At 3:45am last night I stumbled out of bed and headed, bleary-eyed, to the storeroom to gather the logistics for a dead-of-the-night pump session. I tapped the switch for the overhead light in the storeroom and it immediately blew with a loud pop, sending the whole house into a power trip. 20 minutes later, J had tried all manner of tinkling with the circuit breakers to no avail, so we dialled an electrician, lit some candles and sat together in the living room to wait for rescue.
Mercifully, it was a cool night, and the sound of the trees rustling in the dead of the night was like a massage for the soul. The light breeze gradually picked up until gale force winds were howling like banshees through slits in the windows, the trees crunching noisily in tandem. As the electrician tottered on a ladder to fix the circuit breaker, the winds turned into a rainstorm that would continue lashing till the morning.
Just before the rain came, I stood at the window while the wind whipped through my hair and stung my eyes. The air was so cool and the neighbourhood so deserted; I was transported to the memory of walking along pre-dawn suburban streets to my coffee kiosk job in London, waking at 4:30am to be out the door at 4:45am and in the kiosk by 5am to get the coffee machine warmed up. In winter, this was tantamount to torture, and I would shiver violently as I tucked my chin as far as I could into my snood and willed my legs to keep moving as fast as possible. The shop had no heater and I would continue wearing my puff jacket late into the morning, bones rattling within. I look back on this time in my life with great joy and amusement. The job and the people I met while at it were some of the best parts about living abroad.
Soon the electrician’s magic took effect, the lights (and importantly, the air-con) came on again inside, and I popped right back to bed comforted by a wonderful memory of winter mornings that, ironically, was as warm and fuzzy as a hug.
Medium Delirium 