The fan whirs above my head, insistent that it can dissipate the suffocating, tropical summer air. The blades rush after each other in the same circular trajectory. They are desperate to catch a random breeze that has accidentally flowed in from the window and throw it about the room.
I sit below, feeling the sweat seep through my pores. The backs of my knees are damp.
As uncomfortable as this is, I also feel a nostalgia. When friends sprawled across beds and floors, trying to expose as much of the body length to flowing air, too hot to form complete sentences, grateful to be around each other but not too close physically. When a cold Coke was pulled out of the corner shop’s freezer and the icy condensation on the bottle cooled our fingers, while the dark fizz gurgled down parched throats. Crows cried out harshly, in vain. Palm trees stood stoically, fronds barely able to muster a wave.
In the shared suffering, there was an intimate camaraderie. I miss it.