rain

8/30/2015 – Day Sixteen.

Its weird to think that being in a different environment could change your feelings. Even a slight change in the weather, could change a mood you’re feeling. I never go running toward sun, I am seldom ever outside. Its never the light I crave to make me feel better. I love feelings of seasons that ache at your bones, that cut to the core. I love hearing thunder and lightening roll into one chaotic storm. I love feeling every inch of the rain, placed delicately then chaotically onto my skin. Pulling layers over me and finding comfort in the warmth that no longer harbors on the outside. Going to places that are not drenched with the sun. Where I don’t feel so exposed. I’ve expressed my love for the rain countless times, sometimes its the rain that surprises you with its love. Finding myself being stuck in a downpour that followed up with hail, seemed completely beautiful to me.

When your state is plagued with drought, you miss the rain. Storms, sprinkles, drizzling into gloomy weather, everything. This beautiful country can go through seasons in the matter of hours. It’s the rain storms that make me feel more at home. I love how the streets fill with water and glisten under the street lights. How the sounds of water hitting every inch of  pavement and knowing you never stood a chance against the storm. How jaded you felt walking the streets. As the sun mocked and hid behind the clouds, playing peek a boo with the sky. Hiding its joyful rays behind overcast shades and gray skies. It reminds me of home. It reminds me of San Francisco with it’s bipolar weather changes. It reminds me of seasons yet to come forth toward the upcoming months.

I love it here.

How weather doesn’t change from fall to summer. I watch myself fall even more in love with the weather. How could you possibly be upset with that? That something magically beautiful and pure like the rain could ever make you upset. I watch lights flicker and drown with the sounds of the storm and wonder how long until this passes. All storms ever do is pass and leave you to clean up the mess. It doesn’t hurt when I am here, it doesn’t hurt to be here as the storm continues. I watch people run for cover and shield themselves from every inch of this beautiful rain. I can’t help but at times feel like this storm. I am the storm that screams and cries to reach out to someone. People scatter and run for cover until the sun comes out and welcomes them out again. All I want is for people to listen and stretch their arms out to me, but they remain scared and afraid of what comes after. I can’t avoid the weather. I can seek shelter but no matter how much I shield myself the storm still follows. The storm guarding the sun from the mess it makes while its away. I watch as my storms turn to hurricanes, while the sun is away. I am okay, I will be okay. I am not the one to soak up the sun, when all I want is to dance in the rain.

 

8/21/2015 – Day Ten.

11200612_10205215241874063_4883423582886307484_n

Life has been nonstop since the beginning of this trip. So much that at times I feel suffocated with the day to day activities. Some days my body can’t take it and other days I can’t help but force myself to solider on. I put my mask on better than everyone, but being so far from home doesn’t make sense, to force myself to be who I am at home. I rinse off the day and go on my way. Barefaced, hair a mess and pray no one notices me.

When you get older you stop caring about how you look to people. You reach a point where the only person you really care to impress, is yourself. After turning 30, you lose a sense of insecurity about appearance. What I used to care about in my 20’s, has completely disappeared in my 30’s. I have always been insecure about my weight and appearance but when you’re far from home, you really stop giving a shit. I don’t care what people think of me. I reached a point where the mirror holds two faces, Who I see and who I feel. Sometimes I don’t even know who I am anymore. When you face yourself without masks, without makeup, without any trace of your superficial self, you get a sense of who you really are. I am not my eyeliner or mascara or any of the thousands of creams I use on my face. At the same time, I am not the barefaced individual I see before me. You lose a sense of identity after years of hiding beneath masks, but at the same time you’re faced with the reality of how you really feel about yourself. As I inch closer into my 30’s I realize that every year I lose a layer of insecurity that I thought I needed before. I realize that going out of the house without makeup isn’t the end of the world, even if at times I felt as it was.

Lately I just want the rains to weigh me down and absorb into my skin. I want the water to match the streams that fall from my face. I want a lot of things. Mainly to slow down enough to truly enjoy the rain and not run from it. Running for cover to shield myself from the downpours. I want to breathe again and honestly feel the air rise and fall in my chest and into my lungs. I watch as the shell of my former self breaks down at what she used to love.  I feel my heart turn to glass and know that at any given moment it will break. When you are occupied with your surroundings you push everything you feel deeper inside of you. I wish I could put into words how it feels. The faster moments come, the sooner the come down. Slow down, relax, feel the weight of the rain on your skin. I just want to stand in silence in complete aw of this large city. Sit and watch the views. Watch as the sky clears.

Barefaced, hair a mess, and feeling fine.

I wish that it would rain.

Dark clouds roll over the clear blue skies. The greys and slates covering every inch of white clouds. Every inch of clear sky becomes vanished in the blanketed covers of the gloomy surroundings. The still of the air transforms into a chill that awakes your bones. You wish for it and you want it. You yearn for this gloominess feeling to stay, comfortable in your layers of never ending clothing. Your armor that shields you from everything and anything. It’s only the darkness that comes in. Everything else is just filler space. The chills, the shadows, all just awaiting the storm.

Waiting patiently.

10858529_10204110651900004_983619194156322655_n

I stare at my shoes glued to the pavement. I wrap my coat tighter. Watch my hair dance in sequence with the wind from the corner of my eye. How I wished it would rain, right where I stood. Wishing the rain that fell would flood the grounds that I walk upon and swallow me whole. That all this darkness stood for something, anything besides the illusion of a storm. Watching the leaves fall from the trees and circle in motion beneath my feet. Still I wait. I wait in the cold for any ounce of rain to hit my skin. To fall to the ground and carry me home. Any thing to wake me up from this feeling. This feeling of doubt and sadness that needed a setting to escape to. I listen to the sounds of the rumbling in the clouds and wait for the rain. I watch the clouds anger and light up the dark skies, still I wait.

10409593_10204110647979906_687083242297427381_n

I wait patiently.

Sadness has a way of wishing for storms. Wishing for moments to allow the darkness take ahold of the madness you’re feeling inside. I didn’t care. All I wanted was an answer to the skies that blistered with aches. Answers for this hurt feeling of sadness mixed with madness. Still I wait. I pray silently that the rumbling turns into a thunderous rage. That the skies would release their madness in form of tear drops disguised as rain. Then it would matter, then everything would make sense. Watch the rain slick the grounds and cover every inch of the streets. But the skies fail me. They only taunt the feelings and silence the emotions. I watch the skies continue to dark with night and not a drop of rain fall.

Still I wait.

The skies would eventually have to fall. Eventually the weight of the world would hurt the shoulders of the clouds and they’ll have to fall apart. I look up to the skies, close my eyes, and continue to wish for the sky to fall. For the winds to give answers to the cold. For the darkness to answer to this way I am feeling. I won’t run away. With my head in the clouds, I will stay close to the ground and my feet glued to the pavement. I will wait until the I am washed of these feelings and baptized into new sentiments. Wait until the rains fall from the heavens, until they can’t rain no more. Still I see nothing, still I wait.

We are familiar with the smells before rain that guide us into our sadness. Knowing that eventually waiting for never ending droughts, will get us no where but feeling silly for the waiting game. Still I wait. Wait for change, wait for growth, and wait for the rains to fall and hit me whole.

Any minute now, just a little while longer.

1795724_10202229583114460_750751787_n

 

3/13/2014