Raining On My Mind

"Fuck the Rain!”
“I hate the fucking rain na talaga!”
Haha… I could still remember sending these seriously funny messages to all of my friends during the height of the typhoon weeks here in Baguio. Those were the days when classes were suspended for days and I had nothing left to do than utter curses because of the things that I was unable to do and because of doing nothing else but bore myself with text messages and occasional naps under the gloomy, depressing, and misty sky.

I hate the rain. I hate it for bathing my pants. I hate the rain because my nose sneezes. I hate the rain because my migraine gets the better of me. I hate the rain because I slip around 10,000 times a day no matter what slippers I wear. I hate the rain because it freezes my feet and marinates it with the dripping dirt of the street– which primarily contains some flavorful human spits plus the overall slums of the present life. I hate it because classes are suspended. Its not that I am a good student or something, it’s just that when classes are suspended, you are pressured to rush things out after. I hate rushing and cramming for things that you were supposed to accomplish that easy. I hate the rain because I am stuck in the boardinghouse and I miss home. I hate the rain because it takes two decades to dry my clothes. I hate the rain because I eventually I eat and sleep a lot more. I hate the rain because I usually remember sad things. I hate the rain because it makes me feel nostalgic and forlorn and lost all at once. Yeah, no need to go further on that. By now, you must have a clear idea on how much “passionate” I am with the idea of raining.

I dunno, maybe I am just plain estranged to hate the rain. My childhood days retold about not only liking, but really loving the wet season. There’s even this vivid memory of me playing in the rain with my cousins and catching dirty fishes from the drainage canals, and literally stroking those fishes without even knowing how utterly dirty they were. And after bathing and plunging our bodies with grime and whatever bacteria it was to call it, we would patiently wait for the hot noodles that my auntie would cook for us. I could still remember playing “batbatan” and “langit lupa” with my elementary friends while bathing in the rain and ending up feeling sick the day after. Yeah. Those were the days.

But now, on my twentieth year of having to experience the season, my complete disgust of raining transcends angry words. Maybe there’s really nothing wrong with it, and I’m just a person alienated enough to blame the rain for the shits in my life. Maybe it’s just passing the guilt to something really irrational because I can’t blame myself for the bore-that-is-my-life. And maybe, just maybe, I’m only bitter about the romantic idea of having to share the season with somebody. Yeah, sappy movies and even TV ads bring us to this level of understanding that rains are supposed to be moments of kissing, cuddling, and making out. I even watched this cheesy advertisement about a guy who unintentionally pleased the girl of his dreams because it suddenly rained, having the girl blurt out “I love the rain!” Which, after all, led to a yet another knee-melting kissing. And even literature upholds the idea of how rains bring romance with people who deserve each other – on how Pilar, experienced a love lost and found by the River Piedra during the rainy season. Haha. Whatever. So, now we know what fiction and mediated reality are all about.

So, being the bitter girl that I am, I still see no good reason to find happiness with raining. Especially here in Baguio when raining means clear and present danger, when continuous rains eventually bring you the creeps because the next landslide could actually be at your place. Maybe my mean-world-syndrome is getting the better of me as of this moment for hating something but I can’t help it.

Besides, I know my hell days aren’t over. Because the rains still seem to enjoy defining the moment. So, I guess I must accept the distressing reality that there are still pants to be bathed, feet to be soaked and marinated with dirt, and sad memories to be remembered...