It rains

The chill air hits me. It wakes me right up from my slumber.

I shudder, yet I don’t flinch away. I love how it feels against my skin, cold yet so tantalising & I fall in love with this moment. The rain has this special thing only it can do, the way it sounds as it falls and all my lingering feelings oozes out as one’s hidden emotions. When the rain initially ushers in, a strange silence falls. The sound of  the rain is far louder, or it is…in my mind.

In a way it makes you feel more free to express yourself. Before it falls, it makes its arrival known with its dim lighting and chill winds. It’s as if nature places a wintry arm around you, and tells you to be true to yourself. It does the same to show that it’s okay. When even nature can’t hold its tears back, why should you?

The rain has a tendency to calm you down. Cool you down if I may. Lulls you to sleep. The sound of it sounds like sparklers lit. As you hold your hand out, you feel it. A concentrated pressure hits you, you can’t bring yourself to hate that feeling. The ends of my lips curve up in happiness and yet I’m afraid, just like this rain, this happiness is not for long. I lose strength in my fingers, gather them into a fist and retract. This is no time to enjoy the rain and let yourself be free. I couldn’t bear to leave the side of the rain, so I stayed.

I stand by the window and look on. Each’s expression so different.  A solo silhouette, with hands curled in sweater pockets, walks on as the rain relentlessly batters. A couple huddled under a small umbrella, shy smiles every now and them on their faces for the rain tonight has brought them closer. The head of the family scurrying his loved ones into the nearest shelter. I realise the rain brings out the true emotions. Not the emotions you show on your mask, but the emotions you feel in your mind & heart. Your true emotions.

The evening air is filled with laughter of children, the sirens of cars, the chirps of birds, cars splashing through roads and the clouds as it makes its interaction known with a flash of light across the sky and a thunder that announces the fated meet. The rain sizzles more as if the ground was a heated pan. Yet it calms me down that much more. As the drop reflects the light from the lamppost as it falls, it creates a moving spectrum. Oh it’s a beauty alright.

The rain gets heavier, so does my non-existent hangover. The car’s blinding lights sets the spotlight for stage for the raindrops to dance upon. The leaves and twigs of trees and plants swaying side to side to show that even they wish to be part of the performance of nature’s. The accompanying sounds of thunder, the lighting effects of lightning, oh kudos to the the director of seasons, you sure make tonight so much more meaningful. My ears perk up along with orchestra of rain drops, I yearn to stand beneath it. For my skin be the stage for the rain to dance on. Close your eyes, feel each drop fall into your embrace. Feel it trickle down, taking away all tension along with it as it moves.

Cars ride on and on. With its speed, it breaks through layers of stale chill air. Fearing for their lives, the air moves out of the ways of speeding cars and bumps into me. I continue to walk alongside the road for the repeated crashing into cool air intoxicates me. I’m in paradise. The memories surface. I didn’t realise it. Oh, oh how I missed those days.

In the present, I miss the past.

In the future, I will miss today.

When we were young, we sang songs to make the rain leave us for we can play without repercussions. Yet as we grow older, as we leave our childhood behind with each growing day, we crave for the rain. Crave for the escape it provides. Now that I think about it, when we were young, songs about the rain brought smiles to everyone. It told stories of times well spent with family and friends, warmly huddled up together smiling and laughing. Carefree. Now the songs I hear that pertain to rain is of loss and heartbreak. Of pain and suffering. How the rain falls or why it falls has remained the same throughout all these years. Yet how we perceive it could change so radically. What exactly has changed from those years compared to now to influence our perceptions in such a manner.

I look up at the sky and see white specks coming towards me. Is there a chance someone is out there contemplating seriously. Taking this downpour as their symbol of downfall. Contemplating the meaning of life. Wondering how it would feel to be a droplet, falling from the sky.

Would they try to attempt

To be like one, to be one

with itself on the ground.

Would they instead realise it’s

Just a passing thought and go on.

I recall a recent dream I had.

Of this girl cold and alone, by the seaside. It was raining then too. Alone under the light, she sat. Her hair dripped with no stop. She had a blanket wrapped around her, yet she shivered uncontrollably. Her lips were blue from the cold and waiting. Her voice faint. Actually, I don’t remember if there even was a voice or just the sea’s thrumming celebration of meeting its fated shore.

I didn’t feel sorry for her neither did my heart urge my mind to help her. The first thought that came in was Karma. If she was me when I was older, I wouldn’t have been surprised. All my life, I’ve been so afraid of letting people close to me.  The fear of loving someone more than loving myself, fear of losing what I always assumed would be by my side, drives me crazy. Some distance would make all that yearning and pain lesser and that’s what I did. There has always been this impenetrable wall between family, friends and I.  I always made sure that I showed the people I cared and loved how I felt about them. Yet, theirs never came through. The words they spoke and things they did would figure new meanings in this devastated mind of mine.  Who would stand by my side when their sincerity couldn’t even be decoded. Or is sincerity not such a difficult concept to begin with?

The brightest lightning of all night offers me to show me the path out of this dark tunnel and I rejoice to be back to reality and the rain.

I slipped back home and returned to the side of my window. On the surface of the pane, a drop moves down & another follows. Somewhere, someone would have followed your path or you have followed another’s. As the drops follow, it creates a stream & then flows as one. But as it leaves, it leaves as a droplet. Just like how we come as one person so pure, with journey of life that colours and changes what we see to how or why we see it. Yet when we pass, we leave as one person so transformed. Would we even be able to leave a trace? Or would we be celebrated as a movement of life form and inspiration for the next generation?

Somehow a rain droplet reminds me of myself. As it falls on panes and knobs, it grows both in volume and substance in its attempt to push away what it is on. These surfaces represent the time I spend with family and friends. More time I spend with them, I grow both in memories and values. Yet I crave for freedom. To be as far away from them I could be. To face life alone, for the harsh cold reality that it is. The raindrop, once its journey is over or the weight is too much to bear, it plunges into a free-fall. Does it feel sad to be away from what it was on, or does it celebrate its freedom and go on about its journey?

The rain suddenly shies away from showing its tears, as it slowly moves from heavy showers to mere drizzle. Maybe it has realised it has given me all the solace I needed tonight and I had done about all the thinking I needed . I figured I could let the rain do me one last favour – put me to sleep. I return to my sleeping abode and fall asleep to the light chimes of the rain.

The next morning, the sky was as clear as the Blue Lake. It was as though the storm that raged the night before was all merely a dream.

P.S. This was written over a range of nights when it rained and I let go to write what really came to my mind.

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