21.1 What Jolly Hotness

The wind is howling pass the closed window, screaming to be let in. Dead leaves are getting swept up in their journey to find a resting spot to crumble and be returned to the earth. Thick, toxic smog flies away like a magic carpet, to land in some other unfortunate area, revealing the beautiful, natural and healthy blue sky that should have been in place long hours ago. People are protectively bundled up, resembling walking/rolling cotton balls and stumbling around trying to breathe through their scarves or masks or the unforgiving cold. A sign of relief and jitterbugs as they step into a building, thankful for the heat.

Oh I’m sorry. Did you think I was describing my surroundings right now?

At this very moment, I am writing to you with the electric fan on full, trying its best to blast away the 30 degrees (Celsius by the way, America) heat and humidity clawing at my skin and insides. I attempt to let my tongue out, hoping what does the trick for canines would do the same to release some of this miserable heat. It only ends up making a fool of me. Even the fragile old folks of the older generations are in nothing but two pieces of thin, loose cloth. My 8-year-old cousin finishes off every day by soaking through her clothes and hair. There are palm trees for crying out loud. It’s merry all around. I can’t believe I actually miss snow. Oh the once-hated things you are thankful for now that you’ve experienced the ‘greenness’ on other side of the fence.

Only a few lucky places in the world gets to have this overheated oven for their winters, let along year round.

Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to tropical Singapore.

I am technically here on holiday, but seeing as the Chinese semester break doesn’t start until the end of next week, I am sitting on my vacation, trying to finish one last wretched paper.

In the meantime, I have to battle swords and shields (mostly shields) with the tragically high temperatures. My body is in slight shock. I’m getting uncomfortably sweaty during sleep. I cycle through out outfit a day because it ends up in the wash. I can’t eat anything but ice cream (that’s actually a positive). And I perform a ceremonial celebratory dance every time I walk into a building with air conditioning.

Give me a few more days to adjust.

On the bright side, I can speak my native language, Chinenglish and people will actually understand me instead of dressing me up as a freak with their eyes. Plus, Facebook, Youtube, NY Times, my blogs, Twitter, websites and articles about Xinjiang and Tibet, you get the picture. They are all now available in one click instead of through a complex portal of VPNs and fire escapes.

I’m going to sweat some fat off my fingers now, so it can drown this heinous final paper and I can go soak in some well-needed, ten thousand feet above the ground, cool infinity pool.

Enjoy winter.

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