The rain drops are not plump, there are just more of them. My mac is wet. My jeans are wet. My bag is wet. My hand that holds my bag is wet. There really is a lot of rain falling from the sky right now.
Sometimes when it rains, I want to strip naked and dance. Peel off my clothes, layer by layer, and just dance. I don’t know how the dance will go: I can’t visualise it. I know that it will be like no dance I have ever performed but when it happens it will be the right dance to dance.
I know that I will shout up at the clouds too. Incite them to do their worst. My nakedness does not care about how much rain falls upon it. My dance encourages it. The rain encourages it.
Other times, the rain makes me sad.
A nostalgic sadness emerges when I realise that I am a person with a past, a present and a future, and that I can never hope to embody the best bit of any of these states at the same time. It is this that makes me ache for it. I realise that I will never be this whole and it makes me sad.
Occasionally, rain makes me feel hopeful. It reminds me that there are beautiful things to see and feel as a human being. When the rain falls from the sky, it somehow passes through my clothes, my skin and connects with the water that makes up the most of me. Drops fall on ordinarily still and even stagnant pools, ripples expand within me and I feel an energy. Molecules shunt, and I know that I am alive.
This rain right now makes me feel nothing. It is rain and it is getting me wet. And I want to be away from it.
Like this, read about the freezing cold of Langmusi, China.
