There is something about August which I find distinguishable enough to dislike. It has nothing to do with the rains which have crippled the city. Perhaps, it has more to do about how it has an extra day to follow June, another unfathomable month with a day more than the thirty. August isn’t prudent enough to admits its excess. Rather, it swings around the tail-end of June to surprise the naive, the impatient, the obssessed with control - all three of which are qualities I possess. In a place where there are only two seasons, August has taken pride in its ambiguity, but it is more inclined to the dull greyness of rainy months, maybe for the purpose of readying us for the wetter months ahead. Regardless, I never know what to make of my plans during this month. Not because I have no plans at all. But the month seeps into your head with the gradual loss of day you can’t even understand how you’re suppose to get what you want.