In the Light
Rest and revival were overdue after my junior year. I had crawled out of the academic season as if from one endless all-nighter, and yet still, already anticipating the pressure of senior year and looming university applications. And with these worries packed, we took off once again to visit our home.
What greeted us when we arrived did so unabashedly: electricity shortages became part of the daily vocabulary. Prolonged and inconsistent in their bursts, the occurrences now frequented us every day in bouts up to seven hours long. And during the unrelenting heat of May and June, these outages meant darkness and loss of air conditioning, a respite from the scorching outside. Taxing are the moments when you hear the house click as the electrical hum fades. The continued reminder of what had caused this - why this was happening.
Nights were now dependent on open windows and readings by candelight. The third summer of war was like getting to know a potential suitor deeper, only to suddenly discover an unsightly characteristic at dinner.
But we knew this was a new, unchangeable fact of life. And with that acceptance came the continuance of it. Falling asleep to the warm wind, sharing prayers with my family in near darkness, and developing an immense, almost startling gratitude for forgotten comforts. These were the changes summer pressed onto us - with a click, insistently and irrevocably.
