It’s Beautiful When It Rains

The sound of the rain is poetic. It sings sad melodies. But it writes hopeful lyrics. How ironic isn’t? That something so dark can give a little bit of life, a little bit of water to plants that have long gone dry. The sound of the rain is melancholic yet beautiful in its own way. How it’s never straight-forward because nothing ever is. Like a multi hyphenated being who continues to expand and goes on and flows freely like water. 

Do you remember the feeling you get after crying for so long? Do you recall the fresh scent of rain in summer? Or the first time you lay in bed after a long, grueling day? That’s what downpour feels like: a pure relief. As if you’ve finally exhaled after holding your breath. 

It’s beautiful when it rains. But only if you’re privileged. I guess you can’t enjoy the rain when you’re always at risk of flooding, of drowning, of losing all your hard work because the sky decides it’s time to release some tension. But still — beauty. Because it’s everywhere only if you know where to look.

Summer is for the young. And rain is for the meditative. The shivering feeling it gives is an invitation to look back or look forward. Staying present is eternally a challenge so you almost always either peer behind or check what’s in front of you. Anywho, the rain transports you to places that you are belonged.

There can be too much words to capture what the rain conveys. And they are all unnecessary. Because it’s a fleeting earthly phenomenon. It comes and then it goes. It’s not something you can plaster on the wall. I find beauty in the rain. And maybe I am privileged. But I’m not going to feel guilty about it. Because it’s my experience. And it doesn’t have to be the same for everybody. I can only live for my truth. And try to enjoy it for others who wish they can enjoy it too.

It’s beautiful when it rains. And I thank God I am alive to witness it.