Sometimes we feel we are really bugged… We have this feeling deep inside that pinches our heart heartlessly. We have this feeling that makes us sit by ourselves on the balcony, staring at the darkness of the night. This mood that makes us sit outside, feeling the rain dive on our pale skin and wish we could actually cry our pain out…just to get it over with! It’s really cold outside and I do not mind it, though I have goose bumps all over my naked arms… That fall breeze is no longer soft nor quiet. You can actually hear it if you listen close enough. But nothing works tonight, not my 8.1 MSN version nor my tears that are just refusing to pour out. So here I am, standing on that balcony of mine, that little bit of luxury I can afford at this instant and I gaze, along with one single rain drop which will rest on my cheek and keep me company. And sometimes...we are really bugged.
That drop of rain comes from a distant land, living on a cloud with other rain drops. She’s not older than her friends yet she knows what she wants out of that cloud. She knows how bored she’d be when summer comes, how proud she’d be when raised to a higher cloud, how determined she is to fly and how hurt she’d be if she’d drop on asphalt. She has never really tried to fly before, fearing that possible consequent ache. But tonight, she decided to jump in… to take that risk of falling. She flew, from her cloud to our land… closed her eyes really firm, not wanting to witness her own self-destruction, her own encounter with the sinister asphalt. But suddenly she stopped… there were no smash, no clash and certainly no crash… That tiny drained drop of rain landed on my cheek.
That drop of rain comes from a distant land, living on a cloud with other rain drops. She’s not older than her friends but she knows that she’s more sentient than most of them. Some did not really deem it, others could simply not reckon it. But what really engrossed her were the little few who willingly denied it. Denying it is effortless but deadening it is unfeasible for there will always be that tie…that tie that just rebuts its refutation. And there she is, that miniature depleted drop of rain resting on my cheek.
That drop of rain could feel my sorrow. She kept silent for she knew it complimented my mood. She knew what to say but she was equally conscious that saying it wouldn’t change a thing. She knew that claiming ethics is way different than having morals. She recognized that knowing someone is way different than feeling him. She distinguished that having dreams is way different than living a reality and she discerned…that awareness does not spare disappointment.
I looked at her, and once I did, I instantly remembered one particular memory of mine on our last encounter with one Terminal teacher. She invited us over to her house and had a souvenir prepared for each one of us: A white rose with one specific unique quotation written on a piece of white paper. I remember Patricia’s revealing “Maudit soit qui dit un jour “Soit belle et tais-toi””. I remember smiling, not expecting mine to beat the previous. But once I opened it, I admired it for a couple of seconds… And then I smiled. I just smiled remembering it. That miniscule tired drop of rain smiled as well. She was relieved to see me smile. It gave her hope knowing that despite that entire load of profound burden, I still hold an infinitesimal amount of affirmative vigor. But sometimes, when our cherished lucidity is blurred, we become really really bugged.
That tiny drop of rain decided I didn’t need her anymore. She pinched my cheek hard enough that a tiny tear rolled down my face, washing her away with it. Despite that red print the tiny drop of rain left on my cheek, I smiled again remembering what that white little paper said ..... “Petite en âge, certes… mais la grandeur prime!”.
(09/25/07- 12:09am- Lebanon)