Summer blues

Who would have thought it possible to get the blues in the summer? But you would when its 41 oC out at 9 pm. The wind bringing hot air to your face. And your black abaya becomes a sauna bag, absorbing and trapping the heat close to your body. While the men wear white of course.

The whole city seemed emptied out. Either they are gone, to someplace cooler or they stay at home. Driving seems more bearable as there are less cars. People are either gone or are staying away. That’s the only saving grace.

The exodus is beginning. Almost everyone I know is going away for the summer. They are surprised to know that I have no plans for this summer. Not even a short holiday surely? They asked. All flights to Malaysia are now full. They are all going to KLCC to shop or laze at the beaches. If the men stare at your breasts, make sure you slap him and tell him that is unacceptable behaviour. Then they will treat you with more respect. The richer ones are gone to their European summer homes. They too will flood Oxford Street and Champse Elysee.

We thought we’d save our money on our holiday to pay off a portion of our mortgage. It would be lovely to return to London for the summer like last year, but I know it will be too expensive. And I am putting a distance between me and the city I previously call home. Home is where I am now, where my loved one is. Not where the house is. The house that has come to signify our sweat and our tears and our triumph. It is only an object. Objects are disposable in life. It’s the goodness that we do in our lifetime that we bring with us to our graves. Not our worldly possessions. Do I sound convincing?

It hit 52oC last year and they predict it will be much much warmer this year. Greenhouse effect and stuff. The sun literally sucks the water from you. Immediately upon stepping out of your door, you feel your throat drying up. You reach for water. Nature can be your nourisher but also your demise.

Thank god for air conditioning. Every room, every nook and every cranny is air-conditioned.

My French neighbours, they love the sun. Spent hours sun tanning themselves. Looking like barbequed chicken. All dried up and wrinkly. But they seem to like it. I however, made sure I wear SPF 60, with either a hat or an umbrella when I go out. No way I will stay out there in the sun. I’d be melting in no time. Even in the swimming pool.

But I like the summer here as much as I love the winter in London. Where the streets are empty, no mad rushes no queues. Far from the maddening crowd. From the hustle bustle of people. Afterall, in death we’ll be all alone, no company in our graves, except the worms, the maggots and the what nots. So might as well get used to it from now. Get used to the sound of silence, which is impossible to hear sometimes with the drone of the tv, or the Ipod or even with the air conditioner blowing.

I will go where ever you want to go. I will be with you wherever you chose to be. As long as you promise to love me, pamper me and cherish me. And never, ever, intentionally hurt me.