January

"In the depth of winter I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer."
My (Inspiration) calendar informs me that Albert Camus said those words. Let's explore :)

January is a winter month, speaking from a northern hemisphere point of view. I've experienced eleven of those. Mostly, they're characterised by snow, rain, cold, snowballs, snowmen, snow angels, yellow patches of snow, trees with snow wigs, fur hats, layers of clothing that conceal people and air that's harder to breathe but worth breathing otherwise you die and there's a chance the ambulance won't get to you in time because of traffic jams and sheets of ice on the road. No summer.

I remember this month to be unique, in that the first week of it I used to be with family and friends on holiday at home. Ski-time!

I wait in line with some friends, we talk about nothing in particular that I can remember now. We slowly move our way to the ticket machine, where there's a slot that I insert this plastic waterproof card which has a certain amount of money on it. Once it rinses and spits the card out, the metal bars are unlocked and I shimmy forward to catch the incoming platter lift (thanks Wikipedia). I loved taking note of the numbers on the one I got because whatever number it was, it was going to be a different one to the other platter lifts so it was special (just like the other platter lifts :P which I will now affectionately and laconically refer to as claws) I grab hold of the valve and pull hard and place it in between my legs (carefully avoiding any locational trauma). Then I'm off as the claw pulls me up the snow slope. During my ascent I look at skiers in their descent, the skier in front of me on his own special claw (not as special as mine) but never at the skier behind me because I can lose balance and fall, endangering the oncoming skiers (happened before). At the top, I heave the valve from under me and let go. The claw spastically hurls itself this way and the other once or twice then returns to its starting position.

Here, I either wait for friends or go it alone, either is fine. Usually, I go from one side of the slope to the other side, in a winding path that goes in no particular direction except it manages to avoid other people.

A week after the holiday at home, school starts again, so I go back to my class. The mornings are cold temperature-wise, but there's something awfully warm about meeting your classmates and discussing what you were up to during the winter break. I don't remember that happening much, but it could have. We lined up in the courtyard before going inside the classrooms, snowflakes trickling in a delicate yet dense fashion. The sky is coloured winter, so whichever colour you pick, it'll be that, then diluted, mixed with grey and smeared above so you can't distinguish cloud from sky. To add, whatever emotions you feel are touched by a tinge of gloom hidden in plain sight.

And among this, the depth of winter (its harshness varying from year to year) has never placed me under a depressive sheet of ice. Winter isn't sad. Summer isn't happy. They're the same. Yes, I do prefer to swim in the sea when it's warmer, but I also prefer to ski when it's colder. So Albert Camus is right. There is a summer within me - joyful, triumphant - that makes my winters burn.

Further proof? It's January and right now, where I am... summer never left.