Sunday Journaling Prompt

On heat and its meanings

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This week, I have largely been complaining about the heat. It has not been particularly sunny, or at least not every day. But each night, the air pressure seems to rise, and the house becomes unbearably hot. It is sense-dulling, headachy weather, and I can think about little else. I realise that others have it far worse - wild fires are all over the news as I write. What do we make of our changing relationship to summer?

I grew up in a family of sun worshippers, or at least on my mother’s side. They were all dark-haired and olive-skinned, and lived for the kind of days we’ve had lately, when they would sit out on the lawn, rubbing oil into their arms and legs, letting the sun wash over them. 

Having inherited my father’s complexion, and always hated summer. My ability to burn was a bafflement to my mother, who has never once burned herself. Over the years, the narrative has changed, and every conscientious parent slathers their child in sunblock before they venture outside. But back then, sunshine was good for you. I remember being told that my skin would toughen up if I allowed it to burn a few times. 

Image: Paper Trident

The word ‘heat’ has turned sinister in our current age. We no longer trust the sun and its dangerous radiation, nor the gases in the atmosphere that magnify its effects. Every summer, we watch the thermometer rise in step with our anxiety. 

But heat still has the capacity to open up a spectrum of meanings, from food to sex, from pleasure to pain. Today, as half the world swelters, let’s explore our very personal relationships with the hotter parts of life.