When the Rain Hits
By Francesca Duong
When I see dark clouds roll in, I feel an eminent sense of dread as the thick clouds become denser with water. The humidity that arises makes it feel as if droplets are tensely suspended in the air and are waiting for gravity to plunge them into an adventure to the ground. The gray atmosphere creates a sense of laziness and gloominess that lingers throughout the day, as if each activity is taking a physical toll.
Some of my friends absolutely adore the rain. They could spend hours reenacting Gene Kelly’s iconic dance scene from Singin’ in the Rain with a beaming smile underneath a ferocious downpour. My friends would shrug at the idea of carrying around an umbrella, and instead, fully embraced the potential of being drenched on their walk back home. They welcomed rain so warmly and optimistically – I thought they were crazy.
For me, the peaceful sound of rain drumming against the window could not outweigh the hindrances it causes. Rain has the amazing property of clinging to fibers and seeping through everything it touches. Despite trying to walk as gently as possible during heavy storms, the water consistently drenched my shoes and socks. I despised the feeling of water making contact with my clothes and personal belongings.
Rain, as wonderful as it can be, also has the duality of being able to destroy. It can stain white shoes with sludge and render electronics useless. To exert control in these situations, I constantly check the weather to know if I need to bring an umbrella for the day. Before coming to Korea, this action was enough. Yet, after arriving, no one informed me of how sudden and unpredictable rain could be here.
In May, I was in Chungjang–ro (충장로) one day after work in search of new outfits. The breeze was slightly cool for the afternoon, but the sky was crystal clear. I traversed the streets enjoying the vibrancy of Gwangju while glancing through the windows of clothing stores. Suddenly, something wet landed on my forehead. I tilted my face towards the sky; the clouds were denser but still relatively clear. As I started heading back towards the bus stop, I felt more droplets of rain. Yet, because of the seemingly calm sky, I thought the faint drizzle would quickly pass without worsening.
During the bus ride, umbrellas started to appear from the sea of people on the passing sidewalks. The rain was intensifying. In confusion, I checked my weather app, but the report gave no hint of rain.
Almost as if struck by a bolt of bad luck, the moment I stepped off the bus, rain came crashing down. The walk to my apartment only took ten minutes, but I was terrified of my laptop becoming damaged from the water. In search of dinner and shelter while the storm passed, I dashed across the street to a bunsik–jip (분식집) and gripped the door handle, ready to fling it open. It didn’t budge – the restaurant was closed.
I had rarely seen rain as strong as it was at that moment. The roaring in my ears was synonymous to the sounds heard next to a waterfall. Thankfully, the store had an overhang about half a meter long that protected me from the downpour. When the headlights of a car illuminated the streets, a layer of water was revealed to be completely flowing down the gentle slope of the road. Very few people were out and about; they were most likely hiding from the storm. I stood under the overhang with my backpack hugged tight to my body waiting for the storm to pass. Willing the storm to pass.
I stood there for over 30 minutes. The rain kept pummeling and pummeling. I watched as people dashed to their cars with their umbrellas barely withstanding the pressure of the storm. Store owners closed their doors and shut their windows to prevent rain from entering their establishments. Each time a car passed by, water kicked up from its wheels, and I stepped backwards to avoid the splash.
After a certain point in time, the rain let up. Not completely, but it changed from a strong downpour to a light-medium rain. I was nervous the weather would worsen, so I gripped this opportunity to return home. Like The Lord of the Rings’ Gollum hunched over his precious ring, I was hunched over my backpack fronting the attack of water. With one last sigh of dread, I left the safety of the overhang and took on the beast called “rain.”
After a certain point in time, I could no longer feel the individual drops of rain landing on my body. It all felt the same.
After a certain point in time, I stopped caring about being wet. My hair was wet. My shoes were wet. Everything was wet, except for my backpack. There was nothing else for me to flee from. The water was not going to magically evaporate into the air and leave me with perfectly dry attire; the water was here to stay. As I continued trudging on and on, acceptance of this fact slowly materialized. And in that acceptance, I felt a tiny bit of freedom ignite.
When I returned to my apartment, I ripped my backpack open to assess the damage. Even though the cover of the backpack was damp, my laptop was dry to the touch and still functional when powered on. I collapsed on the floor and stared at the ceiling, laying in my clothes still wet from the rain.
I survived, I guess. It was not as bad as I thought it would be, I guess. You just have to keep moving on and surrender yourself to the situation. Eventually, it will be over, I guess.
The Author
As a writer, Francesca Duong strongly believes in the power of narrative as a platform for truth and discussion. She loves lengthy conversations, being involved in the community, and discovering delicious foods.