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This is the blog of Ian Rosales Casocot. Filipino writer. Sometime academic. Former backpacker. Twink bait. Hamster lover.

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Friday, April 16, 2004

This humidity is a kind of murder. The way it kills you, it first invades your skin, boils everything underneath till you die in the pressure cooker of your own body. Your nose and your throat throb threateningly with the promise of summer colds -- that festering thing. You become constanly thirsty, and sometimes delirious, but there is no respite, even under the shade of a tree, even after drinking glasses of water filled to the brim with ice cubes. The heat simply will not go away; it stays and follows you around, like a bad dream, delighting in the torture of your slowly weakening body. You must have taken your 3,098,346th shower today. To no avail, still. You must have ransacked your wardrobe for the skimpiest piece of summer wear. To no avail, still.



You wish someone can take you away to some place cold and comfortable.



If you have airconditioning, take me, I'm yours.


[0] This is Where You Bite the Sandwich




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