The blurry of sleep was sharply sliced through by the cold.
It had just poured, giving me a million more reasons to stay in bed. I usually do. But today, it’s easier to deceive myself.
The sheets are exceptionally cold after the rain. You don’ feel the humidity nor the heat at all. I want to wallow in my sheets a little longer, to bury myself in this illusion of temperate weather. How soothing Sleep is. It crosses my mind that life is really not worth living. When you’re awake you just want to sleep. And when you sleep you don’t want to wake. What the hell.
In Singapore, sleeping means you boil in your own sweat. Unless you have a clinical air-conditioner on at full blast or a wobbling fan, yes I do stew in my own juices. Over here, the sheets are wet for a different reason.
We’re not called the air-conditioned nation for nothing.
An air-conditioner allows us to live in illusion. To eat, shit and live in a temperature which we think is “ideal” for all these mundane activities. Previously it was 24 degrees Celsius. Who decided it? Who interfered with my life, stepped into it as if it was his, waved his goddamn magic wand and decided 24 degrees Celsius was ok? Look at what it had contributed to. Melting glaciers.
Actually less on the melting glaciers than on me dressing like it is winter – in the tropics. I go to work armed with a scarf and a jacket most of the time because I cannot stand the cold in the office. I go to university armed in a hoodie because I cannot stand the cold in the lecture halls and classrooms. I go to shopping centres and cinema halls wrapped in jackets because I cannot stand the cold in them either.
Now some disembodied soul thinks we should turn up the temperature to 25 degrees Celsius on the basis that it will save a lot of electricity. Who keeps on making these decisions that affects my life? I say leave the remote control to the temperature in the entrance of the shopping centres or cinema halls and let us turn it up or down as we deem fit.
N.B.: On air-conditioners. It crosses my mind that acronyms and other objects peculiar to my state serve to illusionise in an Orwellian way. Frequently we’re denied of the true meaning of these words – in a philosophical way.