It was raining cats and dogs this afternoon, with severe thunderstorms and wild winds rolling over Melbourne.
I think this sums up Melbourne's bipolar weather pretty well.
When I was much younger, I absolutely loved being in the rain. At first sight of rain, I would change into singlets and shorts, and race out into the garden. Then I'd stand very still, shut my eyes, and submerge myself in the sensation of rain streaming down my face as water droplets danced and bounced off my shoulders. I was convinced that by not moving while being soaked in the rain, I wouldn't fall sick. Rain calmed and soothed me like a gentle lullaby as it hugged me. In that moment I felt born again.
Now, rain annoys the hell outta me when I have to walk in it. The feeling of wet feet is just icky! As I walked home today with rain bucketing down and my feet drenched, I was cursing under my breath.
But as I walked along, I started reminiscing how much I loved being in the rain. I was in such a hurry to get home, in such a mad rush to get my feet out of my wet shoes, that I forgot to look up.
I looked up at my clear umbrella which I lovingly lugged back from Japan, and smiled as rain droplets tap danced on its surface. It was a beautiful sight.
Once I reached home, I headed up to the rooftop and indulged in my childhood pastime of standing in the rain. Perhaps I've grown up now, as I rationally shielded myself under my umbrella.
But it felt just as magical as I remembered.