The Sun Always Shines After the Rain
Kenneth Wangsadarma
Rain. What a beautiful phenomenon. The soft pitter-patter sound it makes as it bumps against the window was a sound that calmed like no other. Watching the droplets hit the window would always entertain me, as they proceed to erratically slide down like someone confused and disoriented after smashing into an invisible wall. The placid gray clouds lazily glide over to blanket the bright blue sky; however, several tears in its fabric let light seep through, bringing with it a mystical view. The air conditioning would be turned off and certain windows left open, letting the artificial air out to be replaced by the cool outdoor breeze. The scent of rain would waft inside the house, revitalizing its inhabitants, as if we were one of the plants outside. I would then lean my head against the cool glass, soaking in the noise and vibrations of its impacts, wishing I could head outside and feel the droplets dance on my skin. But later, the rain would stop. It always does.
As I grew up, I got to experience more rain. I continued seeing the face of rain I saw as a child, that of a caring, saint-like mother figure. But I also saw many other aspects to it. The cruel tyrant who floods, the brave paladin who clashes with flames, and the mischievous, chaotic child who brings a downpour as swiftly as it takes it away, among its many other faces. However, there is one I got to get acquainted with and see the most of after reaching a certain age. I saw the face of a weeping woman, one who cries for others, their sadness becoming her own as she lets the waterworks go off from the heavens. In a way, it was similar to that of a mother, but it was…different. Just like I would as a kid, I would go on for hours watching it go by. Rain is said to be one of the main causes of damage to properties. But what wouldn’t deteriorate when coming into contact with the acidic feelings of pain and sorrow hidden within the rain?
Sometimes, this aspect seems harder and patronizing, and sometimes softer and consoling. Such is the case when at the age of 20, I was left alone in the rain while standing in a busy street, feeling like the world had turned away from me. It was like the raindrops formed a hand that gripped my head in a strict manner. It forced my eyes open, with the hazy rain serving as the perfect representation of the ever-growing barrier between myself and a happy life. Then during the funeral of a close one at the ripe old age of 35, I was holding back tears the entire time because I promised I would always keep smiling and enjoying life in his absence. Just when they were lowering the coffin, I finally couldn’t hold it any longer and tears started pooling under my eyelids. But then like a mother comforting her child, the rain would come down right at that moment to wipe and cover my tears so I appear to have kept a strong face, even as I was actually breaking inside.
Rain. It has accompanied me on my journey for years. Today, too, it rains. But I wasn’t leaning my head against the window this time. To be exact, I couldn’t. The straps on my limbs and the numerous tubes entering and exiting my body prevented my already weakened body from any more movements it would have been capable of. After the accident, the doctors tried their best in keeping me alive. Shockingly, they were able to keep me alive for an additional three years. Even so, they were helplessly unable to do anything about the remaining problems that lingered and festered in my body. Month after month, more and more stuff would be attached to me in order to prolong my feeble life. But now, it reached a point where I am now more artificial than man. After some point, my senses started losing their ability and I started forgetting what rain was truly like and why I loved it so much.
But today, I was barely able to hear a gentle pitter-patter coming from the window, as a familiar scent washed by. For the first time in three years, the rain was persistent enough in its knocking, to attract the attention of my nearly deaf self. I creakily tilted my neck just enough for my eyes to roll over and gaze at the thunderstorm outside. This rain… was different from every other one I have experienced before. However, I understood what the rain was trying to say. It was a farewell.
At first, I refused, I had sacrificed so much. Too much to just give up and let death take me. But then I notice the rain start to lighten up. This a common view by now, but this time, it hits with a different light. Blinded for a few moments, I stay stunned at the sight but soon, I smile, then closed my eyes. For three whole years, death had been knocking on my doorstep. In fear of what could happen next, I guarded the door with every ounce of my being. But now, while regrets remain in my mind, the only thing I am now is a tired, 72-year-old man. And so, I let go, letting the final pitter-patter of the rain bumping against the window serve as the final score to the story of my life as I thought, “The Sun Always Shines After the Rain…”
As I grew up, I got to experience more rain. I continued seeing the face of rain I saw as a child, that of a caring, saint-like mother figure. But I also saw many other aspects to it. The cruel tyrant who floods, the brave paladin who clashes with flames, and the mischievous, chaotic child who brings a downpour as swiftly as it takes it away, among its many other faces. However, there is one I got to get acquainted with and see the most of after reaching a certain age. I saw the face of a weeping woman, one who cries for others, their sadness becoming her own as she lets the waterworks go off from the heavens. In a way, it was similar to that of a mother, but it was…different. Just like I would as a kid, I would go on for hours watching it go by. Rain is said to be one of the main causes of damage to properties. But what wouldn’t deteriorate when coming into contact with the acidic feelings of pain and sorrow hidden within the rain?
Sometimes, this aspect seems harder and patronizing, and sometimes softer and consoling. Such is the case when at the age of 20, I was left alone in the rain while standing in a busy street, feeling like the world had turned away from me. It was like the raindrops formed a hand that gripped my head in a strict manner. It forced my eyes open, with the hazy rain serving as the perfect representation of the ever-growing barrier between myself and a happy life. Then during the funeral of a close one at the ripe old age of 35, I was holding back tears the entire time because I promised I would always keep smiling and enjoying life in his absence. Just when they were lowering the coffin, I finally couldn’t hold it any longer and tears started pooling under my eyelids. But then like a mother comforting her child, the rain would come down right at that moment to wipe and cover my tears so I appear to have kept a strong face, even as I was actually breaking inside.
Rain. It has accompanied me on my journey for years. Today, too, it rains. But I wasn’t leaning my head against the window this time. To be exact, I couldn’t. The straps on my limbs and the numerous tubes entering and exiting my body prevented my already weakened body from any more movements it would have been capable of. After the accident, the doctors tried their best in keeping me alive. Shockingly, they were able to keep me alive for an additional three years. Even so, they were helplessly unable to do anything about the remaining problems that lingered and festered in my body. Month after month, more and more stuff would be attached to me in order to prolong my feeble life. But now, it reached a point where I am now more artificial than man. After some point, my senses started losing their ability and I started forgetting what rain was truly like and why I loved it so much.
But today, I was barely able to hear a gentle pitter-patter coming from the window, as a familiar scent washed by. For the first time in three years, the rain was persistent enough in its knocking, to attract the attention of my nearly deaf self. I creakily tilted my neck just enough for my eyes to roll over and gaze at the thunderstorm outside. This rain… was different from every other one I have experienced before. However, I understood what the rain was trying to say. It was a farewell.
At first, I refused, I had sacrificed so much. Too much to just give up and let death take me. But then I notice the rain start to lighten up. This a common view by now, but this time, it hits with a different light. Blinded for a few moments, I stay stunned at the sight but soon, I smile, then closed my eyes. For three whole years, death had been knocking on my doorstep. In fear of what could happen next, I guarded the door with every ounce of my being. But now, while regrets remain in my mind, the only thing I am now is a tired, 72-year-old man. And so, I let go, letting the final pitter-patter of the rain bumping against the window serve as the final score to the story of my life as I thought, “The Sun Always Shines After the Rain…”
Just an ordinary kid happiest when he is eating, hanging out with friends, and just chilling at home.