I had never thought I would be writing a post about winters. But in perpetually sunny-cloudy Singapore, you miss winters. I never really had cold winters early in my childhood, but there WAS a winter, we had four seasons.
In Singapore being under the scorching sun is not much fun at 30 degrees C almost throughout the year, t-shirt sticking to sweaty skin, with humidity playing all kinds of tricks. I see only the Europeans and Americans sunning themselves, the Asians mostly shirk the sun. This is a garden city of air-conditioners and chalky skin, I have seldom seen a Singaporean happy out of doors.
Reminds me of my childhood, when on winter afternoons, we would sun ourselves, playing around the women in the neighborhood who would be gathered on lawns, knitting, chatting, eating oranges.
I have a craving for those oranges, big, bright, knobbly, juicy, sweet. I remember trying to sleep off under bright sunlight, and how my world would turn an orange red when I closed my eyes, as if the oranges had somehow bled color, and now covered everything in a warm, hazy glow.
I miss that now, that animal-like enjoyment of the sun, the pleasure of warming one side of the body and then turning around to sun the other. There was something full-blooded about that experience, totally out of reach in pale, anemic Singapore.