Rainy Days, not Mondays

Rainy days (not Mondays) always get me down…



(courtesy of mylot.com)



When I was younger, I used to love the rain. I took pleasure in looking at the little drops falling like sticks from the sky. I reveled at the black and gray clouds swirling violently above. I found pleasure in watching the trees sway fiercely with each mighty gust of the wind, as if dancing. I enjoyed gazing at the brown puddles on the streets, mesmerized at the ripples made by each raindrop as it kissed the muddy water. Whenever my mother told us not to bathe in the rain, I would go up to our room, open my hands to catch raindrops and wet my hair so I would feel like I had played under the rain. Once, when I was six, I even let my umbrella be carried away by the wind and then laughed as I run after it (it was all beaten and bruised up when I got home, so I told mother that I accidentally let go of it because of the strong winds). Each morning after a rainy night, I would visit our small farm (we had a fairly big vegetable garden and a large kangkungan) and watched the tadpoles as they grew into frogs. Rainy days were indeed a perfect moment for me then. Until we moved houses.

It was July, the middle of the rainy season, when my parents decided to transfer to our new house. I was eight and very confused. My mother and two brothers had left with most of our things, but I was left with my father while he arranged certain matters. I cannot understand then why all our furniture were being packed and taken away, why everything was a mess, why all the adults were in pandemonium. I cannot comprehend why there were men battering down our house. I did not understand anything, nor realized that my chest tightened as I watched them removed the walls and the roof, that my eyes stung as they removed the windows of our bedroom where I watched the rain pours, or the stairs where my brothers and I run up and down, or the windows in the living room where we teased Allan Potpot and his sister whenever they wanted to watch in our TV.

As I try to figure out what was happening, the rain fell. It was a downpour. I ran inside our house and look for a place to take cover from the rain, but was unsuccessful since the entire roof was gone. Everything including me was wet and the water began to rise inside, bringing with it a few of our toys and old school things. I wanted the rain to stop, stop drenching everything, stop flooding my house, stop submerging my memories, stop engulfing me. But it did not. As the rain fell, my tears fell too. I understand one thing at that moment; I have nothing to go back to.

As I grow up, I understand why we needed to move houses at that time. It has something to do with the death of my youngest brother (it was just a year and a half then). Our parents had difficulty accepting what happened which led to their many quarrels, until they decided it was time for all of us to move on. And moving houses was the best option. It was quite a sudden decision, one we were not prepared for. It was difficult to adjust to our new environment in the beginning, but we tried very, very hard. My brothers and I always talked about our old ‘adventures’ and our playmates, and we even tried to re-enact most of our old exploits with our new found ‘friends.’ It also helped that our new environment is not as crowded as the one we are used to (for we have found this sense of privacy, a time only for ourselves). And thankfully, despite the pain, there were no permanent effects of the moving as we grow older (as researchers have proven otherwise). We all probably needed a change of environment to accept what happened to my brother.

(courtesy of vi.sualize.us)

Moving houses is really traumatic. And because of the not-so-good experience I had while we were leaving our old house (imagine an eight-year-old kid watching their house being torn down in the middle of a downpour with her hair and clothes dripping to the ground), I blamed the rain. And so, whenever it rains, I feel sad and gloomy, for it brings agonizing pictures in my mind. And later in my life, when most of the childhood memories have faded, I have associated rain with bleakness and sorrow.

So, Mang Egay, Mang Dodong and Mang Falcon, I want you to know that rainy days (not Mondays) always get me down. And dearest Sun, please come out of hibernation...

(Eggheads, the rain is pouring heavily this afternoon. There might be cancellation of classes tomorrow because of the flooding, the water lilies and the unfinished flood-control projects. So hurry home before you get leptospirosis, eczema and diarrhea when you wade in floodwater.)