pluviophile (n.)
a lover of rain; someone who finds joy and peace of mind during rainy days

Twenty days away from my departure and each day, I grow increasingly reminiscent. Over everything. The objects in my house, the laughter of my family, the silence of my bedroom, the sounds coming from my kitchen. Maybe once you listen to something repeatedly each day, even the noisy clatter of pots and pans and kitchen utensils start to sound like a harmony in formation.

The 2nd day of January, my Christmas decorations are still hanging, left untouched. The tree no longer lights up and the tinsel looks pathetically outdated. With the right light, they still glimmer, but displaying their red-and-green holiday cheer when the holidays are almost over, their festiveness now  only makes them look lame.

It's the first Tuesday of the year. I'm sitting in my living room, minutes until noon, when the sky had decided to unleash its melancholy. Initially I was reading a book; a story about someone who suffered amnesia. Yet in all the "joy and peace of mind" the rain seemingly brought, I couldn't concentrate. I looked up, and around, and outside, and then in. I realized I didn't want to read. I want to write.


It's raining cats and dogs outside, with a hailing wind that I'd feel every now and then as it makes its way through the doors and windows of my home. Water is falling rapidly, violently, on the pavement of my backyard. If the weather was a person, they must be mourning the loss of a loved one. Sad, angry, and distressed.

Twenty minutes pass. It's still raining, and I still love how it feels when the wind keeps finding their way to me. I started to wonder why I like rainy days so much.

I like how it's a signal of the sky giving in. Of the clouds holding too much inside of themselves that they couldn't help but pour it out. I never found clouds so relatable.

I also like how it makes the air that gusts through my living room smell like rain. I used to wonder why people like the "smell of rain" so much but lately, I've come to experience it myself. It's similar to walking through a forest. Damp, airy, misty, reminds you of tree bark and soil. I like that if you stand near an opening and close your eyes and let that smell of rain come with the wind to greet you, it'd be just like driving through a forest in the mountains. I like that in the comfort of my home, rain delivers to me experiences that make me picture as if I am elsewhere.

Sometimes, I also like to imagine rain as a venturer of great distances. How they've probably already poured over a number of towns aside from mine today. And how they might continue on their journey to the other direction and do their work on more cities ahead. I like imagining if we could travel with clouds. I often imagine how rain reaches those we couldn't.

Rainfall drenches everything under it in all its glory; every person and animal submits to it, we simply have no choice. It annoys the businessmen walking through the streets with a briefcase and no umbrella. It gives relief to farmers and joy to their children. It understands the sad and lonely, cooped up in the solitude of their bedrooms, glancing out the window with a head brimming with thoughts and hopeless dreams. In a way, the rain can be anything to anyone, everything to some, and nothing to some others.


I never understood pluviophiles despite being one myself. Falling in love with a weather that would ruin one's plans of a lovely walk in the park, or of taking their bicycle out to ride through the city. Finding peace indoors when the storm outside is anything but peaceful. Quieting ourselves to calmness as the downpour rages on.

The rain has now diminished itself to a light drizzle. But the sun hasn't peeked through yet. The air remains in place, motionless. The rain is finally gone and my heart seems to wish that it stayed a little longer. Silently, the leaves and branches of the trees make subtle motions, swinging gently as the air starts to clear up. In my head, they're waving goodbye to the gloomy grey clouds.

A "see you soon", if you will.


To embracing bad weather,