I am a person who would prefer the warmth over the cold, the dry instead of the wet. Yet, today when it rained, I found myself lured beyond the glass doors, towel draped over my shoulder, eyes trained on the diagonal path of the rain.
I plunged, and the water trickled down my skin. My arms unconsciously outstretched–an action I never recall ever doing, except maybe to imitate Oble: the icon of UP, a symbol for freedom.
And there is my favorite F-word.
The rain pummeled hard, flooding my eyes. I was trying to look at the obscured sky, which seemed sad. It was all white and gray, as if a painter thought about painting the sky when he only had neutral colors to begin with.
I stood there, halted at an infinitesimal point in the universe. A little speck, trying to fathom how colossal and multi-dimensional the universe is.
Suddenly, an impulse to sing coursed through my veins. I didn’t care if some pair of eyes were watching me. No one would hear me anyway, since the rain was already singing loud enough to mask the melody that was beginning to seep through my lips.
And so, I sang, and I actually danced with myself too. I’ve never been much of a dancer, but what is music without movement? (Blame it on the Gleekness.)
As I played in the rain, watched droplets of rain ripple on puddles of water like flowers blossoming all at the same time, I felt earnestly happy. I was the commander of my world, the sun of my solar system.
I was free.