Bring Down the Rain

I like the rain. I love rainy nights especially.



Not the rampaging kind of downpour but the steady, melancholic falling.



Something about the rain comforts me and scares me at the same time.



How the drops of water insinuate themselves onto every surface, into every crack and nook is both an embrace and an intrusion.



As we cower under our umbrellas, hide under the relative safety of our roofs, the rain compels us to admit how powerless and vulnerable we really are.

And when I look across to the next person and see the thick strands of liquid invading the space between me and everyone else, I am reminded of the distance pulling us all from each other.




I am reminded that I am held together by my skin, the point where I end and the rest of the world begins.





But in its dark, nostalgic rhythm, the rain struggles to speak to us.

Of a forgotten secret whispered right before that moment we tore out of the womb:

That the distance doesn't matter; that we have the capacity to conquer the space between you and I; the strength to leap over the differences, the pain caused, the damage inflicted. We cannot rip out of our skins and escape from the bounds of the self, but we can always try.

And failing, we can achieve something: Compassion.

Notes of an Escape Artist

I'm a nomad. I move around a lot.

In the past decade alone, I've had six "homes" in four cities. If I count the one where I spent most of my time for about three years, that would make seven in five. Before that, in high school, I moved three times. A couple of years ago, I worked, slept, and bathed in separate cities.

The first half of the last ten years were stable enough. I managed to get through college living at the house I was sharing with my cousin. That was my longest stay. The shortest was a month at a place where I moved into on impulse until, also on impulse, I packed all the clothes and shoes that I could fit into one suitcase and left behind everything else that I owned.

Because I'm practically a gypsy, I don't possess anything bigger than this laptop I'm typing on. I am an expert at packing. But whenever I move, I inevitably always leave something behind: a favorite pillow, priceless letters, a well-loved teddy bear, and always a piece of myself (*tear*).

As much as I want to say that I am a mere victim of circumstances, I have to admit that all I am is a victim of restlessness. Yes, all this running about is my choice. Well, as much of a choice as it can be for a person who craves a change of scenery as much as she is compelled to take her next breath.

If you're like me, the following personal learnings may come in handy:

1) A roomy, durable suitcase with wheels is a pretty good thing to have in case you wake up one morning with an impulse to, you know, run away.

2) Avoid getting too attached to bulky jackets, thick sweaters, big stuffed toys, cozy blankets, and all such things that give the most comfort on rainy nights. :(

3) Always have enough savings to cover at least three months' worth of downpayment in the event that you suddenly decide you want to move. Conversely, get used to unrecovered security deposits from your old place.

4) Do not work on a treasured 1000-piece puzzle for a month, have it framed, and put up on your wall. Whatever you do, just keep it safely in the box.

5) Keep soft copies of your DVD collection.

6) Get a good flat iron. Learn to love it. 'Cause it may just be the only piece of useful appliance you can afford to own right now, unless you're willing to haul around that big-screen TV you've been ogling.

7) If you're a girl: Yes, there is such a thing as having too much shoes.

8) Forget about starting a book collection at this point in your life.

9) Do not even think about getting a pet.


Lastly,

10) Move out, move on. :)