The afternoon sun leaks through the mosquito nets barring the window, spotlighting the stained wooden floor beneath; circles resembling the bitten holes in the net. Crows perched on the corner of roof and wall, present but visibly out of sight, gargle and shriek with googling eyes; a constant pester to the neighborhood as they ache to be left alone in the hours of dawn. The sizzling of, what I imagine to be, oiled pots and pans drift from the kitchen below, and the occasional bustle of neighbors hanging clothes along the washing line seep through my window that has been pried ajar. Locked in this room, a haven of snot-filled tissues and uneaten pills, all my growing curiosities are fed through that very window and the senses that it heightens. Only a few more days is what I am promised. And so, I sink into my purple duvet, draping myself beneath it as I pull open a book, slipping in and out of consciousness, letting the hours pass blindly until my hammering thoughts are finally satiated by far more than the window has to offer.
Soon arrives the salty soothing smell of summer and the escapades it promises. Drowning in the embrace of my bed, I imagine the road outside, tar melting under the sweltering heat as children race barefoot, dizzy with adventure, blaming their fuddled state and stumbling movements on the fizzy sodas they treated as alcohol. I imagine them racing forth on their bicycles and scooters, assembling a union of mismatched bandits bent on causing mischief to the neighborhood. Along the pavement facing the ocean, I can hear them shouting “Yo Ho Ho!” as they bear their growing teeth, making despicable faces to fend off whatever enemies that lie on the other side. As they meddle in these mythical affairs, their neighbors are stirred from their slumber.
In the hours of dusk, I can imagine the hushed exchanges between summer lovers as they slip out of houses in the shadow of the night, taking each other by the hand and strolling the streets, giggling with desire and batting eyes full of yearning. Settling by the rocks facing the ocean, I can imagine the fires burning in the pits of their stomach, the electrical sparks radiating in the awkward space between them, the thrumming of their hearts and the blush that has settled on their cheeks, although too dark to notice. Amidst the rhythmical lap of the ocean against the sand and beneath the scarce, blinking stars up above, lingering kisses and sweet words are exchanged, locked in this space of time and unreachable once the sun rises.
Gathered with girlfriends, I can imagine the bustle of getting ready. Hair mingled in salty ocean water and bath salts; skin raw with tan undertones; blushed cheeks sun kissed by the beach. Within that one room, I envision them all preparing for the enjoyable dinner after, blasting Madonna out of the rusted radio and bunching at every mirror available as they drown their lashes in sticks of mascara and douse their bodies in one too many spritzes of coconut perfume. They dance and twirl, tiptoeing over the piled clothes- jeans too short or shirts too big or skirts too bright or dresses too dull lay rejected, defeated. And among this chaos of ‘Do I look okay?’, is a mutual feeling of comfort and bliss as, between swipes of mascara and lipstick, they cannot help but be sucked into the blasting chorus of the song, joining together in what to them may seem like a harmonious, perfect rendition of Material Girl, but is really just a screaming band of teenage girls.
As summer creeps closer, the last week of school goes by like a breeze. All those days of sleeping in class, getting away with it, playing games on computers, no more homework or tests, and dreading those few classes that, for some reason, decide to continue with the syllabus. On those last days of school, the thought of a two-month long holiday tickles at our brains as the song of summer erupts from the birds breasts, the monsoon season has fading away to make way for the sweltering cooling Malaysia heat to embrace us in its both torturing yet familiar grasp.
And so, bursting with scenarios waiting to be fulfilled, I can only wait here, in the homely cage that is my room, for those days to approach. To me, summer does not burst with fluorescent colors; it does not melt on your tongue like the sweet drizzle of chocolates, and it is not booming with music, erupting with sound that drills at the ears. It is instead all things still. Summer is the soft crackle of a bonfire, the receding waves of the ocean with each lap against the sand singing like the pluck of a lyre; it is the smooth bleeding of crimson red into soft orange hues against a bluish-pink canvas and it is salty and sweet like the ocean and the lethargic drip of honey. It is but a season we experience all year round yet it is entirely unique; the two months a rare, precious experience before the time is up, and monotony returns once again. So, as the crows rupture with their mocking croaks, taunting like guards as I sit helpless behind the single window, my mirror through the world, I am nothing but a prisoner, yearning to feel the simple touch of sun against bare skin.