Recently, it’s been raining very heavily. Flashes of lightning, and then the occasional deep rumble of thunder. When I’m in my room, I can hear the wind whistling through the cracks of the building, sounding like a boiling kettle of water. When I go out of my suite and stand at the sky garden, I can feel the force of the wind as it whips my hair in its direction. Once, I woke up in the middle of the night to find half of my bed almost completely soaked and the brown ledge beside my bed (lined with lantern-like LIGHTS) completely drenched. Meanwhile, the corners of my windows were dripping water, which I eventually tried to stop by taping cloth to the window and putting a cup at the base to collect the water (all at 3am in the morning).
Now, it’s raining again and I’m at Starbucks. It’s such a perfect weather for a good night’s sleep, but I’m determined to have a very productive night before going back up.
While I can’t say that I haven’t been resting (or rather, slacking), I can’t wait for the day when I can finally just sit by the windows and watch the rain drip and form patterns on the glass pane, while traffic lights and street lamps take a bokeh-like appearance. Maybe then, I’ll finally be sitting comfortably on my bed with a book in my hand and a cup of hot chocolate without feeling guilty about not doing anything productive.
Then again, these have been dreams for years. If they haven’t been realised in years, what makes you think they will be realised in a few weeks? Besides, don’t you think that such notions are overly romanticised and are probably not as perfect as one imagines?
On that note, sometimes I wonder if my fascination with historical periods and events are idyllic… Perhaps I’ve just bought into the romanticised form of history, and perhaps none of what I’ve imagined in my head is actually true. Actually, I am – evidently – aware of the latter. And that’s slightly heartbreaking.