rain

Once upon a time, I liked the rain. Dashing through with my older brother when I was nine, ignoring the tsks from parents awaiting their kids with umbrellas or raincoats; jumping in dirty puddles with my best friend at fourteen, until our shoes were heavily soaked. And just like any other sixteen-year-old trying to be emo, I walked in it with my earphones in and hood up, accusing the world of being against me.

It didn't take long for me to hate it, once enjoyment turned into annoyance. I started grumbling at the edge of Elias Mall, knowing the rain was still heavy enough to turn my uniform completely see-through. It seeped through to Year One, frowning when I was forced into narrower paths to navigate the polytechnic blocks. It stayed throughout my I'm-A-Flame phase, believing wholeheartedly that raindrops were poison.

I turned into my grandmother, who grumbled about the dark skies whenever she had a pail of wet laundry to hang. Wise words from her, not very deep but sticky enough to stay on the walls of my head: biar panas terik, daripada hujan lebat. I don't remember what prompted her to say so, but it was one of the things that made me favour hot weather.

Wait a few years, and then I met you. It was my first time knowing somebody with a bike. Right, my older brother rides too but we grew so far apart, I stopped knowing simple things like his occupation. I wasn't congratulating him when he passed, like my grandmother and aunt and cousin all were. I didn't care about him leaving the house with his helmet during a storm.

On the contrary, we avoided getting on your bike at the slightest dark cloud. Or when our phones chimed at the same time, our weather app announcing 'heavy, thundery showers expected in the east'. For some reason there was neither that fateful morning, when you looked up to the sky with a raised eyebrow, then fell for my prediction: It's not gonna rain lah!

You were smart enough to run the amber lights minutes later, just as the raindrops got heavier. Waterfalls were streaming down my visor by the time we entered the highway, but it was the least of my problems when I realised how barely visible the nearest vehicles already were.

I was shaking by the time I hopped off your bike at our destination, my wine-red shoes having turned into a dark, murky colour. You still had to deposit your bike out in the open carpark, and it took all my strength not to shiver as I watched you run back to seek shelter with me.

Our clothes and footwear were heavy with rainwater, and there was no shelter to my workplace. Neither of us had umbrellas. All we could do was wait and try to dry ourselves, you tipping your sandals over and me, removing my socks to squeeze them.

We were a mess, but I never stopped smiling. I reminded you of the day before, when I'd casually mentioned wanting to know what it felt like to ride on your bike in heavy rain. I got what I'd wished for, when years before I would have pushed all the blame on someone completely not at fault.

That morning didn't stop you from riding in the rain again, greeting me with a completely opaque shirt that was actually blue, dark pants that should have been maroon. It didn't stop me from getting on behind you, shaking my head no when you offered to wipe the soaked seat.

Slowly, feelings evolved once more. You wouldn't brush my hand at the red lights but down my right leg instead, and you wouldn't turn to say you love me, but to ask how I was doing in the drizzle. It would be colder, but I'd endure it the way you had to endure the hot weather you hate.

After you, my love-hate relationship turned into something else. They turned into acceptance. Deep down I still thought I was made of fire, that the rain would never be my friend again. But I chose the helplessness that flooded me as rain flooded my socks, and with you, I would never think twice about riding in a storm.