riding in bus with storms.

On my way North I kept trying to remember the lyrics for a certain The Jerks song, and knew that I was riding my way into the storm. Looking outside, it felt warm inside the bus and I was wearing my jacket. This is when rain suddenly forgets to be gentle and becomes something else entirely. I never went down the bus during the stopovers. I wanted to be comfortable, I guess and wanted to sleep and hug the real Rain instead and it was a few hours and a short dream away.

The storm wouldnt let me have that dream, much less the sleep I wanted and instead made me brood like the weather. So, I caught up with myself and had a few words with a raving mad version of Solitude. Watching the hundred ravines as the bus wound itself up Baguio didnt help either. In between those visions of death by crumpled seat and flying glass shards, I wondered if the only things I knew were the things I didnt want, that the things I did want and want to be were indistinct, covered by haze. Like personalities in a dream, or lyrics to a song I havent heard in a long time, or the movie dialogue that would have been perfect for the moment or just that certain definition for a word that you know in your head but cant explain properly. Frustration.

And the storm outside expressed more angst. Raged, that it was more punk than grunge.

I sat inside the bus and stewed in my mind, unraveling a few years and some neglected dreams, looking at them, like dry analog negatives of some past vividness; faint dim outlines of dreams I once thought were going to change the world. Yes, youth, and the accompanying sense of immortality at times. The description of those dreams are still sandwiched in between words in my old journals.

Then I was at the bus station. A woman slipped coming down from the bus, scattering water and I rushed to help but I guess she could take care of herself. Or I was just too far away. Or I just wasnt fast enough. Then the storm hit me, cold and unwavering. So, I pulled my collar up, and smiled grimly.

If it was just rain, I would have walked to take some edge off the things that were still running in my mind.

I got off the taxi and was met with a kiss and looking up there was Rain at the top of the stairs wearing socks on her hands. "'mig, Papa, 'mig". Smiling.

The haze was gone, it was distinct and clear again. There are things in life I know I want and have.