August is kind of like Sunday- just like you know that the weekend is coming to an end, when August rolls around, you know that summer is on its way out, too. I always find this time of year kind of bittersweet.
Before I say anything else, I just want to say, I hope you are managing, with whatever your situation is. I know this will be very different for everyone. I just wanted to share how I have coped with the uncertainty and the difficult times, and hope that some ideas may be things you could try too, if you want and are able to.
It is kind of funny writing a post about Bergen, from Bangalore. But its been a week since I left. Driving away with mum, I commented that it was a bit like when I left Aberdeen; the car filled up with my stuff, and me feeling not so sad to be leaving. I’m not too good at sticking in one place, it seems.
The first few days of a new year, a new decade. A good place to reflect on time. Time moves fast in India. Buildings sprout where jungles and desert once were. A year, or two passing by is the equivalent of ten or more in Europe. But yet, somehow, sometimes, coming here can help you to slow down. To appreciate that some things really are timeless. The tropical birdsong, as the sun rises. The cascades of barbie-pink bougainvillaea, the birds of prey that soar between the high-rises. The white-blue skies of midday, the waving palm-trees in an evening breeze.
You’re sitting next to me, sniffing the air, ears pricked up. Was there an untoward sound in the neighbourhood? You get up, stretch, ask to have your chin scratched. Then you sigh, groan and lie down, letting the late summer sun wash over your fur. Not too hot, not too cold. Perfect. You sigh again. Its just another day to you, but for us, its a big deal. You are 10. Happy Birthday, Prune.
I never thought I would say this but, it can actually get too hot. Like when its 39.6 degrees and there is no air conditioning. When the air is so warm and dry, it settles on your skin like a blanket. When the sky is a consistent, indifferent blue, like even the clouds can’t be bothered with the effort of crossing the sky. When at three in the afternoon, it is still everywhere, and by sunset, it is still scorching. The European Heatwave, which brought record-breaking temperatures to Western Europe.
They were all dressed in black. “Its like a funeral”, they said. The Death of the Year. Nervous laughter, an anxious wait to be called to the stage. Its crazy to think my first year of teaching is over. It could still be that first day, standing in my empty class with not enough tables for the 28 kids I would soon inherit. Trying to navigate playground duty with a dodgy foot, hastily learning names and how best to teach maths, how to get their attention when they’re running wild in gym class.
The cow and I were staring at each other. The inevitable tractor had made me quickly pull my bike over, right up next to her. She eyed me curiously, probably wondering what my problem was. Behind her, a whole herd of chocolate-splodged dairy cows, contentedly grazing green pasture, and a sign advertising free-range milk.
July 1st. The middle of the summer, the midst of the heatwave. A gorgeous morning, the sun already up. I laced up my running shoes, took a deep breath of fresh morning air, and set of down the driveway, starting my run. So ordinary, something I’ve done like clockwork for the last four years. No matter where I’ve been, put on my shoes, the day barely underway, jogged off for an hour. Birds were singing, the sky was azure, little rabbits hopped across my path. This was the life, I was so happy to be out there, free.
I know that there is some polar vortex right now in the US, bringing insanely cold temperatures. So I should not complain, but it is cold here. Most days don’t get above 5 degrees, and most nights go below -1. Its snowed a lot too. But there are mornings that fill you with hope. The sky is clear, turning from indigo to pale blue, a large golden moon between the rooftops. Slowly, the sun butters the world in a mellow light, and its just so beautiful. Freezing, but beautiful.
