Rain and That Weird Feeling

Okay, I’ll admit it: I’m not a fan of rain. Or at least, I wasn’t. This morning I woke up to that dull grey sky that doesn’t promise anything good, and I thought, “Well, there goes another wasted day.” But then… I don’t know. There was something in the air. That soft tapping sound of drops hitting the balcony, the smell of wet asphalt, that strange silence that only shows up when it rains. It got to me.

I was making coffee—the usual kind, the one that tastes like “I didn’t sleep enough.” And while I waited for the moka pot to bubble up, I looked outside. Doesn’t happen often, but this time I really stopped. No phone, no notifications, no to-do list. Just me, the rain, and that feeling of… I don’t know. Something I couldn’t quite name.

I thought of my grandfather. He always said rain was “thinking weather.” He’d sit under the porch with a cup of tea (always way too sweet) and stay there for hours, not saying a word. As a kid, I thought it was boring. Now I think it was wise.

And then, while the coffee cooled down (of course), I thought about my sister. We haven’t talked in a while. I picked up my phone, opened WhatsApp, typed “Hey, how are you?”… and then deleted it. I don’t know why. Maybe it wasn’t the right moment. Maybe I just needed silence.

The rain kept going. Not heavy, just steady. And there I was, in pajamas, holding my mug and swimming in a thousand thoughts. Stuff like: “Why do I feel like this?” “Is it normal?” “Does this happen to other people too?” I didn’t find any answers, obviously. But I realized I wasn’t alone. I mean, yeah, physically I was alone in the house. But that feeling—that strange mix of melancholy and calm—I think we all feel it sometimes. Even if we don’t talk about it.

I don’t know if this post makes any sense. Maybe not. Maybe it’s just a way to sort through my thoughts. Or to remind myself that, every now and then, it’s okay to pause. That we don’t always have to rush, do, produce. That even just watching the rain can be useful. Or at least, it can make us feel a little more alive.

Now the moka’s cold, the sky’s still grey, and I should probably get to work. But first I want to write this sentence, just like this, without overthinking it: rain doesn’t fix anything, but sometimes it helps you see what’s missing.