Rainy Days


The rain always gets to me.  Dark and somber, dismal and grey. Rain seeps into my depths.  As if my soul empathizes with the rain.  Today, I feel just that. Dark and somber, dismal and grey. Months ago, I sensed I was losing myself to the humdrum of life.  Years before that, I had turned lover, then found myself become a mother, and  later committed to be a wife.  While these may shape me, one day I woke up and realized that I could not find any semblance of what I once was.  I have never been melancholic.  I was the doe-eyed radiant girl whose passion for life rivaled Carpe Diem.  Yet, one day, I awoke and found dark clouds looming by, about to devour me whole.  There was a moment when I gave in to the darkness.  And then the rains poured.  Caught up in the mundane, I could not find the same elation in my daily life, the simple joys that once made me complete.  I lost the warm sun, fluffy white clouds, blue skies, salt air, and the pretty flowers that looked up to the light. When, where, and how did I lose it?  And just when I knew I now have my home with the white picket fence (well, without the yapping dog), the rains carried with it a deep fog that I could not quite fathom.

I have gone over it a thousand times inside my head. I have tried a slew of antidotes to the pain.  I pored over books that revealed to me the answers.  No matter how much you know, the soul speaks another language, and I could not douse the sadness with my thoughts.  So what did I do?  I willfully (and yes it was the way of the fool) indulged myself with booze and imbibed myself with the music of youth, hoping that moonshine and songs would see me through another day. Then there was dunking myself in saltwater and wallowing in the sun, hoping that the beach will weave its magic.  But as with any other spell, the magic wears off. Some enjoined me to find something worthwhile to do.  And so I found myself picking up the pieces from when I left my law practice, and suddenly working for children’s causes and human rights.  And yet a few months later and I can still write about rainy days and desolation.  And what about a new hobby?    I tried my hand at art. The pictures are painted like the rain and my soul, blues and grays, black and some red. The four paintings are neatly tucked in a corner now, so one day these too will tell my story. There is also the lighthearted everyday that used to lift my spirits. I once delighted in greeting my children every morning and reading them their stories at night.  They do give me the sun, momentarily.  But especially at dusk and right after I tuck them in at night, I feel the downpour.

Rain used to make me dream up a patio, a warm cup of coffee, a snug couch (or picture those nice day beds with oversized pillows) and a fine book.  Then there was a song that was perfect for the big drops of rain that pitter-pattered through my roof, leaving entrancing crystals on my window. Rain made me stop my frenzy, it was when I could take a breath, sit in awe and just be. I delighted in the subtle gesture of nature, moments after a rain, when everything seemed almost shiny and new.

Rains should make me feel as though my life is being cleansed anew.  And yet now the rains tell me another story. The rain outside my window keeps falling, coloring the clouds bleak, making the winds heave a sigh, and my soul weep even more.  I should take my cue from the rain- take the darkness, let go, and make all the heaviness fall as drops.

The rains will have to stop pouring in a little while.  It cannot rain forever (well, except if you live in Seattle.)  Hopefully, when this deluge has stopped, I will be shiny and new.  Well, almost.

“The way I see it, if you want the rainbow, you gotta put up with the rain.” Dolly Parton

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