I have always loved rainy days.
Yet, my feelings towards the rainy season have changed as I've grown. Take, for instance, that sunshower during my petulant years. It was a time when things like love were just beginning to bloom. The sight of wet hair, the intoxicating scent of him, I remember the image of showers illuminated by sunlight falling from the sky like golden meteors . The wet shirts clung to warm skin, fingertips touched at the damp umbrella handle, we ignored the sticky sensation in our soaked sneakers, giggling like we owned the scene. Each moment was vivid, glowing with a bright halo. From then on, I eagerly awaited for the rains to sing the past for me.
Even when it marked the end of a dream. When we dreamed we could have everything but confused and lost were what we got; I got the news of my grandmother's passing during my college years. I rushed home on a southbound train, the raindrops painted countless sharp needles on the speeding carriage window.
There was no signal in the carriage. I didn't know if this was coincidence or the sky's mercy. Before boarding the train, I typed "don't contact me again" on my phone and sent it out, ending a miserable relationship. I dragged my scratched luggage and went home without looking back. All the way, I didn't hear the annoying message alerts, just the sound of rain and the train's roar.
The rain then was scentless and cold, but at least it was the only thing I could feel when I was numb to the point of not being able to breathe. Later, the waves of pain drowned me. I was tossed and turned in the torrents until I sank into quiet darkness.
Of course, I survived.
But the rain never fails me; I know it wouldn't. In my post-survival moments, I saw those golden raindrops again. When the blazing sun was too overwhelming, when I needed some voice...any voice to remind me I was breathing, or when I forgot to water my plants. Now, the rain and I are the best of friends, sharing everything. It tells me the earth's scent and tales, and in return, I write its emotions into books, into memories, into every rebirth's baptism.
It fills up and rushes towards me when I need it the most, at the perfect time.
