“Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Melding in torrential fears:
Chill of cloud; saddened eye-
In either way, a latent cry.
Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Married under sceptic jeers:
‘They’ll never last.’ Methinks not true, for
Either way, forever blue….”
Just awoke in the couch after almost ending a book (which was in its last page) the night that was. While it still rests down on my chest, I was supposed to leaf through that single folio of few phrases when our roof sounded like deafening drumbeats. Ambivalent, I suddenly thought of a) the Bad News, that this might be what our newly-equipped forecasters have divined yesterday and cautioned us to heed or b) the Good News, that classes will be (un)fortunately suspended for a day or two again.
Aroused to senses, it occurred to me that I can indulge myself to several things I dearly wanted which then resulted to me disremembering one of the might-be-climactic-moments of my reading.
And so, there I was, interrupted.
Like any other cold mornings in the little attic where I’m roomed in, I rose up and subsequently rushed by my time-turning window, fetal-positioned. Yes, it seemed to be the zoopraxiscope (the first movie projector) of my own film reels that takes me to different scenes of my existence.
The gloomy clouds freed thumb-sized droplets of rain accompanied by fulminating roars of ferocious thunder. For most people I know bad weather turn their days as blunt and gloomy as experiencing the rotating blackouts here in our metro. Admittedly, I belonged to that number then. Heaven’s downpour unconsciously detaches me from what the world has to offer. It’s like I am widowed from being united with myself, my thoughts, feelings and whatsoever. I usually feel secluded and enjoined with the sorrowful mysteries of the rosary, especially when I’m close to drowning in the River of Styx five years ago (read my ‘Metanoia’ post). Both literally and figuratively, I fear of being drowned by it in my own emotions and certainly, it always leaves me diving into a puddle of tears. Feeling detached, it seems to immerse me in oblivion, pushing all the negativities I could relate with, the reason why I came to despise everything about it. I was a pessimist not until it unraveled a new fancy and changed many of my perspectives.
“Hey Sir, cheesecake later?” she invited as I’ve seen my phone blink with such message pinned on.
Without any doubt of accepting her call or even grabbin’ a bite that time, I sent my approval in no less than a sec. It was a definitive “Yes” on a lazy Sunday afternoon. In spite of having talked for only a few times since we’ve known each a week back, there was no way of faltering around.
Oh my God, is this the thing they called fate? Well, the next best thing to heaven for me is this rich dessert having a firm custard-like texture, made with cream cheese and topped with a jam-like blueberry mixture. I love to crave for cheesecakes since the day I first knew how to make one and now she’s also into this hunger? Such thoughts gradually circumventing at the back of my mind.
Prepped in a fancy dress outfit, she went inside the car after I offered her a hand. My insides were actually throbbing to the fact that I don’t actually know how to get there; I was just confident in pretending that I can get us through it. After a series of intellectually-guessed turns, Voila, hello cheesecake cafe!
It started to drizzle when we decided to get out and run inside. Before, it used to ruin my moments, but then again, without realizing what the reasons were, it’s as if the universe conspired to bring me to that fleeting moment. I could easily believe that it was the forever of the while. As the spoonful of sweets reached her mouth, I was painting a beautiful picture inside my head. People say when you’re in a date (which we never realized we were on), it’s certain that one is into you if he or she cannot consume what has been prepared. And it did happen for BOTH of us. Well, you’re thinking what I’m thinking then.
Inching down the stairs outside, with the drizzling earlier becoming stronger, I paused for a moment, staring at her. “‘twas a hell uva crave. You know… this cheesecake thing,” I said finally.
“…which we both love,” and immediately whispered to myself. “Thanks!” I added.
She hugged me, but the umbrella I’m trying to open made it hard to hug her back. I could feel her on her tiptoes. Her arm leaned on my shoulder and then her mouth was right up against my ear and said, very clearly, “I. Will. Love.
Craving. Out. With. You.”
The rain started to pour a little more. That feeling where you want to paint a smile as much as you could, plus the rain which made you wanna snuggle the cool side of your pillow. That feeling where everything’s like a sequence of a movie, where you two did some takes and when it’s on its final, you see everything in slow-mo. The rain. The leaves dancing. The imaginary senti background music playing. Just Perfect.
From Rick Riordans’ series that were made to life in silver screens down to unleashing the childhood in us through Disney’s music, we both encountered the magical moments set up by the lambent rain.
“Well, it is better read than watched onscreen,” she concluded after seeing the demigods for real far from the imagination and the things we read (another commonality to note there).
We were striding one of the metro’s central business districts under the night rains on our way home. The rushing breeze scared her and while squeezing ourselves under the shade of a single umbrella and wrestling against the wind currents, she slid her right foot on a greasy path which consequentially made her bent on her back. I caught her with my left arm, and me losing my equilibrium as well, swiveled towards her facing the ground with our noses an inch apart from each other. For seconds I robbed a stare at her half-closed 20/70-visoned eyes, sparkling, as it reflected me who was caught ‘daydreaming’ in broad night light. And again, we were as though on cue on-cam, shooting the romantic scene of our forever amidst the pouring rain.
Indeed, to borrow what the alchemist had said to the boy, “Everything that happens once can never happen again. But everything that happens twice will surely happen a third time.”
“Crap that two-hour traffic! It’s past eight o’clock and we’re really late this time!” I yelled in rage after we went out of the car and scuttled hurriedly to the theatre complex. Nikki, the one hosting the show, journeyed back the crowd to some special Disney memoirs, a sort of opening intro I guess, when we arrived in the scene. Thankfully, we made it just a little less in time.
Left LSS (last song syndrome[d]), we left the hall filled with childlike bliss in our hearts as we strolled outside and looked for a place to dine in.
“The. Best. Night. Ever,” she clearly proclaimed in glee under the moonlit tree. Until, the same thing happened (like two meetings ago) from above. You know what I mean. Wink*
Running soaked with hands held tight together, it’s as if it’s a can-you-feel-the-love-tonight-in-a-magic-carpet-ride heck of a feeling that very moment…worth cherishing, something I hoped would never last.
Sometimes, what we thought of a nightmare before will bring us an opposing blissful feeling today. This is how life plays its role on every phenomenon. A thing never holds and stays only as to what people destined it to be. It constantly changes, so as our feelings towards the simplest occurrences here on earth.
Just like the rain. It enthralls me now; it soothes the very roots of my being providing a kind of fantasy I’ve never imagined. The drops that hold the fondest of all memories. The pitter-patters that sound like music reverberate the voices of people oh so dear. One that could take you back to your yesteryears and unleash the child in you as you take a plunge under the heavy rain together with your co-cutie comrades. One that could bring you to your memorable dinner with the entire family sipping some creamy hot “champorado” (sort of a Filipino-style chocolate rice porridge). One that could relive your sweetest romance while taken aback, frozen nose-to-nose with the one you love.
I want to listen to the rain and take out a fragment from my memory lane. Whatever it brings, I just want to hear the same music and play the same zoopraxiscopic scene again and experience forever like how it should supposed to be.
Now, I am back to the couch and flipping the last page I left unread:
“Rain, tears, rain, tears,
Simple love with lacy cares,
Their intercourse will ne’er refrain
From rain and tears and tears to rain.”
So was the Pluviophile – a lover of rain – which I have become.