I am a weather person. My temperament, interests, and even my little imaginings are all directly affected by the weather. What I would choose to eat during the day, for example, has to be patterned on how the weather is, and though I do not have the liberty at all times to be rather picky with my meals, peeking out the window to stare at the skies has become almost a ritual for me. The other day, somebody brought gallons of ice cream at the office but no amount of prodding on my colleagues’ part could make me eat even a single spoonful, since outside everything was gray and wet. If for instance, the sun is out, the trees are dancing, and the air reminds me of a summer midmorning, I would crave for tempura and chocolate cookie milkshakes, because a few years back that was what we always had on humid summer afternoons back at home, or at the long canteen at Xavier University.
Sunny weather keeps me cheerful whenever I’m indoors, and sometimes even under trees or under an umbrella (when the sun’s heat has not yet reached its smoldering peak). But the noontime sun usually drives me mad, and so does thrashing rainy weather. These extremes are usually worse on my physical self: I get annoying prickly rashes under intense heat, and I suffer from back pains and dry, peeling lips during cold weather. I get crazy whenever it rains after office hours are over, because that translates to getting home in wet high heels. But I do so love rainy Sunday afternoons, because that would mean lounging inside the house with not much of a plan for the rest of the day. Reading and sipping coffee or hot chocolate beats everything else, except when the phone rings and some girlfriend needs to have some pointless chismisan with me.
But rainy bedtimes have got to be my favorite. The thing with me is that I have difficulty sleeping whenever everybody else is asleep but myself; I have to sleep way ahead of the others. There is a certain eeriness to a silent late evening when everyone has gone to bed and all the lights are turned off. Of course I can always play some music but since I usually end up humming the tunes, drifting off to sleep would be an even bigger problem. But when it starts to rain, that’s when I would slide under the blankets in perfect contentment, the steady patter of water on the rooftops drowning my solitude away.
Today’s Friday was an odd mixture of sunny and wet – I woke up to a blindingly sunny morning, walked to lunch under scorching noonday heat, and listened to the rumblings of thunder by three in the afternoon. A few hours afterward, the ground was soaked with rainwater, the downpour slowing down to a steady drizzle by five.
But if the rains don’t come tonight, I won’t go to bed until I’m drowsy to my bones, and my head voluntarily drops face down on the pillows.