As I look out my window, I see a colorful display of sun playing on a suburban desert. My room has a brilliant view of the city because of the small hill it’s located on. The brightness of the day is enough to remind you of the hottest temperatures humans can endure. Aside from that, the lack of lawns that exist are almost striking. Water is precious. I can see cars slowly pile in and out of my neighborhood community. There are people jogging along the main street in the evenings and cars speeding both ways. A hustle that I have been no longer deprived of. I can see many parts of the city, from shopping malls to the superior court. I look out my window and a flood of possibility overcomes me. As if I am millionaire looking down on my company’s busy office floor. The feeling comes and goes as soon as I inspect the landscape further. On a rare cloudy day, you can see the windmills sprinkled on the mountains about twenty-five miles north when the sun’s glare isn’t a problem. But alas, I have been craving the opposite from a clear view such as this. Cold temperatures. Cloudy days. Heavy clothing. It seems like every year the heat stays longer and longer. I can’t remember the last time I wore my discount, over-sized Avenged Sevenfold sweater feeling cozy after a good layering. These feelings are simple and many people would be depressed about living under clouds and cold. But not me. I feel warmer when I am cold. But not in the typical sense. I feel as though I can get through anything if I can get through the cold. When I breathe in cold air, I feel like it is fresh and clean, unlike hot air which smells of sweat and a sticky cough. There really is no right way to describe hot air other than the use of unpleasant nouns. I like everything about the cold including the concern people fuss over it. They seem to care more if you are too cold than if you are too hot. (And I’m not talking about sickness.) Cold is slow as hot is fast. I’ve been living in a heatwave all my life. It’s time to slow it down a bit. Slow to my commitments. Slow to my sadness. Slow to my anxiety. Slow to my anger. Slow to my love. Slow to my thinking. I do that better knowing that I can be cold alone. Cozy in my decisions about my future. To be able to hug it all and accept that I am the only one who can warm me up. No amount of external heat can achieve this. It is easier to become warm than to become cool. While you must be cold on the outside, you must be warm on the inside. Vice versa applies to hot weather. Who wants a cold heart anyway? I once wrote a story about a young man who went to the snowy north and walked around in nothing other than jeans and a t-shirt. As he clutched his arms for warmth, he thought about the tragic Thanksgiving dinner when he was a child when his pregnant mother was suicide-killed by his father in front of him. He always preferred the cold, maybe not because the cold heightened his depressed thoughts but rather cleared them up. Walking through the snow, the icy water, was a sort of cleansing effect for him. He wasn’t suicidal and didn’t want to freeze to death, but melt some of the excess burning rage, grief and tireless love that he needed to let go of. A body capable of producing too much warmth needs to be cooled down from time to time. That story has always stuck with me because it was a feeling that I could put into words. That I understood to my core. Sometimes at boring family gatherings, I pop out for a bit into the winter weather- away from the heat of numerous bodies. I can be alone with my thoughts. Alone with myself and wish that no one join me or discover me by accident. Away from them. Away from the heat that can overpower me and my feelings.
I welcome this change even though it takes me away from a heat I know to a heat I don’t know.
-Partially inspired by my fictional character, Gary Jet. He was from my sitcom titled, “The Thirteenth Grade” which I wrote while in middle school. If you want more details about it, you can ask me below.