This is Why I Hate the Rain

The rain, in itself, wasn’t what bothered you the most. That was just water. So it comes down in a drizzle, or a shower, or like pins and needles that prick you every time they hit a vulnerable spot. So what? It was just water—water, you could deal with.

It was the fact that they collected on the ground as small, freshwater lakes. That was what rubbed you off the wrong way.

And it wasn’t because you’d ruin your brand new white Converse sneakers if (when) you accidentally stepped in one (that was annoying too, but that wasn’t a pressing concern). It was because when the rain stopped, the puddles were still, and if you stood directly above it, you could see yourself in them.

You hate the rain because after it stops, you see yourself everywhere you look (and of course, it is because down is the only direction you dare look when you walk). You hate the rain because you realise the truth:

Whilst you are too busy being disgusted at yourself, everyone else takes the opportunity to step into the puddles with their shiny rainboots, rippling your reflection, then leaving their wet footprints onto the dried cement. They step over you, dragging your image everywhere, leaving their marks on every surface they come across.

You are everywhere, and nowhere, all at once.

This is why you hate the rain.

Published by Valerie Cheng