It rained today. As soon as I got off the jeepney, the rain poured angry drops over me. I got soaked because I didn’t bring my umbrella with me. The rain was not as heavy as I feared it would be , but it was heavy just the same.

There were curious rain noises everywhere; there would be raging rain noises from time to time, too.The rain noises were not like the kinds of noise that I am used to, but they were more like a silence. Only that they’re not the kind of silence you hear or feel when you enter a vacuum. This kind of silence is not empty.

Back when I was a kid, I used to beg my mom to let me play out in the rain because most of the kids in my neighborhood did just that. And also because I wanted to know what was it like to be in between the raindrops. I wanted to walk between the raindrops.

Back when I was a kid, I would ask my grandmother to sleep beside me. She’d mistaken that as my fear of the rain,when in fact I just wanted to be with her because it was cold. I just wanted her to pat me somewhere in the butt and let me sleep. I just wanted her to hug me and lull me to sleep. I never corrected my grandmother, though.

But of course, things have changed. Some of my friends, they can still effortlessly and gracefully walk and even play in the rain. I, on the other hand, just get wet.

The rain, which I considered my comfort blanket when I was a kid became uncomfortable. It didn’t make me feel safe and protected anymore. It made me sad. It made me nostalgic; the rain carried with it a downpour of memories I couldn’t seem to shake off no matter how much I try. Memories of lost love and friendship. Memories of trust and betrayal. Memories of love and adultery.

The rain made me scared that the ghost I’ve been trying to escape for the past six months might find its way to sneak in my room, and worse, in my mind. Isn’t that the case in horror movies?  Usually, the ghost would appear by the window, under the pouring rain, illuminated by the lightning, making your heart stop and making you scream at the top of your lungs.

It also makes me uncomfortable how the rain (and the coldness it brings) can be something ultimately literal and metaphorical both at the same time. It would mess with my mind, making me think rain will always fall on me.  I will always get rained on and that things will always be like this. It would creep into my mind, making me think that things will never get better.

In as much as I don’t wanna be soaked (literally and figuratively), I have to live by the truth that there would be some days when the rain would pour without warning and I would find myself without an umbrella, defenseless.

But it couldn’t rain forever, could it?