The raindrop must flow with the current, become a lake, become a river, become an ocean, and go back to the sky.This is an Open Access article distributed under the terms of the Creative Commons Attribution License ( ), which permits unrestricted use, distribution, and reproduction in any medium, provided the original work is properly cited. The lotus leaf tilts its stem towards the water and drops the raindrop into the pond with a ‘plop.’ A mother closing her eyes to let her teardrops roll away. Looking at them, I feel that holding onto each other is like walking on a slippery road, while letting go is like sliding on a slippery road. The leaf is a bit shaky from the weight of the hanging raindrop, like a sobbing mom cupping her face with both of her hands. But what can they do? The force of life is stronger than their bond. Instead, the raindrop holds onto the edge– tenderly, as if begging the leaf not to let go. I bend down and put my face to it, taking one last look before I tap the lotus leaf with my forefinger.Īs the little raindrop rolls off the palm of the leaf, I expect it to fall into the water immediately. It is time for the little raindrop to experience how life can bring terrible things.
In a few seconds, the raindrop will have to be separated from the lotus leaf, like a mother has to leave her child one day. “Why did you drop from the sky, and gently lay yourself on the leaf? You sleep like you will be here forever.”īut, it doesn’t know. Unlike the soil and leaves, which absorb water, the lotus leaf resists water and allows the raindrop to hold its original shape: a mother’s blind love for her child’s imperfections. I turn my body back to the raindrop, saying, “What a lucky raindrop you are to fall onto this lotus leaf.” If the raindrop had fallen onto different leaves, or on the soil, it would have dissolved into them and become invisible. I turn and look around my house, relieved to see that there are no punctured holes in my roof or windows. From the rain, thunder, lightning, and cold, I am safe.
#RAINDROP FALLING ON MY WINDOW WINDOWS#
The leaf jiggles to keep the raindrop from falling, gently dancing like a mother does when singing a crying baby to sleep.Īs the leaf offers protection to the raindrop, my roof and windows protect me. When the breeze flicks the leaf, the raindrop starts wobbling. It trusts this place on which it landed, even though the leaf’s edge marks uncertainty. Rather, she watches over the raindrop with her caring smile. The raindrop does not know how much trouble it has given her. The weight of the raindrop makes the fragile lotus leaf bend she is trying her best to protect the raindrop from falling into the pond.
There is a crystal rain drop lying on a leaf, cozy like a baby held by its mother’s hands. When the rain comes to a stop, I go over to the pond. “Croak…Croak…Croak…” I hear a frog adding to the chaos. In the evening, the rain starts drizzling, now sounding like, “plop, plop, plop…,” as it falls into the pond. Are thunder and the lighting bullying the raindrops that tried to get inside my house? Poor raindrops! I bend my head towards the sound, but the only thing I see is the white light tearing the sky apart with sudden speed. The loud thunder shatters my serene moment. Those mischievous raindrops could not have imagined what a happy day it was for the lotus leaf. As each raindrop lands on its surface, it bounces back off, and the lotus leaf patiently bends her stem while touching the ripples as if giving a friendly kiss. It has a soft curve resembling a motherly smile. In the pond, there is a particular leaf with a heart shape that is trying to catch those raindrops. From the frame of my window, I can see those playful little raindrops descending from a vast sky, mirthfully playing a ‘run and catch’ game with the lotus leaves. The raindrops that fall into the pond look joyous, unlike the angry raindrops on my roof. When it rains, I like to press my face against the cold window and look at the pond behind my house. Some kids may sing, “Rain, rain, go away, come again another day…,” but I sing, “Rain, rain, come! As long as you don’t get inside my house…” The rainy season in Myanmar has always been like this. I simply ignore them, and soon the pitter-patter sounds fade from my consciousness. It seems like they are trying to get inside of my house for shelter like someone looking for a safe place to hide from a mad dog. The sound of raindrops banging on my metal roof startles me. By: Alice Mawi Agnes Scott College, GA, USA
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