily, shimmying away.

I was pleasantly greeted by the savory aroma of sesame as I stumbled to the living room, my eyesight still swaying from getting up. As my vision stilled, I saw My grandpa sitting on the rocking chair with his reading glasses and a newspaper propped on his crossed legs. My mom and my grandma were deep into a pointless argument about groceries. as they ate a hearty breakfast of hot noodles and sesame paste that my grandpa bought from venturing outside into the hot and humid weather.

Within a few minutes, I was joined by my cousin and brother, both groggy from sleep. We each helped ourselves to a spicy bowl of noodles and attempted to have a spice tolerance competition. My cousin won, easily, since she is a native Chinese citizen of Wuhan who eats spicy food every other day. Just as I was about to return to my room and watch TV with my cousin and brother, my grandma stopped us.

“We are actually going to go to a historical monument today!” She exclaimed.

All three of us groaned in unison. I only got a taste of Wuhan's summer heat the day I arrived at Wuhan from the airport and stepped outside a few minutes to meet my grandpa who was picking us up. Even if just for a moment, the heat was quite unbearable. Ever since then, I stayed inside the air-conditioned walls of my grandparents’ home.

“Hurry up and get dressed,” My mom said impatiently, “We are leaving in ten minutes.” 

I went to my room and hastily threw on a basic T-shirt and shorts and immediately returned to the living room, sulking on a couch with my legs crossed.

“You might want to tie up your hair.” My mom advised, “it is quite hot today.”

Huffing, I ignored her. My hair was down the day we arrived in China and I was fine.

“Would you like a popsicle?” My grandma handed me a popsicle.

“Stop spoiling her,” My mom said exasperatedly, “who eats ice creams bright and early in the morning?”

“I do,” I replied, unwrapping the popsicle.

In a matter of minutes, my family finished preparing and we headed outside to the bus stop. My grandparents lived in a rather shabby and grey-looking apartment with no elevators. I was hit by a wave of heat from a large opening as soon as I exited the door, and the heat kept expanding as I walked down the sooty concrete stairs, getting closer and closer to the apartment exit. I thought I would be fine, after all, I was still slurping away at my popsicle. However, it wasn’t until I was outside that the humid heat really hit me.

My popsicle began to melt almost instantly. Instead of savoring it as I usually do, I speedily slurped the popsicle at all angles, trying to suck away the melting parts, which reappeared as fast as I ate. The gooey sweetness was almost sickening as I devoured my popsicle. 

Within ten minutes, my neat laid-down hair was transformed into a sweaty bird's nest.

“Are we there yet?” I asked after ten minutes of walking.

“Not yet. Almost there.” My grandpa responded.

The weather was so severely hot and humid that I was no longer paying attention to my appearance in any way. When my grandpa finally led us to a bus stop, I numbly made my way next to him, hunchbacked and wheezing. Finding cover under a shaded booth, I sat on my haunches. Although a bench was right next to me, there was no way I wouldn’t be burned from the heat its metal surface picked up.

Rubbing my sweaty face with my clammy hands, I continued to moan about the weather. My sympathetic grandma started to fan me, but even the air coming from her fan was warm and humid.

Since the sun’s glare bore into my brain, the bus seemed to have materialized in front of me. I stumbled into the bus and then blinked twice as the blissfully cool air conditioning tickled my skin. For the first time since I left the house, I was able to observe my surroundings without my vision turning hazy due to the heat.

Shockingly, at least half the people on the bus were wearing long pants, my grandpa included. No one was talking about the weather. Everyone else looked bored and unbothered. I glanced at myself; I was hyperventilating about the weather a few moments ago, completely unaware of my hunchback posture and whiny attitude.

Apparently, the weather that day was cool compared to the usual Wuhan summer days. A few days later, I spotted a group of middle-aged men shirtless and panting while squatting on stools and eating spicy noodles. I cannot imagine the suffocation they felt when they decided to do that. What I had experienced a few days earlier was nothing compared to what Wuhan’s citizens may have experienced before.

My mom gave me a pointed look and I shrugged as a sigh escaped me.

“Not everyone is the same.” I heard myself say.