Wet is in the air

The humid air makes me nostalgic. When I was a child growing up in Macau, the arrival of spring, usually after Chinese New Year, inevitably brought with it the seemingly overnight onslaught of humidity in the air.

The warm wet stirs me now as it did all those years ago. A definite sign of imminent change, of inexplicable sensuality. As an eight year old I had no words to describe that feeling of vague melancholy and restlessness; the slight stickiness on my skin, the warm air that fills my lungs every time I inhale.

Do I have words for it now?