The Vaseline’s runny. Well, it must be warm then.
There’s no doubt that Taiwan summers can get roasting hot, where opening the front door feels like what must be a chicken’s reaction to an oven: death is certain and sweaty. Over the last few years, my trusty Vaseline has become a talismanic indicator of when it is acceptable to sit back and say “Mmm today’s not the day to do anything. In our ancestral history, we once read signs such as these with no understanding of the whys and hows; there were some things in life that told simple truths; the viscosity of this pink candyfloss pond can certify, beyond all need for numbers and centigrade, the current level of suffering.
And this is no exception. Today is going to be a day of wafting with a sticky primal wistfulness between 7-Eleven air-cons and slow, Taiwanese-style walking.
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