I was walking down (maybe up the hill? oh I don’t know, there’s way too many ups and downs in this city), I just finished my barista qualification exam, passed it somehow and I am feeling it all, the rain pouring, slowly but steadily, and more drops, getting faster and increasing in volume, each little drop slightly heavier than before.
As I get closer to the city centre, the streets are filled with people eager to get on with their lives, considering today is the last day before the Easter holidays. They are waiting, at the bus stop, the crossing, waiting for their ride home maybe. Waiting for the rain to stop. Waiting for their friends and/or their loved ones.
It was time to go home. The weather wasn’t quite right yet, but I was sure somehow that the storm was already gone. I trusted myself with this feeling and but took the earliest bus home anyways.
The city on a rainy day is a compression of all the worries and negativity of human being. Because we don’t want to be wet or cold or late. But in between that freedom of letting the negativity float around in the public space where we usually hide our emotions and pass by, freedom is somewhat more real and present.
Rain is how we feel things closer to our hearts, maybe. I was walking up the hill now, to my bus stop, where there are rows of people waiting, some worried whether they can catch the bus, and others who are just waiting. Like me.