Let me tell an old secret of mine, one of which I never wished to disclose until tonight. This secret is all about why I came to and how I loved the rain. You heard (read) it right! It’s the perfunctory topic of rain once again; I never get tired of it and I could care less if people are. The rain, with its carefree and unbiased nature, never ceases to infuse a myriad of thoughtless meanderings to me. I came to love it when I realize that it is the one force of nature that conceals whatever emotion you are feeling; happiness or sadness, satisfaction or craving, regret or content, whatnot. It erases the tears that flow down your cheeks when you cry; it straightens up your smile when you are happy. It is a phenomenon that unearths and emboldens the reclusive nature of man.

How I came to love the rain I could only vaguely recall. The hazy retrospection as to how I came to infatuate with the rain is plaguing my sense of concrete vividness; but let me try. It was a raining afternoon, the crashing of pebble size droplets of suicidal rain growls as it hits every sound-producing element. It was like the sky has waged war with the puny and petty earthlings; a war we are improbable of winning. The sound of warring factions distinctly shatters the inefficacious barriers of thinly put up walls. I was lying down and it’s as if the rain is just close to my ears. My eardrums are indefatigably beating and my mind fabricates melodies that don’t even exist. The rain is in an uproar, a pandemonium of nothing to lose, and a reverberation of all-or nothings.

I headed outside, just a little beyond the protection of a protruding roof; a roof bludgeoned by thousands of rain pebbles. Below me is a sea of people. A sea where the currents are likened to the pace of different people; the fast and the slow, the patient and impatient, the recently repaired and the currently destroyed, the happy and the sad, the frolicked and the bored. All of the distinctively indifferent people promoting the erratic gyration of the sea they are a part of. But under the crashing of the rain down below the helpless world, all of the labels you put on the people as an off-hand judgment solely and unjustly basing on the faces they display disappears like the dust desperately clinging unto the flat surface of the window behind me. They all looked the same under the rain. No smiles, no tears. No Duchene smiles and no fake smiles. No heavy shoulders and no light feet. All of them, under the rain that spares no one, become the sea they obliviously represent.

I loved the rain after that. That when I am sad, or when I am happy, under the rain I don a face of indifference. Nobody is going to stop to look at you under the rain as they are fixated on their own, contemplating as to how to reach the point of their destination and getting wet the least. Under the rain you can clearly see the salient selfishness of people; they are bubbled up in their own little corner of perceived reality. The rain after that moment became a savior for a contemplative, meandering, no-nonsense person like me. Like the bat symbol vividly and fierily carved by a megavoltage light unto the surface of the clouds, which subsequently calls the underground hero of Gotham. The marching rain clouds as they start to gather on one spot call forth the hero that I so desired.

Enough of the rain-talk. I just wanted to share that part of me that nobody wished to know. Now I have returned to the seat of conscious judgment, intermittently pricked by the peeping tack of my malnourished rolling chair. I’m contemplating as to what to put here next after introducing one of my favorite things in this reality. I guess I should put here the next best thing thus far. Gladly so, but things may go out of hand. But I could care less. I shouldn’t, that is why I will.

Let me start with secrets. If one mentions of secrets, the first thing that always come to my mind is a hidden past that one wishes to share but is hesitant because of one’s perceived reaction of people one shares it with. We all have secrets; nonsense and no nonsense, dark and no effect, painful and giddy. You can never force anybody to share their secrets if in the first place they are not willing to do so. But amidst those, I do not see people solely basing on the secrets they keep. If I do so, it would be like putting off a matchstick using a fireman’s hose; a reckless heuristic to say the least. I admire people who has it in them to keep what they deem is worthless information. Well, in the first place I do not believe any information to be worthless. For as long as I am ignorant to it, it is always worth many things. We keep what we think to be things that may ruin our reputation towards others, or things we deem that when people know of them they might use it as collateral towards you. We always want to be of an advantage position over many of our friends. A black-mailing position if I’m not too pert. But so long as we keep the secrets, specifically the one’s we think will ruin our reputation to the one person we are trying to promote an immaculate outlook, we will be in a vantage position.

But as for me, I do not care what secrets you keep. It does not make you an obnoxious person. I am oblivious as to whatever secrets you are keeping, whatever things you chose not to say, they do not change how I see you. I admired the person I knew before I knew you have secrets. And when, if when, I would know of them, would I bargain the very thing I admired from you? Again, that is like putting off a matchstick using a fireman’s hose; a reckless solution towards a simple problem, not even worth the mention as a problem. You keep what you can, that is your prerogative. I know what I am capable of knowing from you, that is my opportunity. An opportunity I would so die if I do not grab. You are worth everything, that I am sure.

The things I may know, or the things I may not know does not change the things I already know. People have many sides to them, as to what are really them, I daresay all of it. We are a multitude of selves. We are the person we ostentatiously show, and the person we desperately conceal. You are the person I knew, if I knew something new, you would still be that person I knew. Nothing is ever going to regress, if anything, I’d only know you better, which is a much better position as to when I know you no other else. You are the person I am learning to be falling for, and I know that I am falling for. Would I trade any of how I am feeling to the things I am uncertain of? A diamond for a piece of coin? I’d keep what I can. You showed me a side of you which I know I am dying to know better. I know you have a side of you I still do not know, a dark room of uncertainties and only-god-knows-what. Would I wrench in hurt if I knew? Maybe I would, but is being hurt tantamount to unloving you? If anything being hurt is an encompassing sign that maybe, just maybe, I am really falling. Happily at that.

As I am in a hurry today from things I am not in control of and from things I do not wish to do, but I must. The incessant private battle of want and propriety. That private battle never ceases to tear me, and make a primordial shred of uneasiness and indecisiveness. But all to no avail, as propriety always has the upper hand.

I should end it no other way; the only way I know how. A way that is difficult to believe and a way that is somehow squeamish to the eyes of the unbold and masculine, or so they seem. Let me end in a way that I know, a message from me to you, a message I am scared that if I do not share, would just decay in the draft folder of my crumbing cellphone: “I love you for who you are, not for what you are trying to keep. You’re secrets are yours to either close or disclose to me, that doesn’t make me love you less. But whatever they may be, it will not change what I’ve been feeling for you. For I have loved you, secrets and all.”