The sun, always the sun
Photo: Dahlia Osman
As I’m writing this, there is hammering in my skull. Construction seems to be an ever-present fixture on this tiny island, and for those of us who are working from home, luck will have it that the joys of drilling will crescendo just as you’re (figuratively) stepping into a zoom meeting. These incessant needles drown out the sounds of the birds, and my modest ear plugs seem to have about the same effectiveness as cucumber slices.
It has been a week of grappling with ever worsening news. Amidst the darkening that’s creeping over the world, I step back and wait for the sun. My flat overlooks the neighbourhood carpark, and sometimes, when it gets stifling, it helps to look at laundry poles against the sky. There is one pole in the distance that strings one item of clothing at any given time. A sock maybe, sometimes a tee. Bindle in the wind.
It also helps to see the special boy waiting for his van to take him to school. The driver teases him and makes him laugh as he helps him into the van, and they go off.
There’s the elderly doctor who’s been working seven days a week since the pandemic. He goes to his clinic with his granddaughter, who whirls around trying not to mix up patient results.
Then there’s the father and daughter who wait for the school bus together against the yellow light. She leans close, holding his fingers, and loves him very much.
I am stubbornly chasing the sun, and sending frames of serenity to you. Hang tight.