tengo gusto de él cuando llueve. i like it when it rains. tengo gusto de despertar a él. i like waking up to it. i like the cool that invades my room, making the airconditioning unnecessary and next to useless. inutil. i like the fog sticking to the windows, the coldness of which seep through your skin, stealing your warmth in the natural laws of heat transfer, as soon as you dare to touch the once clear glass, now beaded with drops of rain. some, succumbing to gravity and falling, bumping those on its way down to form a bigger clear sphere. more certain of going down. abajo. siempre abajo.
mis sentidos quiero siempre la lluvia. my senses always romanced the rain. and i am forever eager for its return the moment it withdraws. always greedy for it to stay. eternally lustful of it when it is away.constantly and decidedly selfish to those who do not share my sentiments. it is, after all, the closest piece of heaven i can attain as a prisoner of gravity. heaven in so small a package. tan pequeño un paquete.
it is to my ignominy that i admit that there had been a time that i wished for the rain not to come. i wished for it not to find me, caught so unaware as to be drenched and helpless and eventually shivering from cold. my feet, that of which i am so conscious and careful about are reduced to nails whose underneath pale a violent violet. the arch no longer white and creamy, but a lump of veins threatening to bulge themselves out of my skin. una qué vergüenza. shame, that i have to admit all those, even to myself. i had come to doubt that perhaps the reason that i love the rain is probably because i never saw both its sides. when i was in highschool, i was driven to and from school. and i never had the inconvenience or the adventure of commuting. in college, my dormitory was but a pedestrian cross away from school and i had discovered to my convenience, routes that shielded me from the rain. i had loved. but i doubted that love because for a moment, i thought i only did love the rain because i saw only, as i rarely do, the good side of it. i thought that perhaps, i had nursed that thought until it grew into a full affair.
out of the two years since i left college, i had to commute via the mrt then the lrt just to get to school. where i would spend two hours on my lecture classes and stay for just a while to catch up on the latest developments of the BIR project i was assigned to. and ever since the tropical depression, my rides became an adventure. a game of hide and seek between me and the rain. that which i loved. i became wary at the signs of rain at the sky. i became irritable when i got caught in its wake. and i finally admitted that perhaps, i had loved blindly.
and i finally admitted to cy that perhaps he was right. that perhaps, i only loved the rain because of my one-sided perspective of it. most people would gloat over a victory. spread it thin until it becomes inappropriate to the point of irritating and rub it in. pero no el. no el. not him. not my cy. he, well we, bought a car. his family's car more specifically since bob was planning on buying a new one when he gets home come august. a 2000 Civic model of Honda make, manual transmission just as we both like it to be. it's second hand but it's well maintained and i have no complaints about its engine. a few scratches and scrapes here and there but it's of no real consequence. no es importante. what matters is that cy and i can go where we need to be, safe and comfortable. driving each other around. it's our biggest conjugal property as of date.
pero esto no está sobre ése. it's not about the car at all. it's about romance. and the infinite chances that exist despite the smallest of possibilities. to cy i am thankful. because he gave me back the rain. and i nothing if humbled.
kudos to you my cy. te quiero para siempre.