Maybe I am just a wallflower. Or sometimes I think I’m suffused by reality so I dig magic out of life’s most mundane. I just savor up everything in a moment because what would life be without magic. Magic is color, magic lights up fire in my soul.

This day, I’m fatigued after people-ing for a couple of weeks. By people-ing, coloring social scenes with my social awkwardness. I decide to take a stroll, recharge a little, organize my thoughts. The skies are pretty dark, angry and rumbling. Lightning strikes a turd too much and out of nowhere, it starts raining.

A knob turned. I knew a chapter was ending and the rain was washing it away. The pain, the love, the joy, the sorrow. Every baggage that came with that chapter, was being washed away. And there and then, I understood that you can’t live your pain. You are only allowed to feel it, and let it teach you what it was meant t. Love the people that were this pain for they served the purpose they were meant to. Then let them go, for their chapter in your life is over. Only revisit this pain, because you’re revising the lessons that the greatest teacher of them all, life was trying to teach you.

My absurd desire to feel the rain was becoming a nuisance. It was now a heavy downpour and I needed to take a shelter. I looked around as I clenched to my trench coat, and I spotted a church. I’d take cover for a while and let the downpour subside but I couldn’t stand there and question who God was to me. I would be part of the followers that churches are desperately creating. I knew I was a teacher and a believer, not one of the heathens. and God was my center, my core, the locus where everything good transcends. I swallowed a hand lump and walked on.

I was drenched and more desperate for a shelter. I’d take anything now. But the safe haven I came to was the University. The thing about higher learning, it breaks you before it makes you. Some trips down Memory Lane aren’t worth the leap. I was too scared to stand in a haven of dead dreams and soiled innocence. This place takes you in, and sells you a make-believe that all your dreams will come true. You fall for the smoke screen and before you know it, it flips you inside out, rips your soul out and breaks your will. I could sure stand this ran; home was but a stone-throw a way. So, I kept on.

But this rain was hideous. I felt haunted by it or something. The closer I was to home, the more it rained. I was dripping wet and I had to do something about it. I tirelessly looked for a shelter, but all I passed were homes. I couldn’t stop thinking about the people who lived in these home: their stories, struggles, demons they fought. This was like walking through life and the bittersweet symphonies it plays us. It killed the insanity of fear of poverty, and the future- a mere illusion. I felt irk, for this anxiety I struggled with. I was walking and running at the same time. More impatient to get home.

Then I came to a bus stop. It was the perfect shade after being rained on, a bounty. But there was a mammoth of people. I struggle with crowds because of the mere fear of being swallowed, disappearing into people, forgetting who you truly are and fitting in. I guess I’m the kind of person who believes people have a way of distorting your true identity. They paint their own pictures and crop you in. They will only believe what they want to believe, they will know a part of you that they want to. But they will judge you for your attitude and your actions without knowing your story. Like these people stayed in the homes I had walked through. And I didn’t judge them for watching the rain, instead of feeling the rain.

The rain washes away a lot of things. Like this day if I wanted to cry for the street children sleeping in carton boxes, persons fighting cancer watching their veils fall in pain, victims of bombing in Mogadishu or the people in war-stricken Syria no one would ever know. But this rain, this rain would wash it away. Because this chapter, the pain for all the bad inhumane things happening in the world would be washed away.