one day in gr 3’s summer break, i sat through the tv sales ads and watched spongebob all morning just like every day else.
around 1 I took a nap.
mosquito bumps, the buzz of cicada, the linen beddings were moist to the touch, air conditioning wasn’t on to save power. It was nap time yet I wasn’t sleepy. i remember how my eyes traced to the patterns of the off white nylon curtains. i wasn’t much of a napping person as a child, but the only way to escape the heat was to go to sleep.
then the afternoon, it was the hottest part of the day. i snuck out through the wired doors of the apartment quarter. I had a keycard, but the gap was big enough for me to crawl out anyways. i lived close to the school, and near the school opened stationary shops, where i spent the money of my own, or sometimes a few bucks i stole from my parents’ pockets.
comics, cheap toys, if I had enough money, a popsicle.
i wasn’t interested in the idea of walking for fun, but my father had always insisted for me to go on walks with him, and i did on that day. There were benefits, however, there’s a playground in the residential area which we could go, or he could possibly buy something for me from the stationary stores nearby. there was also a dairy bar across a block, but that night we just went to the playground.
I sat on the swing, too short to reach the ground. As my father pushed me i felt the wind blow onto my face, almost chilling as it dried off the sweat on my forehead.
the air was still humid, warm but cooler than the morning, I looked up into the sky where the glow of street lights (dim, dusty, yellowish toned, surrounded by moths) softly blurred my vision. the dots of signal lights of faraway planes. There were speckles of stars in the sky, not a lot of them but visible enough the night to be considered starry. to my left was the murky, greenish manmade pond, thickened by mosses, yet the water glimmered through the gaps in between the lotus flowers and their round, plate-like leaves. A water strider hopped through.the buzz of cicadas softened, yet the night was still noisy, children’s laughters, crickets, squeaks from the chains of the swing
I wasn’t ready to grow up