Rainy

I have always loved rain.

Rain, to me, represented a fresh outlook on life; a celebration. It used to represent the beginning of Winter (My favorite season), the way streets smell after the first rain pours down and washes dirt away, empty streets, fewer taxis, long walks under the drizzling rain, gasoline, warm and cozy hoodies, mugs of Nescafe, intimate gatherings with family and friends, classical songs on the radio, and shoreter days/longer nights. Nothing is more beautiful than a rainy, foggy night with lights spread here and there. I was born in October, so I celebrated twice.

BUT that was then, what rain represented, and what I used to love. That was rain in Amman, Jordan.

Now that I am in Houston, Texas, I am getting closer to hating rain by each and every June that comes around. June means the beginning of a muggy Summer, excessive humidity, gray and foggy skies, extreme lightning, scaringly loud thunder, rivers that form instead of streets, lots of mud, and dirty shoes.

Rain should happen only when the weather is cold, not when it is unbelievably hot. I really do not want to hate rain, but I swear another full-of-hurricanes rainy summer will get me there sooner than I have expected.