Why not look through the glass instead of looking at the raindrops on the window?
I wondered.
It rained yesterday.
I was on the passenger seat of a jeepney looking at the raindrops on the window, on my way home.
It is not usually like this. I don't usually think of the rain as a bane to my existence or as an obstruction to my path.
I think of it as a beautiful lyricless song that one would usually play on repeat, the words would unconsciously form inside your mind, your heart making a lyrics of its own.
Because the heart usually knows something that the brain knows nothing of.
But yesterday was different.
I looked at the rearview mirror and saw the passengers at the back.
One was holding a phone, talking in a hushed voice,  another passenger was looking at me intently through the mirror, and the others were looking outside- perhaps, eager to go home or reliving their day just as I was.
Perhaps, it was because of my day.
How it went.
How I went to school and felt empty.
How everything felt meaningless the moment I heard that the person who used to be my friend didn't extend the same courtesy I would have given her by saying directly to my face what she wanted to say instead of going behind my back.
Coward.
But I, a fool.
Perhaps it was that.
Or maybe it was when I shared my problems to someone
And asked him to show me the brighter side of the picture
But he showed me how I was the dark picture, instead.
I, a fool.
Perhaps it was that.
Or perhaps it was when I decided to write a novel
But when I held the pen
It felt unfamiliar
Beneath my fingers.
Perhaps it was that.
Or the days that I have punished myself by remembering him.
Perhaps it was that.
Perhaps it was not the rain.
Perhaps it was the way I looked at the raindrops on the window instead of looking through the glass.