RAINY DAYS THAT BLOW MY BLUES AWAY

It’s ironic to think that, while most people feel depressed when rainy days shatter their worlds, I, a unique me, feel the other way around. This week’s a lot about water and water and water. Water’s everywhere from the muddy little road I had to walk through each day before I reach the concrete road a few steps away from home, from the gushing dirty water of Libertad Market, to little, enormous pond-like patches of rain water in the concrete grounds of the hospital, to the sweet, sometimes-smooth-sometimes-jazzy-rocky sounds of musical drops of rain to the galvanized irons over my sleepy head, to the cool effect of water to my already wet hair because of heavy downpour. And oh, add up the aromatic signal smell of native coffee plus milk while it’s raining.

Surprisingly enough, people at work see more smiles in my often serious, and even expressionless face. More surprisingly, I eat a little and drink a lot. And most surprisingly of all, it’s almost everyday that I play under the flashes of lightning at the tone of thunders’ roar. In effect my throat seems to pay the price – I feel the intense urge to scratch it with my bare hands. My chest seems to erupt volcanic amounts of just sounds, seldom with clear thing. Yeah, I guess it’s viral and I think it’s just fine. No blaming to rain, though, with just Orofar L lozenges nearby (Thanks Doc Fernandez for a quick SMS response) – it seems, I suppose so, that the infection vanished.

And thanks to the rainy Negros weather that urged me to rather have a casual spirit go to work everyday, instead of the usual white scrubs I wear. I enjoy this addicting fashion of self-expression maybe because I am bored to death thinking that I have to be careful in every step I take until I reach the hospital or else pay the consequence of mom’s silent cries when she volunteers to wash my uniform herself instead of other people doing it. The weather results to less surgical patients’ admission too – one thing that make me sing songs while lightning strikes across the gray-colored horizon.

These are days I have long dreamed since summer brought out a demon in me. Some enjoy summer. Too little like rain. I love rain and what the hell. Rain on, rain on.

My Existence

When one exists in a world where the existence of others maybe inexistence for one, it is hard to imagine how life would be for one who feels like inexistent at all. Like it's as if existence may be one great deal between life and death. Like it's as if inexistence be like a silent poison waiting to be swallowed by an unsuspecting idiot. The days maybe absurdly vague and without trail - something that makes it more fiercely sad and boring – yet it is only by one’s humanity that brings color to life and self. When one's existence may be no lesser than a piece of mediocrity, then that becomes the worse nightmare of all. Yet, despite the redundancies of the rhythmic, though unnecessarily pleasing, music we call life, there is a distinct attraction to certain notes that do not sync. When one gets accustomed to the classic and smooth flow of existence, then one asks how monotonous, how dull, how uninteresting. It is by the topsy-turvy nature of existence that we enjoy and appreciate our being, because without this same ingredient, life would be nothing more than a shapeless rock, never been polished and broken to sparkle.