sunday morning

First of all, I wanna say sorry to my good friend Kel Goh. Sorry I wasn't there at 8. Raining, plus a stomach complication further worsened matters. If it makes it any better, I did try to go there at 9, but I couldn't wait much longer cuz the stomach complications started to act up again. Man, we should so trade phone numbers. Wanted to call you but, d'oh! Don't have your number, lolz.

Walking in the rain on a cold Sunday morning is not the best thing to do with bowel complications. Hell, even in perfect health you shouldn't do that. But I did. On one part, to fulfill what part of a promise I could keep yet, even though it seems I couldn't. You have every right to be pissed, Kel, and I don't blame ya. My fault entirely. Hope I can make it up.

Back to walking in the rain, it got me thinking. How absolutely beautiful is it to have time to yourself. In the rain, alone, with traffic splashing water onto you. Hair drenched, leaving beautiful streaks of weak carbonic acid down your face. How refreshing to have your mind washed away by the chill rain. How purifying to the lips, when you don't say anything and your mind just flows out like the stormwater flows down the drain. How gratifying to blistered feet to feel the cool soothing of the rain soaking through your shoes. How delicious to have a wet shirt clinging onto you, sending chills down your spine as you feel rivulets of rain wash away all perspiration. And how delightful to know that you are all alone in your sensations.

Even more perfect when you get back to your room, take of your wet shirt and lay there on your bed half-naked with the air-conditioning on full blast. You pick up the Forbes magazine and read all about sucessful people smiling away, but you're having the last laugh, knowing you can be satisfied with walking in the rain on a Sunday morning, while they are secretly unhappy even with all their sucesses, eating away even their Sundays.

How equally jovial to forget your moods and problems even for one hour in the rain. How splendid to see your tattered reflections in puddles in the pot-holed roads. You smile, and broken lips smile back at you. You pass a car, and the image in the windscreen shows a drenched guy with dripping hair, and somehow that makes it all worth the while. Your feet don't ache, your hands don't shake, your body don't feel weak, and your soul is invigorated.

Only on a Sunday morning.

Morning Rain

Walking out into the rain
On a Sunday morning
With the shoes on my feet
And shades on my head
And music playing in my ears

Stepping out into the rain
On a Sunday morning
The water greets my oily face
And the puddles show my every wake
And the pitter patter times my step

Moving out into the rain
On a Sunday morning
People driving pass stare
What a crazy boy who is there
I laugh and everything is well again