It rained a lot today.
It came in showers mostly, much to my disgust as I had to walk through it at university. I found myself quite annoyed at just how damp I was.
Only now, at 11.55pm, as the low, constant sloshing white noise picks up once more am I reminded of a childhood spent in another country, with different friends, more family members and no knowledge of New Zealand’s existence. Growing up in Scotland I experienced a lot of rain, and not by choice. I remember days when it would rain all day, the warm amber streetlights and the distant fluorescent brightness shining through windows constantly approaching, the only salvation amongst skies as dark as the night’s as I tramped through flooding paths and pond-like puddles on the way to school.
I grew to love the rain. The availability of fresh water in our society should never be taken for granted, but I lavished in the rain that felt more like watery clumps than the beads that rain down here. Much to my parents’ vexation I would stay out playing long after the rain started up (to be fair the lightsaber fights my friends and I engaged in were much cooler in the rain) and return home with my hair flattened to my skull, many streams running down my face like tears of joy wept by my forehead. I never caught a cold like that, as much as mum and dad tried to make me believe I would.
For whatever scientific reasoning the rain during the day here in New Zealand seems to wrap up pretty quickly, and then the blue sky returns until another shower later on. At night however, it’s much more consistent. Besides a slight lull in the quantity of the rain here and there, it just keeps going. I love this country, the culture, my friends and what I have, and I would never ask for anything more; but tonight, I’m sleeping 12,000 miles away.