Rain. The incessant rain.
It seems like it’s the topic of the week. Everyone’s talking about the non-stop rainfall that they are getting due to the monsoon season that usually occurs at the end of the year. It’s not unusual but for people who have seen a whole year of sunlight, the grayness of the city appalls them as if they are seeing it anew, as if they don’t remember how the past year has been equally gray, equally cold.
Who would in any case? Nobody wants to remember the rain; something unpleasant to them. The rain which falls in the morning, causing a hell lot of inconvenience to people commuting to work. He could just hear the curses of the commuters squeezing like the dead sardines arranged in a tin can, nicely compact for maximum storage space. No wastage of free space eh, not a single cent. That’s called efficency, he mused. Therefore by that very reasoning, his countrymen are not efficient in that aspect. No space-maximization. People stand near the doors of the train while the middle of the carriage remains empty as if populated by an Aids carrier standing in the middle. Or worse still, an oppositional party-member.
And if one listen carefully enough through the dull chattering of the morning, the snoring of the dead, the blaring music that the street punks think everyone will appreciate in the dreary morning (but he is absolutely wrong, no doubt about that), if you can pick your way through all the sounds, then you will be able to hear the curses of the masses.
“Damn that rain. How many days has it been going on already for God’s sake.”
“Shit, I forgot to bring my umbrella. Curse the weather.”
“How I wish it wouldn’t rain later, you know? I’m going to meet some of my friends later and it would be terrible if it does.”
How sad, he thought. No one appreciates the rain. At least not the people in this carriage anyway, he hurriedly qualified his thought.
He loved it when the weather does what it is doing now. The unyielding rain, falling upon the world with such a force as if there was something the rain wanted washed away, cleansed. His favorite time of the year even. He always preferred the day to rain than to have bountiful sunshine. Of course, one couldn’t do away with the sunshine right? And that’s why he did not mind when the sun glares angrily at him during the rest of the year for thinking such thoughts. He deserved it.
But then, how did that myth go? Persephone will always return to Hades at the end of the year right? Which means he always gets what he wanted as well. Welcome back, rain.
He didn’t know why he like the rain so much, except that it always make things much more comfortable for him. Simple pleasures became the best. Lying in the bed with the hands cupping a cup of steaming green tea, what more could one ask for? The feeling of rain on his face was also quite enjoyable and usually on a rainy day if you see someone looking up at the sky without an umbrella, that may very well be him.
You could ignore him though. But I’ll appreciate it if you give him a kick or a good shake to wake him up lest he loses himself in his own world.
(c)2006 photo by am-y of deviantart
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