An Homage to a New Friend: The Climate of Guyana

A lot of this blog has been simple explanation and a telling of events, but there is so much more here than our stories reflect. There are experiences and understandings; things that need to be shown and not necessarily told. As a proponent  of creative writing I know stories are better revealed through "showing" and not "telling," so allow me to "show" you Guyana's climate.

    The days are hot. Heat constantly permeates our upstairs common area, and when I sit without the fan I break into a sweat. I can only wear my clothes once, and if I attempt to wear them again my odor acts as vanguard where ever I walk.
    Some mornings break blue and clear, but by lunchtime there may be a deluge that lasts 5 minutes, only to leave either a pall of gray clouds or a scattered blue sky. Other times, like this morning, it may come down hard for hours in the night, but when dawn breaks the sun shines, pushing away the dastardly diminishing clouds only to berate  my pale skin with vitamin D filled rays.
    Moreover, there is very little breeze. The air is so silent when I am outside sometimes it feels like I am trapped in a room with 4-walls, a ceiling, and a floor. I find myself imagining, in heat-induced delirium, that if I had a super power I would choose to control the elements. I imagine summoning a wind to grace through the windows to caress the sweat rolling down my forehead, neck, and back. I imagine having that wondrous breeze blowing, dispelling the drops and cooling my internal body temperature. I imagine...I imagine... 
    My roommate mentioned that once sweat is dripping down your body it's completely useless. The purpose of sweat is to evaporate and draw away heat from your body.  Thus, as it runs down the furrows that line my face, it is gathering, gasping for a breath of air.
    So when a rare breeze does occur it is a gift. A gift that, if it had tangibility, I would wrap it up and give it to myself for every birthday and Christmas. I use hyperbole, of course, but the breeze in sacred.
    Every weekday morning (around 5am), I do some form of physical activity, whether it be weightlifting or running. When I am finished, the fountains can't turn off. I take my shirt off, sit in front of the fan, make breakfast, and still my pores continue to weep. I stare into the mirror and someone who looks freshly showered stares back. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever stop sweating, but then realise probably not.
   It's hot.

Much love,
T & C
PS. As I was writing this it was clear, then it rained, then it stopped, now its raining again.
T.I.G.