Author's Note: The title is from a song called "Breathe (2 AM)" by Ana Nalick.
It's a quiet night at the time of this posting and I'm gazing at the full moon above me, hoping that it'll envelope me with some warmth and comfort.
Being caught in the crazy storm earlier this week gave rise to a couple of thoughts that I never entertained or spoke about. Watching the winds slam into the billboards and picking up speed sent shockwaves down my spine.
I've seen this imagery before; we were locked indoors once during college's second semester during our free periods while waiting for the storm to subside - and cringing when we saw our peers drenched in rain as they dashed across the street back to safety. Although Shaney and I managed to avoid being terribly soaked from our getaway to Coffee Bean, it cannot be said for our shoes. I disliked how fidgety I was, especially when the flashback of me nursing a warm cappuccino from the same coffeehouse while listening to the raindrops hitting on the windows arose.
I was quietly panicking as I forced myself to breathe when I saw the storm.
I loved the rain when I was younger to the point where I fell ill with a high fever from getting myself drenched in the rain during first grade. It permanently knocked out my taste for agar-agar. But I no longer fancy the rain now; in fact, I'll try my best not to think about my happier moments with the rain.
Maybe it's because of the memories associated with it... for me, it feels like when it pours, a lot of the unwanted thoughts will arise from the ashes to taunt me.
Or maybe it's the work of a particular person when he asked (or taunted, I don't want to remember) me to dance in the rain with him and our mentor - hours before my MPU (Malay Language) exam in main campus.
*takes a deep breath*
No, I shall not entertain the emotions associated with those reminiscences. I'm in the process of creating a brand new (and happier) life for me here, and, in all honesty, it's doing my soul some benefit.
The storm also reminded me of a now-departed college mate of mine. He took leave a couple of days before my return home and it broke my heart when I received the unfortunate news on social media. It made sense that the unfamiliar Malaysian number on the phone log could've been someone - most likely his father - informing me of the untimely departure, and yet I missed the call because I forgot to bring it with me to campus, sigh.
I'll be candor; it still tugs at me that I couldn't attend either the wake service or funeral Mass in person due to transport issues and I didn't constantly keep in touch with the person weeks/months before.... this sad moment. I guess it'll take some time for me to overcome the feeling of guilt and to grieve for someone whom I'm friends with. While the peers commemorated his life online, there were still some of us who chose not to pen a tribute for him on social media until much later.
Growing up in the self-sufficient suburb, death was such a familiar theme that I eventually was used to. I think I may've mentioned this before, but attending at least 4 funerals before reaching the legal drinking age isn't pleasant. I eventually made up my mind that in lieu of honoring the dead through words, I'll silently offer my prayers instead.
Which is what I did.
Thinking back, it's really odd. Not only were we - my friend and I - chatting about how influential the rain is on our psyches a night before the downpour, I was thrown awake by the sighing winds that night itself.
I know things may happen in threes, but is there a hidden meaning somewhere?