At 14, I didn’t know why I was this attracted to the rain. I did not understand why it made me want to cry and still stare at the cascading water for hours together. It made me very depressive, still I did it. The thunder and the lightening scared me. The paper boats got crumpled in my hand, while waiting for the thunder and rain to subside, so that I could let my dream boat sail. Little did I know at 14 that it is going to drown anyway, even without thunder and lightning.
At 18, I was massively fascinated by rain. Continued to stare into the falling sheets of water and think of love, the face of the man I was crushing on. I thought of him and walking with him under one umbrella, without umbrella, didn’t matter. All the romantic films and songs played through my mind, sly smiles escaping my lips, every now and then. I turn and look around, is someone watching me? I don’t want to be caught. The shy blush, the fire in my eyes, the burn in my gut, ah! The lovely sentiments of the young and the naïve.
22. Now, that’s the peak of romance. I am in love. Definitely in love. Sleepless nights. No hunger. A feverish thrill runs through my spine in anticipation for the morning where I can see him, anticipation of the night where I can whisper into his ears, look at the moon and relive the feel of his lips on mine, anticipation of the dreams where skin meets the skin, breath mingles with each other. We plan our life, vacation, marriage in matching costumes, name our future kids and make retirement plans. All the while watching the rain, dancing in the rain, soaking in the feeling called love. The water penetrating my skin, making me more than wet, the lightening blazing through me. I am in foreign country, cocooned in familiar feelings, drinking in the new sights and smells. By the time I was 29, this happened a couple of times with different people. The novelty of new sights decreasing each time, rushing like never before to get back home. But home was so far that I am yet to reach. I am trapped in a foreign country, a displaced citizen, abandoned by all familiar people, uninteresting for new people, leaving me not even a refugee.
Now standing at the threshold of 30, the max I do is peek outside the window if it is raining. Shut all the windows and curtains and get lost under the duvet, and sleep. Alone. I stare back at the lightening. It hides behind the clouds as soon as it slithers out. Thunder barks and retreats. Rain washes, without cleansing. I can smell the arousal of earth, pulling the water deeper into her core, I turn away and close my eyes.
Then, it is then that the self-depreciating thoughts appear as uninvited company and keep me warm with tears and regrets and hurting memories. I have exhausted the reserves of romance and hope. No more peaks to scale in love, only fall in the deep abyss of loss.