The Day I Tried to Stay Calm in Japan’s Summer

At 8:03 a.m., I looked at my phone.

36°C.

I stared at the number for a few seconds.

“Okay,” I said to myself. “Stay calm. It’s just weather.”

This was my first mistake.

By 8:10, my shirt was already sticking to my back.

By 8:15, I had stopped walking normally and started moving like a person who had just escaped from a burning building but was trying not to attract attention.

“Stay calm,” I reminded myself.

I walked into a convenience store.

Cold air hit my face.

For a brief moment, I experienced something close to spiritual enlightenment.

I stood in front of the air conditioner for several seconds.

Then I realized I had been standing there with my arms slightly open.

Like a penguin.

An elderly man walked past me.

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

Neither of us said anything.

We both understood.

Summer had defeated us.

I bought a bottle of cold water.

Outside, I took one sip.

The water had become warm.

I looked at the bottle.

“You had one job.”

The bottle, naturally, refused to apologize.

I continued walking.

A cicada screamed from a tree.

ZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ!

I stopped.

The cicada screamed again.

At that moment, I became convinced that the cicada was not singing.

It was complaining.

And honestly, I couldn't blame it.

By noon, my plan for the day had completely collapsed.

I had planned to clean my apartment.

Instead, I sat in front of the air conditioner and stared at the room.

The room stared back.

The laundry needed folding.

The dishes needed washing.

The floor needed cleaning.

I needed absolutely none of these things.

I decided to make lunch.

I opened the refrigerator.

Cold air escaped.

I stood there for a moment.

Then I thought:

Maybe I should just live here.

I seriously considered it.

A refrigerator is small, but at least nobody expects you to do laundry inside it.

At 2 p.m., the temperature reached 38°C.

My air conditioner was working harder than I was.

I looked at the remote control.

“Can you make it colder?”

The air conditioner responded with a quiet hum.

I pressed the button again.

Nothing.

“Please.”

Nothing.

I began negotiating.

“Look, I'm not asking for winter. Just autumn.”

Nothing.

“Twenty-five degrees. That's all.”

The machine continued blowing warm air with the emotional enthusiasm of a tired office worker on Friday afternoon.

I sat on the floor.

I closed my eyes.

I tried meditation.

Breathe in.

Hot air.

Breathe out.

Hot air.

I opened my eyes.

“This is not meditation,” I said.

“This is slow cooking.”

By evening, I had learned an important lesson.

You cannot control the weather.

You cannot control the humidity.

You cannot control the cicadas.

You cannot control whether your cold drink stays cold for more than three minutes.

But you can control how you react.

So I took a deep breath.

I smiled.

I looked at the thermometer.

37°C.

I smiled again.

Then the electricity bill notification appeared on my phone.

I stared at it.

My smile disappeared.

I took another deep breath.

“Stay calm,” I whispered.

Then I turned off the air conditioner.

For exactly seven seconds.

After that, I turned it back on.

Some battles are not meant to be won.

They are meant to be survived.

And preferably survived somewhere with strong air conditioning.