Pumapatak ang ulan sa semento. Coloring it darker than it was before. As the intensity increases, I peek my hand outside my umbrella. Allowing water to kiss my skin. Eventually lowering the divide, I allow it to engulf me.
Memories of home flood my mind. Murky waters seeping into my belongings. Cold droplets suddenly become Warm welcome embraces. Swift winds turn stagnant and sticky As rain mixes with sweat.
I hear the roaring of motors, Whispered chatters of tsismis, A symphony of honking horns, Bells of sorbeteros, And Kuya yelling “TAHOOO!”
I smell the grease of fried fishballs in the air, Swirling around with the scents Of fresh pandesal and isaw-isaw. My mouth begins to water, Until stifling smog hits me.
I see the tiny tin houses crowded together. Colorful clothes hung up high. I feel the rough, callous hands of kapwa, Who have had to work everyday of their lives. I hear the laughs of those who remain resilient After many typhoons have torn them down. I smell the piles of trash; its stench diluted by the rain.
As the Pacific Ocean connects our coasts, The rain connects our hearts. Rainfall never fully dissipating Between home and homeland. Our stories unfold. Hangang sa muli