Snowfall at the Stroke of Midnight

It is deathly cold. When I come back indoors from the sheets of white outside, I leave snowy footprints on the carpet. Taking off my socks is like unwrapping frozen chicken straight from the freezer. Turning on my (read: Michelle’s) fan heater is like prodding a block of ice with a lukewarm spoon.

But at the same time, it’s so beautiful outside nowadays that it is hard to really mean it when I complain about the snow and the cold. Hearsall Common never fails at producing beautiful scene after beautiful scene, whether it is a sunny, or foggy, or snowy morning. When the sun shines the sunrays peep through the barren tree branches and bathe the fallen snow in glitter and gold. When fog makes its home above the field, faintly reminiscent of Stephen King’s ghastly stories, Earlsdon is transformed into a set for a bittersweet Christmas movie. When snow falls, it is like music from the sky, and you turn your face up, despite non-waterproof eyeliner, to capture the melodies in rapturous, unexplainable joy.

I think I’ve always been enchanted by snow. Maybe it’s because in Malaysia the sun never fails to shine, the rain never fails to drench, and there is hardly an in-between. Maybe it’s because snow reminds me of my long lost Enid Blyton and Narnia days – my days of holing myself up behind the locked door of my bedroom and transporting myself to Lands of Far Far Away where snow was real, kings and queens were not only beautiful people decked in beautiful clothes but also just kindly people, unsullied and uncorrupted by wealth and power, where good triumphs evil, where you always, always know without a single inkling of doubt that things would always be okay in the end.

It reminds me of how my memories begun, and how I want my memories to end. It deceives me into holding on to an ‘illusion of grandeur’, as Glinda would have put it – that there will be more to life than the daily grind of of tests and presentations about mushrooms, and choir rehearsals – even if I am agnostic and refuse to believe in the existence of anything more powerful than human will.

Ingrid Michaelson speaks from my laptop beside me – Maybe, maybe, maybe.

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