It’s not even
6 a.m. on a Saturday morning and yet here I am, lying awake to the soundtrack
of some reiterated version of It’s a
Small World. The repeating tune is coming from just across the border in mainland
Hengqin where I imagine workers are waking up and rushing off to their jobs. Near
the source, it must be loud enough to shatter glass, but here, in my bed, it’s merely
amplifying the tiny throbs of my suffering brain. Which is worse, listening to
this every morning, or the hourly chimes of the church bells in Castellanza?
Over the past
few days, I’ve been flooding my body with tea and taking things relatively
easy. I’m down to my last Cold-FX tablet and still my sore throat has developed
into a nasty cough and head cold. It seems strange to me that the week I’ve
taken the best care of myself – going to the gym, sleeping regularly, flossing –
and the week with the best weather to date, should be the same week that I get
sick. I’ve been racking my brain for the cause and I’ve come up with nothing.
Regardless of
how I feel about it, it’s a good weekend to be stuck in bed. My girlfriend has
locked herself away to prepare for her three midterms on Monday and my roommate
is out capering around Hong Kong. It’s a shame that once again my own plans to
go to Hong Kong have been despoiled, but I’ll make it there eventually (or so I
keep telling myself). For now, it’s more tea and restless sleep for this quarantined
traveller.
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