Thoughts one rainy night

(excerpt  from my journal entry dated November 11, 2011, a Friday)

After several days without rain, it rained. Kakatapos lang. Anlagkit sa balat ng resultang singaw ng init, but it’s so welcome. I like the rain. The sound it makes, the distant thunder. The wet leaves and grass. Frogs croaking, although you barely hear them anymore because almost everywhere has been cemented over…

I like the rain because I grew up with lots of memories of the rain. Or rather, what I was doing when it rained. I remember waking up on rainy mornings and I had to get ready for school, or when school’s out on Saturday mornings, waking up to the smell of champorado and curling up on the sofa while watching Saturday morning cartoons, safe and snug in the house while the world outside washed up. The cool air, the clean smell of a wet world.

Nang hindi pa tinatadtad ng subdivision itong lugar namin, there were lots of open spaces. And trees. And when rainclouds came up, you’d easily see them over the horizon. The sky became dim as the dark clouds approached overhead, and the air became cooler. Cool, violent wind blew over the grass and the leaves of trees. Thunders roared. The sky became a beautiful beautiful blue violet and grey. Just before the rains fell, the colors all around were sharpened, albeit softened around the edges. Is it the end of the world, you asked yourself. Something’s going to happen. And you hoped it’s going to bring about something new, something to break from the boredom of everyday humdrum.

When the rains came, the entire family sat together at the dinner table. Sometimes there were power outages. And your family ate by candle light. And young as you are and small and easily embraceable in your parents’ arms, you felt so loved and so cared for amidst the storm outside. Just sitting down with them at dinner was enough.

This continued in the living room after dinner, when the power was still out. Your parents talked, and their voices comforted you with security, while outside, the frogs and crickets lull you to sleep with the sound of their rejoicing over the renewal of life.

I’m getting bored. Why am I writing now? Isabel’s already finished with the computer. I’m next, but I can’t leave yet because I have to finish this page. Pacquaio–Marquez? What of them? I’m proud of Manny Pacquiao because he’s such a great athlete and a very kind and generous Filipino. And noble, if I may say so. What makes him noble? Geez...It’s with the pride, I think, in being who you are, what you are, regardless of what other people might think. He prays openly, notwithstanding the goings-on around him. He does what he likes doing, bestowing kindness and compassion toward the needy, not caring what other people say. I’m proud to be Filipino, and just like Batista (the wrestler), I consider Pacquiao one of the reasons why.

What’s with my writing tonight? Maybe I forced it? Truth is, I only started writing hoping that I’d be inspired enough to stumble upon another potential blog entry. But to heck with that, I’m just going to write. That’s it. No intended blog entries here. Just write. Free the mind from malicious (ahehe) intents. Maybe tomorrow, or on some other future entries, I’d have it. Tonight, no. This entry is shitty.

It’s amazing how my brain also pauses with my thoughts when my hand has not yet finished writing one thought down. And then it starts again, when the writing of the previous thought is finished. How cool is that?! Chapter!