Rainy Day Contemplations

December 7, 2007

Water vapour dominates the skies of today’s Stockholm and its surroundings. Tiny water droplets have joined forces and created thick clouds. As transparent and innocent on their own that they are, just as grey and unforgiving are they together. Thick veils of white, in layers above my head, have deprieved my world of sunlight. The only light is a grey shimmer, making the winter day remind one of the bright midnights the Northern parts of the world were blessed by just a few months ago.

Large rain drops have abandoned the skies and are falling like pebbles onto the streets. They are without mercy as they fall, they make no distinction between the brown leaves autumn forgot and the soon-to-be water soaked coats of Swedes, trying to escape the unforgiving rain.

Just like the droplets of the water vapour, which make up the clouds, have joined forces, so have the falling rain and the wind. Trapped in a maze of tall buildings the wind has no where to go. It searches for an escape with irratic movements, and with it, comes the rain.

As I were on my way home, not too long ago, the rain was already falling. The pebbles of water which fall from the sky, without the hardness of ice, make it impossible to reach one’s destination without having collected a fair share of them.

A umberella is to no use in this weather of despair. As the rain falls it is caught by the in-a-maze-trapped winds, making the water reach all parts of oneself. The umberella is loyal to the winds – a man made tool which has turned on us. Umberellas wish to be as free as the roaming winds. They are light, and perfect to trap the wind as it blows past. Though, umberellas can not fly by themselves, they will forever be dependent upon the winds. Thus, they turn on us. They turn on the people who rely upon them for protection from the raging wind and the heavy drops of rain. They know we will never release our knuckle-whitening grips of their handles. And so they invert themselves, gratefully assisted by the wind. They are both aware of that an inverted umberella is to no use.

As my umberella inverted itself over and over again, assisted by winds from all directions, I decided to let the rain shower me. My black coat was mattened and became darker in color. Just like the pavement below my feet, the water which collected upon its surface darkened it.

Rain does everything in its power to relieve the world of sunlight. The clouds hide the sun’s beams from view. They are however inventive by nature, and some beams always manage to reach below the clouds. Eternally optimistic these rays of light truly are. The rain is however deceptive. By falling and collecting upon the dark streets it makes sure to trap the few rays of light which reach the people below the skies. The puddles of rain water which are common on the streets, days like today, are nothing more than black holes in miniature, with an unsatisfiable appetite for sunshine.

The train covered some distance instead of me. By foot it would have taken hours, by train it was a matter of minutes to reach the suburbs of Stockholm. All as the rain poured from the skies. It was a matte landscape which passed by outside the train. Water soaked pictures of nature’s, aquarel in their structure, brown and grey in color. The summer flowers’ dead stems were left, as a painful reminder of that the season of death reigns for the time being. The large areas above small sounds were dimmed by the falling rain.

Just a few hours after my rainy arrival home, I found myself alone in an empty car. Whatever heat it had generated, during its short tour from my family’s home to a younger sister’s school, the unmerciful weather stole. Slowly it disappeared from around me though no proof of it was left beside the plume of watery smoke which I realeased into the air by my every breath.

The rain was still falling. It flowed down the windshield of the car, reminding me of that the only thing sepearating me from the falling rain was a thin piece of glass. I could see the water droplets falling from the skies smile gleefully at me. They knew they were in control and forever would be.

Outside the car there was a concrete jungle. The foundations of grey houses were dark from having been soaked by the rain. The streets had turned into highways for small streams of water to follow. A group of people passed by, heads covered by either umberellas or coats. Despite the weather, they were happy.

It was then I realized that I am not like them. It struck me that I am no ordinary person. Despite this stunning revelation, I was not surprised. I am no ordinary human being, and never will I be. I will never be able to be content while surrounded by a group of people, I will never allow myself to laugh, nor show any other kind of emotion, around other people. I am a private person. I am a person the most comfortable when being around no one but myself.

The anonymity of a computer screen makes me blossom, there is no situation during which I am more myself than when I am in front of the computer. I am always someone else when around people, trying hard to be just like them: social, likeable, happy and not myself. The kind of person I am is the kind of person people love to hate. That I am kind, and love to be kind, is of no importance in the context.

I am a person whose counterpart is no where to be found. My thoughts are not to be voiced in the presence of others, and for someone who loves sharing herself just as much as I do, it is destructive in the end. I am however the most happy when I am on my own. For, then I can not offend anyone beside myself. It is only I who second guess myself, and without anyone else present, there is no need.

As the rain flowed down the windshield of the empty and cold car, and as my breath turned into a watery vapour, I knew what would make me happy. It would not be to tell myself to be content, it would not be to be like the rest of the Swedes who accept everything, questioning nothing.

No longer seeing the rain which flowed across the windshield, I saw myself. I were in an empty building, holding no one but me. I was a guardian, a guardian of bottled things, things no one else wished to guard. There were bottled pigs and bottled fish, bottled hands and bottled brains. Everything inbetween heaven and earth was bottled, and among it all, there was I.

In order to be truly happy in life, I need to be by myself. I need to do only what I have chosen to do. I need not pretend that I am interested in a topic, I need not change my views to fit those of others. I need not to be part of shallow friendships, the kind of friendships which bring no one any joy. Instead, I would like to spend time with my very best friends: Me, Myself and I. Together we could guard what others wish not to. Together we would be content.


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