The Storms of September
It’s 1995 and tomorrow will be Friday, the day you invite your friends over for a sleepover birthday party. It’s raining hard, and you can’t go to sleep. You’re torn between wishing it’ll rain harder, so that classes will be called off, or wishing it’ll weaken, so that your party can push through.
You wonder what commuters are feeling right now. The storm arrives at 5 pm, but it lasts for a few hours. You’ve spent nine hours working hard in a job you don’t like, and when your shift finally ends, you can’t get out of the building because of the rain. You try to commute, but your umbrella collapses, and your clothes get drenched. A speeding jeep passes by, and splashes you with a wave of water.
Like a bad plot hook to a horror movie or story, thunder crackles and rain pours. You’re stuck in the middle of Ortigas, and the one haven that looms out in the distance is Mega Mall. You’re drawn to it and head towards it amidst the heavy downpour. But once inside, you’re trapped, as the weather prevents you from straying. And within its labyrinthine walls are all sorts of wonders and pitfalls that distract you from getting home.
You’ve walked a few miles, bag in tow, umbrella in one hand. The storm has been reduced to a drizzle, but each drop of water is as heavy as lead. You take a step forward and you recall Aesop’s fable of the two crows racing in the rain. Your shirt isn’t made of cotton, but it feels like your burden increases with each and every step.