Despite my appreciation of the few glimpses of sunshine that I've witnessed in the past few days (re: Illumine post on Lucid Iridescence) the Winter seems to refuse to give ground and relent. In fact, it's been a tease; edging back just a few degrees to give us just a little hope and warmth, to only return in full splendour with it's mind-numbing plunging negative double digit centigrades.
One thing I have also considered is how variable the mind and body is with regards to what we define as cold and hot. A co-blogger has dedicated a few posts in decrying the winter cold that has been killing him every morning where he has to take a bath. The first time I read this, I raised an eyebrow, then performed a quick Google search: Bangalore temperature. Result: 23 degrees Celsius. And that is COLD.
That's COLD? I would easily chop my much beloved hair off if I could have 23°C right now. I've been numbed down into accepting -10°C as mere warmth, just by the relativity of having to endure -30°C temperatures for way way too long.
Then I had to step back and also admit that in 23°C in Summer, I get really cold just by a mere cool breeze. I abhor air conditioning, and I actually love sitting in just-opened baked interior of a vehicle. Yes, I love heat. But yes, I do also get a bit irritable in those absolute sizzling humid days with no air to breathe.
I often try to keep in mind the possibilities I could have been experiencing when I am stuck in such extremes. On the coldest days, since I was a little kiddo, I had this tendency of announcing that this frigid temperature was nothing but a hot tropical day, and would envision the palm trees, white sands and turquoise waters that were requisite to that fantasy. Of course, this was usually met with weird and blank looks and, from those who had the temerity to do so, such as my sister, the odd rude comment.
Did it help? I would say that yes, for some weird psychologically-rooted reason, it did. Maybe it was just that element of perspective that endorses the saying "mind over matter". In the same way that telling myself that other people had it worse out there, that my hunger was just a petty thing in the big picture, or that my heartbreak was a damned luxury when you consider the poverty and hardship others endure. Perspective.
Then again, I wonder, why was it so difficult to retain that capacity to endure whatever varying temperature per season? For example, when I feel that 0°C is actually a veritable holiday after all these weeks of -20°C etc., why could my body not appreciate this when in Summer, I felt that a drop from 30°C to 25°C was devastatingly cold?
Again, I recalled how chilled to the bone I had been when, in September and October, I was hugging myself and blinking away wind-borne tears from my eyes as the wind whipped me at a mere temperature of 5°C. To consider 5°C now would have me bouncing off the walls with joy!
Of course it's all because of our damned physiological system. Homeostasis. We're warm-blooded, so go figure: this is all for our own survival. Yeah, but but...Aahhhh. Patience. Patience. This is all a lesson in patience. Breeeeaaaath.