Raindrops and Hot Chocolates

The tears and the rain seem to have one thing in common; they always fall when you don’t want them to.

The rain has been pouring for almost an hour and the world around me starts to get flooded. The wind blowing in the background reminds me of a time not so long ago – a time that I would prefer not to remember.

It’s in times like this that I would find myself wishing I was at home again – a five-year old kid sitting by the stairs, listening to the wind, waiting for the rain to stop, and secured in a little haven I used to call home. As the rain continues to pour, I see myself again in that afternoon fourteen years ago, sitting by the stairs with my elder brother. I was crying, scared to death by the thunder and lightning and clinging to my brother hoping that his presence would drive away the sound. It is this exact memory that would always flash in my mind every time it storms. It is this memory that makes me wish there was no rain.

Needless to say, the memory was of long ago. It may seem a memory of comfort, a memory of a brother’s love for a sister, but it is this memory that would often bring tears into my eyes. It is the mere fact that it is nothing but a memory and could never be brought back again. The thought hurts me and makes me hate it even more.

You see, fourteen years after that stormy afternoon, everything became so different. From that comforting scene, only the rain, the thunder, and the lightning remained. Gone is the home that used to comfort me, gone is the tearful little girl crying scared because of the rain and gone is the little boy who used to give me security and promised to build me a big house with a 24-hour lock system when he grows up.

Yes, everything is just a memory now. The boy is now a man and like everything else around me, so different from the boy who once sat beside me, covered my ears and told me that everything will be alright.

Every raindrop reminds me of the games we used to play, the hours we spent with each other, and the many other things we did. I remembered we used to make paper planes and paper boats on rainy days. I remember the hot chocolate that kept us company in moments as desolate as that stormy afternoon and the hugs that were as warm as the drink. I remember the time when we were both scolded for playing along the drainage but we never really cared; as long as were together, we were happy. I used to love the rain then. With my brother, it always meant fun.

But that was before. Home has long been forgotten, the memory erased but not entirely gone, and the hot chocolate has long gone cold. What can I give just to bring back the brother that was once mine? How I wish the pouring rain could somehow transport me back to that time of long ago. And if it couldn’t, I wish God would stop sending the rain so I wouldn’t have to get hurt anymore.

Yes, he is gone. In his place is a man I could hardly call a brother; devoid of warmth and recognition. His once innocent aura has already been replaced with something that is only a notch lower than ominous. His once gentle voice has been replaced by a booming nasty one. My source of comfort has become my source of pain.

Of course, it is now unlikely that we play in the rain and it is also impossible for time to freeze just to bring me back to that day, fourteen years ago.

I know it’s not impossible though to bring back a thing from the past. If God could send in the rain, He could bring my brother back to me. I am not asking for the treasures of the world, I only want my brother back.

I could hate the rain forever and I know that I could never bring back my brother’s old self. I could only sit by the stairs again, listen to the rain with my hot chocolate in hand and hope that one of these days, my brother would sit beside me like he used to do. Only then will the tears stop falling.