Complimenting Arrogance

one.

People look at rain in two different ways. At least that's what I've noticed. This separates people into different categories. Some people see rain as a hindrance. Rain kills people's plans and brings a grey cast on the day. While there are others who find the rain relaxing and peaceful, those same people often listen to rain sounds to sleep or sit by the window with a book in a cliche manner.

Then there's those like me. I believe I am at my best when there is rain falling from the sky. My mind is clear, my heart is lighter and my thoughts flow better. The rain speaks to my soul, whether it's a faint drizzle or violent thunderstorm, the rain speaks to me.

My mother often says it was raining the day I was born, though I can't say I believe her, seeing as everyone's recollection of that day differs. However, moments like this are what I appreciate the most. Sitting out on my balcony watching the rain falling from the sky in a strong and direct force. A cold wind like mist sprays my way, where I sit just out of reach of the raindrops. My red cedar swing bed swaying with my every movement. I only break out my daze when the music in my ears changes. The music switches from Sam Smith's soothing voice to the booming 808 of an afrobeat hit by Davido. The music in my ears was just background noise. Or at least it became background noise when my brain focused on the book in front of me.

Now the blaring afrobeat love song with repetitive lyrics was a distraction, conflicting with the tame and quiet atmosphere the rain was creating. At that moment, my urge to read disappeared. I closed the book, taking note of the page I ended on. Though, I highly doubt I'll remember it. I'll probably wind up reading the same chapter again.

I stare at the cover of the book, not really sure what made me pick this title from my father's big but old book collection. 1984 by George Orwell was the title and frankly while gazing at the torn cover, with pieces of the image chipping away, I made a mental note to find a different book to read. The premise and concept of the story leave me uneasy and uncomfortable.

There isn't too much disturbing about the plot of the book, but rather the self-placement I constantly do when reading a novel. The thought of being set in such a world as the one created by George Orwell in this novel leaves me irritated.

There's a saying that there can't be much growth without discomfort and that saying is true. But I know from experience, that forced growth brings even more discomfort which causes one to shrink away. Which is why I've stuck to reading sappy love stories that involve some generic and basic catch. Cause that's where I'm comfortable.

I chuckle at myself. Where exactly am I comfortable? In my own mind probably, in which I make everything seem less annoying and less burdensome. I set the book on the swing beside me, and proceed to stare out at the layers of rain pouring forward. Once again, the music becomes background noise as a ping echoes from my iPhone. I look down in time to see the notification for a text message.

(7:23 PM) Glaids: Olivia.

I can't help but feel irritated by the single text, but it's just so Gladis. I can't be mad since I know Gladis. Gladis' personality cannot be translated over text message. Being as she is my older sister, I've spent enough time with Gladis to get used to her ways, but it's often that I get tired of her simpleness and strictness.

Who needs parents? I had Gladis. Everything my parents were lenient about, Gladis made up for it. I always saw her as more of a nanny than a sister, and can't say our relationship is any more than that. I can't say I know much about her as a person. Sounds cold, doesn't it?

I don't know her favorite color, favorite food or even what she likes to do in her spare time. My parents began shipping me off to different countries for school, and she wasn't one to call or check up on me. The few times we did speak over the phone, it was a stiff conversation.