7pm along EDSA

There is an old Filipino belief that a child who shows a distinct love for rain is destined for greatness. So I guess I’m not quite meant to be one of the Great Ones. I do love the rain; but not always.


Last night, I came out of National Book Store with a silly grin on my face. They’re having a cut-price book sale and I just got three new books: Umberto Eco’s "The Name of the Rose" & "Serendipities", and Rainer Maria Rilke’s "Letters to a Young Poet" (I’ve read this before, but I just had to have my own copy). So I gleefully sauntered to the shuttle terminal where I could get in line for my usual ride home. It was drizzling by the time I got there. The kind that is soft, slow, and quite comforting in its light, drizzling way. A few minutes later, the wind started to pick up. I resisted the urge to skim through the pages of my new acquisitions, and instead made doubly sure that they’re securely wrapped in their protective plastic bags. After a couple of minutes, WHOOSH! Pouring, pouring, furious downpour pounding upon the petrified pavements of this thirsty city! The waiting shed we stood under had been erected in vain. Every one of us dozens standing in line got wet in varying degrees. All we could do was huddle together and cringe at every raging blast of lightning and thunder. It was as if the heavens wanted to clear the earth of every evil by washing it all away.


The rain went on for the better part of fifteen minutes. It’s no joke to stand in line for fifteen minutes in grim determination in spite of the cold, wet, and angry deluge. But none of us broke the line. It would be even more difficult to miss the shuttle. After a quarter of an hour, the skies calmed a bit. We had to wait for another twenty minutes or so before the shuttle arrived and I was finally on my way home. Sigh… If there’s one thing I learned from the experience, it’s gratitude.


I was soaked, but thank the heavens for sparing my new books. When I checked them, they were dry as kindling =D

(posted elsewhere 26 Aug 2005)