I wake up to the quiet pitter patter of rain falling against my window. Peeking outside, I mentally note to bring an umbrella lest I become a soggy mess.
I used to hate rainy days — the dark, stormy sky accompanied with the wet layer of gloom that covered every surface served to dampen any hopes I had for the day. Each time it rained, it seemed as if everything would go wrong. I would fall, cut myself, lose items, forget my homework, etc. The list just goes on and on. To me, rain felt like a bad omen, a signal of a disaster that has yet to occur.
However, my perspective on rain slowly started changing after I started going to college. On move-in day, my dad jokingly pointed out that every milestone in my life seemed to happen on a rainy day. Confused, I asked him what he meant. Apparently, I had been born on a rainy day, and each of my graduations also miraculously landed on a rainy day. Even my move-in day, the day that marked my “independence” from my family, was a rainy day. Rain almost seemed like a guardian, watching me grow and develop from the day I came into this world.
Strangely enough, after that revelation, some of my prejudice against rain shifted. Though I can’t say that I completely turned away from the idea of rain being a foreboding omen, I began treating rain as an unexpected companion rather than as a villain seeking to ruin my day. At some of my lowest points, rain’s quiet ambience and dull skies became a calming factor, distracting me from whatever inner turmoil I was going through. Though things still go wrong on rainy days, I’ve come to realize that it isn’t a rain problem, but rather, a me problem.
Stephanie Zhou
Media Producer
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