Recollection of my childhood

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Image result for a child looking at the rain from his room window

Why am I so silent? What do you expect from me, it’s a very difficult question that you’ve asked. What’s so special about this question is that it is a very simple question with a complicated answer. To you it may be a very delightful question. But to me, it takes me to a deep nostalgia. Like other people to whom you’ve asked this question and I’m sure that you’ve already been fed with such and such happy memories like their first bicycle, their first visit to a zoo, their memorable birthday celebration, the first gift they received, the first time they kissed, the first thing they cooked, and so on, this kind of list is never ending.
But it’s a very peculiar thing for me. It’s not something concrete thing that I remember from my past, or something that I could show you, a souvenir from the past, rather it’s something abstract, something that I felt, something strange, but exquisite. If you ask me about the best thing that ever happened to me in my childhood or the finest memory from the album of my childhood, I cannot recall anything other than the rain. Yes, the rain. I don’t know what is so special about the rain or why do I remember it or call it as my best childhood memory.
The best thing about rain is that you get wet. Your body, your clothes, your thoughts, your feelings, your emotions, your tears. I used to feel very excited when I saw black clouds hovering above my home. I used to climb to the roof and just stared at it and felt how strong the current of the wind was. I saw birds flying against the current of the wind only to be thrown backwards, and the birds kept on diving again into the wind, to break its code somehow. It seemed to me some sort of game that they invented to try their luck against something greater than their existence, a foreign hand that test their limits. Shaheen Falcon always deeply moved me, because it is the only one who deciphered the code and fly into the storm, cleave its way through it to fly higher than the clouds, into the world of its own.
The clouds grumbling sound, as though the soldiers are walking to the battlefield with their thudding footsteps, and the scattered dust rising from the ground and as soon the battle begins with lightening roar beating louder than my heart, the blood falls from the sky to my face. At night, I used to stare at the infinite sky that gave a purplish maroon look, the whole sky holding the blood in its breast. The calm just before the huge thunderstorm always deeply moved me.
When the water drops settled the dust and made the whole ground wet. The settled dust made the horizon clearer and most exquisite. The rain washed away all the dust form the eyes and I felt like I was watching everything for the first time. As the agitated dust settled, an aroma arose from the mother earth. As I smell the rain, it smelled as though the ashes of the past life have born again from the ashes of the ashes.
The tiny droplets of rain seemed to be thirsty for human warm touch. This was the whole purpose of rain to find comfort. It wasn’t a blessing but she, herself was being blessed when humans’ touch her, praise her, love her. But everyone was hiding and looking for shelter. They all were so self-obsessed and self-centered that they walked their stony footsteps all over her, crushing her beneath their trotting shoes.
I woke up with a start. I thought I heard someone crying that woke me up. I touched my pillow and then my face, they felt dry, then I walked up to the window and realized that it was the rain, always the rain.
I saw this whole drama from the window of my room. As the droplets hit my window, their whispering cries pained me, and gave me pleasure. The whispers, when hit the window, were so soothing. It was way better than my father telling me fairy talks because these weren’t tales, it was like fairies were knocking at my window. I touched the window and I could feel the rhythm with which they talked, the beat of each drop, and the coldness of each crashing story. As I pressed my thumb on the cold window, my thumb became wet even though the veil of window was between us. It felt strange but not miraculous because I wasn’t yet accustomed to the laws of nature and anything was possible. Without even realizing that I was holding my breath.
I opened the window and stepped outside. The moon was hiding behind the terror of the massive phoenix riding on the thunderstorm of my breath. Silently walked on the rooftop with each drop of eternity falling on my body, whispering love songs, and making love to me. The wind was savoring every moment and was rushing through my clothes.
I breathed everything so deeply. As I let go, I let go of myself, my whole self, my past, my identity, my soul. my spirit, and I became what I never thought or expected to be. I became a part of the rain, no longer an I, out of the chains of time and space, a drop.


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