It’s summer again. It’s definitely summer. Down here at these latitudes, we don’t mess around too much with “spring” or “autumn.” It’s just heat, coming on suddenly, pressing up close and making you sweat. When it was cold, I hated swimming—that’s what they call bathing here—because I always do it early in the morning and at night, and that cold bucket of water was unbearable. Now, swimming’s a treat. I take as long as I can because as soon as I stop tipping cups of water over my head, the heat sidles up again.
Not that I really mind. Cold’s like something your body keeps fighting, all the time. You never relax. But heat you just resign yourself to. Heat you just sink into, accept, letting yourself be sweaty and sticky (extra stickiness due to mango juice). And it reminds me all the time that I’m living on a tiny tropical island, which, believe it or not, I sometimes need reminding of.