it’s raining again tonight. i just noticed after staring blankly into the dead monitor of my TV set, lured by the reflection of the light from my bedside lamp. a silly distraction, i realized, and then i heard the raindrops on the roof. how strange, i thought, that even without seeing the rain, or feeling it, you know it is. that sound, which I couldn’t describe, is way too familiar to mistake for something else. and yet the same familiarity diminishes it to a mere background.
last month, while waiting for my ride at a hotel lobby, i met the chief executive of my former company. he did remember me, but only to ask if i didn’t shame him for recommending me to the graduate school where he sits as member of the alumni board. “i’m struggling with my thesis,” i said without feeling, as if the words came together by themselves and out of my mouth. “good luck then,” he said, like the kind you hear out of a movie script, though i sensed he was being sincere. or at least trying to be. the words “thank you, sir” came together by themselves and out of my mouth. i was being sincere. or at least trying to be. how strange, i thought, that the more you think of the right words to say, the more you lose control.
a few weeks back, when my brother was having a fight with his girl over the phone and his voice was offensively loud, i stormed out of my peace in the rest room (thanks to the convenience of a bidet) and shouted at him to “grow up” and “be sensitive to other people in the house who didn’t give a damn if they were fighting or not.” you see, i’m a diplomatic person, whatever that means, but on rare occasions when i was provoked, i said the most hurtful of words that made others, even those older, cry. my brother cried that night, too. but it wasn’t the hurtful words that puzzled me after; it’s that by asking him to stop, it was my voice that was offensively loud. mine was even so much louder. how strange, i realized, that sometimes when you badly want something to stop, you unwittingly become its extension.
it’s still raining tonight where i am. and i like it.
unwittingly becoming an extension is something i have experience in. though i am good at being an accessory, too.
What can I say, bro. Very good prose. You should write literature.
And oh the rain, I feel the same way about it….and speaking loudly when one not ought to.
{illyria} there’s something strange about being an accessory–you are part of something, but not really.
major tom: hahaha. i can be poetic about the rain, but that would be cheesy poetic, and my good friend {illyria} will disown me for even trying.
wow. it seems like the rainy days brought us something negative to fight with. i am currently fighting my own battle… and this time, i don’t know if i would win.
lawstude: i wonder what kind of battle that is. you have my vote of confidence
you write so well, my friend. i almost imagined myself listening to the sound of the rain as well. and btw, how’s the thesis going? wish you well…
sardonicnell: the thesis? ahh, what thesis?
i’m enrolling myself again this semester, and to my surprise, my thesis adviser is now the department chair. he’s given me the ultimatum, which is perhaps what i need to really finish it this year.
we seldom forget that we carry a part of others in ourselves, one way or the other.
nice post. as always.
auj: that helps us mirror the other person, so much so that we are many selves but one person.
there’s something with the sound of the rain that puts us to rest and medidate about ourselves and when it’s over, we’re back on the road again
I can’t say that with snow, when you are snuggled by the fireplace seeking heat and when you veer out of the window the morning after, you feel even more miserable.
bw: indeed. snow there in Canada is like many politicians here in Manila—the mere sight of them makes you feel miserable.
My first visit here. That was beautifully written. I think I’d be a regular then. =) On a lighter note, I miss the rain. This part of the world is not so blessed by raindrops, but by lots of palm date trees and camels (haven’t seen one!). Thanks for dropping by to my blog.
I really it when it rains.
It’ll be a blog entry for me to describe why.
*I forgot to add the word “hate.”
the tropical rain is calming. i like how it slows movement around us and stills overactive minds.
witsandnuts: thanks for coming over. i’ve seen camels in a zoo, and they don’t look happy at all. maybe they hate it when it rains, like jeff
talking about jeff, looking forward to that post. i hope it doesn’t rain when you write it. haha!
acey: that mysterious face is now gone! i wonder why that happened. also, your comment for this post was held under moderation, as Akismet thought it’s a spam. I hope it doesn’t happen again.