Saturday, April 23, 2011

Rain

The heavy rain had been falling for hours. It started raining the night before and it hasn't stopped since. No one saw the sun that day - it hid behind the clouds. The gray world was suffused with diffused sunlight. It was a cold day, too, and although it was marginally warmer than the colder night before, it was still cold enough for anyone to see their breaths when they exhaled.

The classroom was empty, and so was the school pentagon. The dim hallways, with their high ceilings and explosion of shades of dark grays and stark blacks became as haunting as the rumors and stories that circulated around the school. The wooden classroom doors' creaks were gunshots in the silence. Except for the rain rhythms, everything was eerily quiet, quieter than the mornings when sun shafts speared through all the gaps they can to pool warmth and light on the cool cement floors. During those days, the Brownian dust dance illumined by the sun were sufficient to ensnare attention and the senses. That was enough to while the time away. They were nowhere to be seen then. Only the cobwebs, gray and grayer, presented themselves for company. They were enjoying the idle breeze that occasionally came and caressed them. The cobwebs were too high up to look at for minutes on ends, and too dirty to toy with, and so they were left unsullied, or at least they were allowed to sully themselves more by their own accord in their own time hanging from their own place.

All but one desk were unmoved, not a fan was turned on(it was raining after all), and the blackboard's green was untouched, unspotted, and unstained. If it could, the whole classroom would probably savor the time it had left before the chaos of first grade children could spur its innards into a great disarray. The books on the shelf were left alone this time, they had been read from cover to cover already, and they had nothing more to offer other than echoes of past delights, each repeat diminishing the novelty and joy and surprise it had in store. Familiarity breeds contempt, does it not? The whole scene had become all too familiar to offer anything else beside the threadbare comfort of familiarity itself. It's quite ironic, come to think of it. When there is nothing new to break the monotony, to spur crests higher and carve troughs deeper, then the only choice left is to make do with what highs and lows there are, and look forward to each repeating ascent and live through each repeating descent.

The heavy rain had been falling for hours. The classroom was empty, and so was the school pentagon. All but one desk were untouched, not a fan was turned on(it was raining after all), and the blackboard's green was untouched, unspotted, and unstained. There is nothing new to break the monotonous wait, and so the gaze is directed through the open windows and the hands rest on the cold windowsill in anticipation of the arrival of a familiar face. There is no choice but to wait.

The year was 1998, and on that cold June morning, I first felt profoundly alone in Bohol.

16 comments:

  1. i love it when it rains at maglakad sa ulan.

    my first time here in your blog. :D

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  2. For me, one of the saddest sights is an empty grade school grounds (usually during vacations or when there are no classes).

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  3. Maybe if you listen closely you wouldn't feel alone at all?
    .
    .
    Just a thought.

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  4. Hello, Colorblind! Welcome to the heart of the storm, ay mali, eye pala...Hehehe.

    I'd like to think so, Vlad, but I'm sure I'm hoping more than knowing that the mojo is indeed back.

    I am one with you in that belief, sir Mcvie. I've seen that scene a lot, and each and every time, it never fails to move something in me.

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  5. And don't worry, DB, I don't feel alone these days, not as much as I did, anyway. All in all that is good, yes? You see, it's one of those poignant childhood memories that never leaves us. I wrote this to revisit that time in the past. It's also one of those stories within us that we've kept for quite some time already, and whose power over us hasn't waned at all. It's one of those things we've always wanted to share but has been continually eclipsed by some other things. But as I've said, this is but a memoir of old, a tale finally told.

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  6. Suddenly I missed the rain, and the way I write driven with raw, unrestrained emotions.

    Ganda ng pagkasulat kid.

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  7. I, too, miss the rain, Mugen. It's been years since I played in it(emphasis on -played-, haha, and don't give me that look, I'm sure you played in it as well!). You still write with so much emotion, Mugen, more than you think, I guess, and quite possibly less than what I perceive! I digress.

    Salamat, salamat! :)

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  8. very vivid and sad. i couldn't help but look back at my own past. you're such a gifted writer, sp.

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  9. nice read. ang daming bumalik sa ala ala ko. :)

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  10. I am mesmerized by the beauty of the words, and the music of every passing sentence. True enough, you are a writer of a kind. The tone in itself was enough for me to be moved. And now memories are coming back. And now there is no more need to cry.

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  11. Wow. Alone in a classroom on a rainy day. Seems like my early elementary days when I was first to arrive at the school.

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  12. It reads like a poem. I like the part about how when there is nothing to break the monotony all that's left is to relive the highs and lows that were... (cue *sigh*)

    Feeling that existential ennui again? =)

    Thank you for the well wishes, S.P.

    -S.P. ;-)

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  13. Wow, I just realized I got you confused with another blogger. Haha. I feel like a retard. So if you could just disregard the last line of the above comment, that'd be great. ;-)

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  14. Thank you for the compliment, kuya Sean. :)

    Have you experienced something similar before, Dhouseboy?

    Thank you for your kind words, midnightorgasm. :)

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  15. So you were an early bird, too, Fritz? :)

    These days, S.P., I am not too sure about that line between prose and poetry anymore. I don't think there has to be a defined line. I'd rather have a gray area. Hahaha. And no, I'm not feeling the existential ennui, well, not exactly. I was just looking back at the past so I could try and make sense of the present. My future plans have to be made secure! And there's no way I'm disregarding that last line! I knew I wished you well, but somehow, it poofed. My internet and its wonkiness. :) You go and do your thing there, S.P.! :)

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