They don’t get me down. I love them. Bring on the rain.
I’ve always been a perpetual wallflower, shy enough to never want to subject myself to the vulnerabilities of a large crowd or the lone spotlight, but every once and a while cutting in on the dance floor and trying my hand at the social game, only to float back to the space where everything is normal again and not chaotic.
There’s nothing wrong with the wallflower, he is a silent and pleasant type, keeping his space and not stepping on anyone’s toes. Content in his own world. Blending in with society’s buzzing bees, the sharks that roam the oceans, catching all the tiny prey. Sidelines and outskirts on a rainy afternoon, tucked safely away in a corner. Pondering the mysteries of the universe, writing away, musing about fascinating things, the future and its apparent awesomeness, only discovered as ordinary when it actually comes. Being the center of attention in public would mean going out of your comfort zone, presenting yourself to vulnerabilities. The shields are up at all possible times.
The best days are the washing machine slowly humming, laundry circulating in a bath of sudsy bubbles. Complementing the downpour outdoors. Hearing the noisy machine takes away the staleness of the afternoon, adds a little excitement. Adds to the sacredness as well, especially in between booms of thunder, bolts of lightning, the dark house quiet and still.
When the rain finally clears up, what’s left is a dry sticky humidity in the air, not really making matters better. It’s rare to see a rainbow unless you are in the right spot or have a clear, unobstructed view of the horizon.
On a rainy afternoon, I’d be inside sleeping on the futon with my feet outstretched, socks off, toes flexing. A thick army blanket draped over myself, head resting on the soft fabric.
Other times, I’d sit next to the window, listening to the rain splatter into muddy puddles, watching the streaks race down on the glass, colliding into a single water organism. Dreary skies, non-activity all around, the occasional car splashing through dirty water on the street, bright headlights navigating the murkiness.
Playing video games on my non-existent Xbox to alleviate the boredom. Getting lost in a fantasy world. Letting the depressive nature of the situation be drowned out by the even more depressing nature of gunfire and bodies being shot down all around. Or if you’re more softcore, letting a cheerful and challenging puzzle game pass the time.
My rainy afternoon wouldn’t be any different than other days. I’d still find comfort sitting behind my computer screen, trying to come up with some descriptive word that could describe what the outdoors is like at that moment. I’d probably be watching Netflix or listening to some soft tunes that go perfectly with the weather.
Sunny days are much cheerful, happier, and productive than rainy days but they don’t pack the same symbolic punch that a cold stormy afternoon or night would. And that’s what’s perfect, knowing there’s a natural danger on the outside that four walls and a roof divides you from, unlike my tent last year that fell down on top of me during a fierce thunderstorm – the scariest moment in my life. I yelled out for help, stranded in a crumpled mess of walls and poles, sitting in a puddle of water, thunder preventing me from venturing out in fear of getting struck, even if I was only a few feet from home.
In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Singin’ in the Rain.”
Safe inside, toasty warm, while water pitter-patters on the roof… describe your perfect, rainy afternoon.