December 3rd

If the eighteen different alarms, set by the three different women in this house, and snoozed at five minute intervals, had not awoken me, it certainly would’ve been the angry, howling December wind that lashed out against the four walls holding up our roof. The days of the sun being up bright and early like the rest of the people in this house have been long gone, so it is still dark outside when I finally sit up against the green-brown satin couch in the living room. I can hear the tap running upstairs and some murmuring; Mother and my oldest sister, Percy (Persephone but she hates the link between herself and the Queen of the Underworld, my fickle, stubborn sister, insists) are talking to each other, though the words are inaudible and drowned out by the screeching wind.

Still groggy, I turn on the television, rubbing my eyes to wake up. The seven-o-clock morning news tells me nothing that I don’t already know; meteorologists say that heavy winds are coming in from an arctic storm that originated in Newfoundland, Canada, but had quickly swept through the States and ended up, at last, on the border of the Pacific in Southern California. Expect rain and possibly thunder.

‘They said the same thing yesterday,’ Percy says, walking down the stairs and plopping Continue reading December 3rd

December 1st

Even at the end of the Gregorian calendar, as the last dark days of the year pass by, this interminable heat is still as unrelenting as it is during the height of summer. What’s even more strange is this unseasonable humidity, given that this city is literally situated on a beach; the ocean breeze is always there to temper whatever heat waves or cold breaks we’d get, at least from what I remember growing up here. Cool but not chilly summers, mild but not hot winters. Rarely a change of season, rarely a change in the winds.

Spending the holidays on the beach weren’t unheard of, though nobody ever got into the water for two reasons: A) the brake water will deter anyone sane from entering, unless you’re drunk and don’t mind being dared to take a dip, growing an extra limb and getting some kind of cancer in the process (Playa de Oro is practically known for its un-swimmability, if that’s even a word), and B) the water is usually too cold anyway, unless you surf (in which case you’d have revisit point A and seriously rethink your life choices before entering that water).

But this heat is nearly unbearable. It reminds me of the summers in New York, the heat Continue reading December 1st