Summers have always been, to me, dalliances. They are always a time to be fickle. In fact, I think they are the only time to be so, as the rest of the year commands varying degrees of fortitude to help you withstand disturbances–both meteorological or otherwise.
Summers, then, have always afforded me greater license to be both carefree and careless, and this has often lead to a myriad of consequences. The past three summers I have interned at an alternative (read: left-leaning) publication, got very drunk and lost my touchscreen phone, met a sickeningly opportunistic person from Pinoy Exchange, and permed my hair.
Before I get too heady with all the heat, however, the rains come and drench me awake from summer’s dreams.
But I’m not as always loath to leave summer behind, as most people probably are. Summers, like flings, are short and intense at best.
When the rains come pouring, however, the world takes on different colors. And no, they’re not always gray. I love the rains not just for the occasion to finally bring out and use all my beanies and hoodies, but for its somberness. It’s that time of the year when listening to the Band of Horses makes you feel not just sad, but also peaceful.
And don’t you just love being in the car or bus whenever it rains, staring out the window trying to make out all the lights and shapes blurred by the cascading waters?
More curiously, though, is how all my past few romantic pursuits always coincided with the rainy season. Perhaps because the monsoon winds also come at June, when school opens in this part of the world. There’s nothing like a new semester to energize you for a fresh berth in the dating game.
Now I’m no longer in school the onset of the rains still feel like I’m starting over. June still feels like January, though there’s nothing new about me but my job, which has made me sick twice in the last month.
I ought to get new meds for my runny nose, which I’ve always just “treated” with water and lots of tissue paper.