It’s been raining since daybreak.Three times it started drizzling, and then stopped, only to start again one or two hours later. I’m in the meeting room right now.
It’s raining outside. A soft drizzle falling softly, not unlike the weaving of the earth with invisible threads. The sound of raindrops is a cool blanket wrapping me in a gentle peaceful mood. Some fat drops dripping from the rooftop gives an accent of movement. There is hardly any pattering sound to be heard. A couple of white birds flew hurriedly across, eager to escape the rain, back to the comfort of their nest. The babbling din of discussion around me is thinned out, and I feel the rain inside me.
I feel the rain, and the vanity of life. I think about the sea, the stars, and the boy I love. I think about chasing dreams and adventures. I think about myself. About how I live for the depth of the unknown, and the uselessness of it all.
The rain is heavier now, coarser, giving mankind a preview of its power to destroy. The palm trees outside bows their wet leaves, swaying in rhythm. I feel drenched. It’s not a bad feeling. Like doing yoga minus the mat and the sweat. There’s no sign of life outside, except for the occasional sound of motorcycles passing through. Even the houses look uninhabited, with their doors closed and curtains pulled down. It’s almost surreal.
I look around, and see a surprising contrast between what’s out there and what’s confined in the room. Between nature and people. One a unified symphony; the other, utter chaos. The unpredictability of nature can’t beat the unpredictability AND the scheming mind of people.
The rain has stopped. I’m thrown back into reality. I think again about the boy I love. About my love for him. And I wonder, would it be as the rain—a peaceful haven that someday may stop being there?