The barrio life is too 🥵.

Eight o’clock in the morning feels like high noon; like summer on the Australian Gold Coast (which is why I only cross the ditch in winter). The climate has changed, my brother says.

Who has the energy to cook three meals? But they do and I’m glad for once, not to be the cook and two, to sit down for another meal.

A shower doesn’t help, especially when your skin is used to at least three layers of creams. I just settle for a facial sunscreen, and being topless for most of the day, use the same cream for my neck, arms, hands and feet. The humidity clings to you like a needy lover and half the time, I flee from it and seek refuge in an air-conditioned room. What was once a luxury, is now a necessity; taking the Skyway in Manila, ugly and dilapidated shanties sport rows of condenser units.

If there’s nothing to do, there’s the pool, but even that sticks out in your mind like a red flag. We didn’t grow up with AC and swimming pools, or heat that has arrived like a guest that has stayed on permanently in your home.

You just make the best of it or in my case, sad as it makes me, bear with it for a bit longer before going back to my own home.