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Description
When I was a third of my current age, I looked out of the window. Living in this country, it means virtually always. Whenever raindrops cascaded down on the other side of the glass pane, I gazed up at the fast moving clouds and reasoned that the sheet had to end somewhere. Once they all had passed by, there would be the sky to see. I didn't know what color that sky was because I hadn't seen it yet, but surely the clouds would stop coming sometime?
I am almost twenty three now and I have no specific recollection of it ever really happening. Of course, I now know the sky is blue because I have seen it, but none too often. Around here, seeing the sky is like meeting a higher power face to face. It's what the folks of the Old World invented their tales for. It's miraculous.
People complain about it a lot; and they would be rightful in doing so, were it not that it happens everyday. At the bus stop, on the way to their jobs, during breaks, as they go home at the end of the day. Virtually always. Although I sympathize, I don't have a problem with the weather. Rain is necessary to make an ecosystem exist. What I have a problem with, is the climate. I'm not prone to any kind of depression but I walk around with a near permanent clogged nose because as soon there's sun and my body has almost acclimatized successfully, the weather changes and we're back at the first square.
In kindergarten, I learned there's a season called Winter, when there's snow floating down; Spring, when the world exists in pastel colors, there's one called Summer, when the Sun shines bright; and there's Autumn, when it rains. Around here, I notice nothing of it; rain falls every few days.
I hate this country. I hate its borderline, bipolar sea climate of it. I hate the only-black-and-white extremes of it, without gradient transitions. I hate the unpredictability of it in terms of minutes. This minute, it's scorching desert sun, the next is relentless rainfall.
Goddamn, how I hate this place.
I am almost twenty three now and I have no specific recollection of it ever really happening. Of course, I now know the sky is blue because I have seen it, but none too often. Around here, seeing the sky is like meeting a higher power face to face. It's what the folks of the Old World invented their tales for. It's miraculous.
People complain about it a lot; and they would be rightful in doing so, were it not that it happens everyday. At the bus stop, on the way to their jobs, during breaks, as they go home at the end of the day. Virtually always. Although I sympathize, I don't have a problem with the weather. Rain is necessary to make an ecosystem exist. What I have a problem with, is the climate. I'm not prone to any kind of depression but I walk around with a near permanent clogged nose because as soon there's sun and my body has almost acclimatized successfully, the weather changes and we're back at the first square.
In kindergarten, I learned there's a season called Winter, when there's snow floating down; Spring, when the world exists in pastel colors, there's one called Summer, when the Sun shines bright; and there's Autumn, when it rains. Around here, I notice nothing of it; rain falls every few days.
I hate this country. I hate its borderline, bipolar sea climate of it. I hate the only-black-and-white extremes of it, without gradient transitions. I hate the unpredictability of it in terms of minutes. This minute, it's scorching desert sun, the next is relentless rainfall.
Goddamn, how I hate this place.
Image size
3648x2736px 3.08 MB
Make
OLYMPUS IMAGING CORP.
Model
E-420
Shutter Speed
1/200 second
Aperture
F/5.6
Focal Length
42 mm
ISO Speed
100
Date Taken
Jun 23, 2013, 12:36:42 PM
Comments0
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