The summer breeze is on my nape, split into countless streams by the fan that turns at full speed behind me. Warm air, pretending to drive away the heat, but only fanning it. Heat from the eart, the remnants of the strong summer sun, trapped in a bubble that won’t burst.
The streets were sunny this morning. The quaint buildings of Tiong Bahru, the well-kept apartment buildings, the mall, the people spilling from it, the bent old lady at the bus stop, the grey pigeons in the shadow of the railway tracks- everyone and everything soaked in the languid sunshine, the joy and the pleasantries of summer floating through the clear afternoon sky.
A book by me, the night waning into dawn, an exam done and dusted (a purely non-technical certification- the techies have not broken through my walls yet), blackcurrant juice- what more, barring perhaps a power cut, do I need to make me feel like I am in the middle of school summer vacations? Quite a bit. The scent of jasmine and grass borne over the breeze, the calls to prayer from the mosque, the coffee, crisp fresh sheets on my bed fragrant with detergent- how I miss these! Scrabble, mango juice, butterscotch ice cream (now ice cream doesn’t go with seasons, but what is summer without it), holiday homework postponed to the last possible moment, the unenthusiastic countdown to the number of days before school starts again- Pandora, why did you ever open the box?
Summer isn’t just a season. It is an experience, one that replays itself countless times through childhood without your asking, and suddenly hardens its heart and hides behind impenetrable curtains as the years go by. Summer and childhood are inextricably linked together, and no effort at untangling the two can ever pull them apart. Complain as I will about the heat, summer will always be a season I shall look forward to, if only for the memories it carries with it.