Rainy Days

A good friend of mine hates it when it rains. She is fond of wearing flip-flops, and getting her feet dirtied is one of her pet peeves. As for me, I love it when it rains. It gives me the excuse to be lazy, to just stay at home and space out. (Yes, spacing out is one of my hobbies.)

I know this is a cliche, but I'm gonna say it anyway: There is something sentimental about the rain. It makes me get in touch with my sleeping feelings. Also, everything seems to be highlighted when it rains: the green become greener, the sentimentalists become more sentimental.

Many years ago, when I was still an idealist, before I have seen so many disappointments, I used to keep a diary. Every time I browse through it, I am reminded of this one moment when I wrote about what I want to do in my adult life. You would not catch me dead showing the entry even to my high school teacher, but I consider it as one of my best literary products. It was sentimental, badly written, but it was so honest. And I wrote it on a rainy day.

(I promise myself I'm gonna write more. I have three new journals and two blogsites, and they should not be enough to record my "way of seeing" at a particular point of my life.