Eric Ariel Salas

Our rooftop has been craving rain. Leaves that happened to fall on it which have turned yellowish for quite some time-seem to alight on the angry and seemingly hot tile panels. The little creatures hiding underneath, probably unable to survive the heat, are sprouting their heads. The heat, too, hasn’t spared me, as it, without restriction, passes through the ceiling of my non-airconditioned room, tormenting a noontime nap and pestering long-wished daydreams.

One late afternoon, a few weeks ago, I was awakened by the all-too-familiar sound of the falling rain. Happy that it might kick off the start of a heavy downpour, I ran out of the house and noticed how the soil bounced back slowly with each raindrop. I looked at how the leaves of plants, supposedly celebrating the bath, fell down – too frail for a shower now, too delicate for a touch.

Later on, the usual indescribable aroma of a parched and thirsty land tainted the air. One by one, I observed the crickets slowly appearing from nowhere, welcoming and rejoicing in the puddles. The squirrels didn’t mind the flying insects and vice versa. The blades of greens and the rain were a great combination especially if the former hit the latter at a perfect angle.

The rain had been my profound comrade especially during my younger years. It saved me from things I hated doing: the afternoon task of watering the plants and mom sending me on an errand. Its occurrence gave me profound delight, as I was fond of making paper boats and sails.

In the past, I never heard anything about El Ni