When we were kids, we loved the rain. The moment the skies darkened and droplets started falling, it felt like the world had turned into a playground.
I remember how, whenever it rained, my brother, our neighbors, and I would rush outside to dance in it. We’d run and chase each other, laughing and shouting like there was no tomorrow. We’d look for houses with big sandayong (makeshift rain gutters) so we could stand beneath them and enjoy the heavy splash of water pouring down. It was wild and joyful and messy—the kind of freedom only kids truly understand.
But of course, our little adventures always ended the same way: our parents calling us home, sticks in hand, ready to scold us for staying out in the rain. “You’ll get sick!” they’d say. We’d rush back inside, soaked and smiling, quickly changing out of our wet clothes. Then came the “remedy”—lukewarm water with salt, a homemade way of keeping colds at bay.
On school days, rainy weather was a different kind of adventure. We didn’t always have umbrellas, so we’d cut banana leaves and use them to cover ourselves. We’d huddle beneath them, trying our best to stay dry and keep our school bags safe from the rain. If the downpour was too strong, some of us would just leave our bags in the classroom—better to risk forgetting homework than to ruin our books. After all, if they got wet, we’d have to pay for them at the end of the year!
Those rainy days were muddy, inconvenient, and unforgettable. And even now, when I hear rain tapping on the roof, I can still feel that pull—the urge to run outside and dance.
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