Rain

Ever since I can remember, I have always loved the rains. Some of my earliest memories are the sound of rain drops hitting our roof years and years ago. I also remember playing in our garden during the rainy season. The harder the rain was, the more fun I had.

As adult, I didn’t outgrow playing in the rain. During storms, I would play with our dog, who loved the water as much as I did. And when it was time to sleep, the sound of water drumming on our metal roof would soothe me to sleep.

Unfortunately, that all ended a decade ago when my father ran off. He took all his things and left us with unpaid bills close to three quarters of a million. He had boasted to everyone about making our house look good, but the repairs were only on the front of the house. Everything neighbors or guests could not see was hardly touched.

When the rainy season came once again, it wasn’t the same soothing companion in years past. This time, it was indifferent and even angry as it sought the cracks and rusted holes of the roof.

It started off as just a few drops ticking on the ceiling. But as time went on, the sound of droplets turned into gushing water, similar to an open faucet.

When our ceilings could not hold back and absorb the water anymore, it started to warp. It was at the tips of the sagging wood were the water would slowly trickle down to rooms on the second floor. To keep our floors from getting wet, we’d put all our pails and basins underneath to collect all the water.

It held for a few months, but we knew that if the rains didn’t stop, things would get worse. Still, we tried to make light of things, joking and laughing about it. Thankfully, the first year of was not too wet. The rainy season only lasted a while, and we got through alright.

The second year saw the roof and ceilings increase in damage, as more water entered. We now had to keep emptying the pails and basins regularly. And because of this, we didn’t get much sleep.

As time went on, it only got worse. Our cabinets and other furniture on the second floor would now get soaked. We’d nail plastic bags to the ceilings in efforts to divert the water to containers.

But the worst part of it was the cockroaches and rats. They loved to feast on the rotting wood that was once white ceilings. During the rainy season, their sound would be drowned out by the rain. But when the rains took a break, you could hear them chewing and scratching away at the wood above us.

It got so loud that I could not sleep anymore. It was something out of a horror picture during the day; something out of hell during the night time.

When the wind blew, we could smell the stench they made as they gorged themselves. We’d lay out traps and spray insecticide, but they were only temporary. They would be washed away once the rains came again. And as they dripped down the walls and cabinets, the smell of insecticide would be added to the stench.

Together, the roaches, rats, and rain ate away at the ceiling and roof of my room. It got so bad that my bathroom became a shower of water and rotting wood every time it would rain. And when it started to block the drains, the water would overflow in to my room.

I remember rushing home one night to anguished moans of my mother as the bathroom ceiling finally collapsed. Thankfully, she was not under it when it happened.

With the ceiling’s collapse, came all the roaches and rat droppings. Water was inches high in my room and it started to leak on to the ground floor trickling down our dining room chandelier.

I remember my poor mother helping me scoop up water into the pails with a dust pan. I remember my girlfriend help my brother mop up the water. And in between all of this, my brother and I would pick up rapidly filled buckets and basins to throw its contents out the closest openings.

As my father enjoyed the air-conditioned apartment, we wallowed in water mixed with roach and rat feces. While he told everyone he left us with money, we swam in the debt he left us. While he flew to other countries to live it up, we didn’t have the money to even have our roof patched.

No one but the four of us was there to help. It was just my Mom, brother, girlfriend, and myself. Even my dog was at the end of his rope, showing signs of emotional wear.

After years of hardship, my brother was finally able to dip in to his savings. The problem that prevented him from doing so, loosened its hold and released some cash. Once freed, the first thing he did was make a down payment for the repairs.

He found repairmen to fix the roof. While my mother found a carpenter to work on the ceiling. Though the workers for the roof were allotted for, we needed cash for the ceilings.

I was relieved when my cash finally came in, allowing the repairs proceeded unhampered. We were very fortunate that everything was done before the rains came for that year.

I remember the first night the rains came once more. None of us slept that evening. I would be walking around the house checking on every room for leaks. My mother and brother would not sleep either, waiting for the tiny dribbling of water on our ceilings. But it held.

It’s been three years since the rains encroached in to our lives. The scars still exist throughout our home. Cabinets and wooden floors are severely warped. Walls and furniture are discolored. And I have never looked at rain the same way again.

I still like playing in the garden with my dog. And we are now joined by my girlfriend, who I married a few years ago. But the rains, which I once saw to be gentle caressing fingers of nature, are now viewed warily.