Remember Camus’s The Stranger where Meursault shoots some random dude because of the sunlight? Well, not that I wanna murder someone right now, it’s just that I wanna do something completely absurd and blame the strange light for it.
Due to some local power failure (welcome to Bikol), our university is undergoing some sort of energy maintenance by keeping the electricity consumption to a minimum (I think the actual cause stems from our local electricity provider, I guess they’re repairing some faulty machine or something). I’m not really familiar with the techno-jargon stated by our school engineer a while ago, but as far as I can understand we’ve been recently mandated not to switch on the air cooling system as it might disrupt the electrical flow of the university (do not trust me on this one as I don’t exactly know what I’m blabbering about).
Anyways, it’s not really a big deal. In fact, despite the slight rise in room temperature, I find it quite fascinating to once again hear the lazy, hypnotic whirling of the ceiling fans.
This is also the first time that all the blinds and windows have been opened. In front of me I can see rusty wires and lazy trees which, due to the February weather, have lost their leaves. The sky is deathly gray, but the sunlight — in all its dastardly glory — remains unmasked, piercing my eyes.
Eyes absorb light, see what’s real. Is it tangible? Perhaps. If something concrete burns me, should the abstract puncture my beliefs?
It was as if I had waited all this time for this moment and for the first light of this dawn to be vindicated.
Meursault (from Albert Camus’s The Stranger)