In an unfamiliar land, I yearn for the rain.
There is an air of romance when the rain falls. The pitter-patter swiftly prompts a reminiscent of my younger days.
I feel more hopeful. Relaxed, even. Life challenges seem to be carried away by the rush of the flowing water forming on the pavements into the drain.
The wind forms in gushes. I can tell from the way the leaves and branches sway in the rain. Rhythmically dancing, bending itself to the wind’s will.
And then there is a familiar smell. A fresh, woody undertone.
It usually comes right before the rain, but it lingers.
This odour often evokes my memory of my high school days. The lush greenery in the vicinity of my boarding school where we used to play in the evening, or sometimes have a little picnic or catch up with homework.
Time seems to move slowly back then. Problems seem to be a lot smaller compared to this hustling adult life.
I have been missing the rain, even more, these days. I never thought that I’d yearn for it this bad.
A few months before we left, the rain in my homeland brought peril to our community. There were flash floods. Thousands of people were displaced from their homes in the aftermath of heavy rain. Nobody saw it coming.
If I were still in Malaysia, I would have still been feeling anxious when the heavy rain came. But here I am, asking if I would be blessed by perhaps just a shy amount of rain here in a desert country.
There’s so much that I miss about home. It’s not in a melancholic way, but more with a sense of gratitude that I am blessed with so many things. I may have been too caught up with life to really appreciate it. The rain is definitely one of them.
Some say that a storyteller needs a sense of drama and a touch of romance. In that case, the dramatic me secretly wishes that it’s raining when I touch down in my homeland next time.
