Completely Humidity

                The city that I currently reside in is in one word, wet. There is no other word to describe this city. Believe me, I have tried. In the two weeks since I have arrived, it has only rained once. Nonetheless, let me assure you, the city is wet. It rests next to the ocean, and the air is filled with water and salt here.

                My home is a town that masquerades as a city. It has a certain rustic charm. In the street next to mine there is a diary with real live buffalos. There is more heat than one could ever wish for, and enough sun to light up the entire world. It is a city famous for its cotton and chili peppers. But the heat there is dry, it’s stifling but there’s comfort in that heat. It’s the daily fire that I grew up in.

                My temporary home is not dry. Even the heat is murky, soiled by the intervention of the sea. Usually the mornings start with a slight fog and one of my sneezing fits. Then the fog lifts up, but the cloudy sky doesn’t. Then heat starts as our ancient air-conditioner slowly rumbles to a start. For two hours of classes we are spared from the wet heat of the outside and then we are escorted out of the cool room back into the outside.

                From my childhood my mom tried to instill in me what she considered to me good habits, wearing a watch, carrying a handkerchief. The watch thing stuck, but finally the handkerchief habit has come into its own. I dab at the perspiration that does not dot my forehead, but instead soaks it. Everyone is the same here, soaked with sweat and eager to learn.

                I hate this place and I love it all at once. The teachers are wonderful, the college is awesome, and the dorms are spacious. The TV in the lounge is a plasma, and I won’t complain about that. But the heat, dear god, the heat. I fear that one day soon I will melt like the Wicked Witch of the West, reduced to nothing but a pile of perspiration.