Nothing compares to the melancholy that the rainy days bring. Now don’t get smart with me and say ‘winter’; for I live in a place where only two seasons exist; and none of them kisses the land with beautiful snowflakes. In this side of the world, the only precipitation we are graced with are free falling droplets of tears from the sky, maybe pieces of heaven itself.
I’m pretty sure I’m not the only curious soul who asks and wonders why the rain is synonymous to melancholy. Why do condensed water vapor released by the clouds influence the release of stored-up feelings in us? Which, by the way, is like the water vapour the clouds hold-a burden, heavy and always in the verge of freeing itself from its cradle. What is it about the rain that makes someone so sad and vulnerable? Is it the thought that the heavens are inviting you to cry along with them? Or the thought that it’s alright to be sad and just cry, for you are not crying alone and the heavens are crying along with you? Or probably it is the realization that the cold weather is like the coldness you lock away inside of you and finding solace to the fact that perhaps there are other people out there sharing the same dilemma. Why do those pretty little glass daggers from up above generate hurt like they were stabbing you in the heart for real? Why does it seem that rain and sadness exist side by side as if they couldn’t be without each other?
I think that the ripples made by raindrops on puddles on the ground are like the sadness we feel when it’s raining. The rain makes sadness multiply like the ringlets of ripples do, almost endlessly on the puddle, disrupting the serenity and peace of the water–and your mind. Maybe we like the rain, we just don’t grasp it. Or accept it, even. We just can’t figure out, or maybe even realize that we sympathize with it, or the other way around. The heavens sympathize with us. That’s why it cries. Perhaps we can relate to the rain: cold, unpredictable, destructive. Maybe we even envy the rain: for the tears fall whenever and wherever. When the clouds’ load is too heavy for it to hold on any longer, it let goes just like that. Unlike us.
It’s possible that we can see the rain as our own tears that we cannot weep for ourselves. For I believe that tears are the tangible counterpart of our very intangible emotions. Or maybe at least an extension. When we are in grief our souls cannot cry, we express the grief by weeping. Sometimes we just can’t help but be sad and we just can’t control it. It’s what makes us human. And when it all wells up you have to release it, or else the dam of your sanity goes. But sometimes we could not release for some reason; so we let the clouds cry for us.
Personally, I love the rainy days. Maybe because it allows me to be sad. Contrary to the likes of other people who want to be happy all the time, I let myself be sad, even just for a time. Perhaps because it makes me feel human. That, or I like being emotional. It’s hard to explain. But sometimes I think that I need to be sad for my own sake. Maybe people like to wallow in sadness when it rains because they have the hope and the belief that the rain will come to pass. The sun will always shine. The rainbow will always come right after. Sometimes it makes you wonder what good it does to you. But somehow, you know.
Summer spells f-u-n. But the rainy days will always hold its magic: melancholy. Maybe we would not know why; and I guess that’s the beauty of it. Because like all great magic tricks, the magician will never ever reveal the secret behind his masterpiece.