My typical day starts with his enthusiastic greeting. Every morning, punctual like the clock, he stands outside my house with a big grin, waiting to embrace me in his giant hug. He peeps into my room through the windows, the curtains doing little to stop his eager gaze at my sleepy face. As soon as I draw the curtains, he barges into my room suffusing it with all his youthful exuberance and I grudgingly let him in.
On days when he is dispirited, he hides behind the walls of his blue house, refusing to step out. On other days, he slyly peeps out to check if he’s being missed. I love such days – when there’s a cool breeze with the birds chirping and the butterflies fluttering and his shy demanour filling my heart with warmth.
We share a love-hate relationship. There have been times when I have run from him. I try to sneak past him whilst he’s looking away, masking my face with scarves and hiding behind umbrellas. He hardly uncovers my coy attempts at deception.
He will be waiting for me tomorrow morning in his bright yellow suit – his sunshine knocking on my door. The Sun will be waiting for me to play another game of hide and seek with him.