As a kid, I associate the rain with hot home-made soup from my mom and a whole day snuggle with my Spiderman pillows with a good mystery novel to make me sane. Where I grew up, a typhoon signal number 2 can mean brown-out. The fascination of playing with melted candle and moths, I enjoyed in front a warm coffee and nice family talks with my parents and siblings. Late cold nights always end with us all covered in blanket with some eery fabricated stories to tell. The aftermath-no classes, the smell of the sun as it hits the drenched leaves, was still perfect.
There goes my fascination for rain, which until now, had grew up with me. But all the things that used to come with it did not.
Now, I try to find contentment in a bowl of instant noodles, or if I'm lucky, some cheap batchoy in the carinderia across the street. I would still cover myself with blanket but Spiderman and mystery novels were long gone and all I can see are books and cases that are left unread. I would call my mom to ask how she is, but would try hard not to initiate one with my dad. Scary stories, I would still tell myself- but they don't take the form of a lady in white or some big guy smoking. There are more things in life that are worth the fear.
When rain finds me, all I can do is to find solitude in putting my hoodie on, walking and eventually reminiscing some memories that would hopefully keep me warm.