I came home from a meeting that swirled on the surface of things. Everyone smiled pleasantly deliberately ignoring currents that churned underneath threatening to drown. On my way home, I decided to pass by a mall to pick up some cash and some salads. I saw a DVD store and impulsively stopped to ask if they had Parenthood, a TV series I love but keep missing. The girl just gave me a blank look. I walked away rolling my eyes up to the sky.
It’s difficult to get this old, my friends in their 60s and I agree. We get very impatient and outspoken. We discussed this at a lovely reunion we had — one of my writing classes and I — here at home last Sunday. Our patience these days runs low and we get very direct when communicating with young salesladies who are not well-versed, who look at us blankly and seem to communicate their hatred for old people. Today I held back.
I got home, opened the door to the terrace and let the air in. Then I went to the tiny room next to mine and opened the terrace door there too to create a nice cross breeze. I decided to knit in front of the TV set. Suddenly, I noticed the sky had turned an opaque dirty yellow. Another thunderstorm, I thought.
When I was a little girl afraid of thunderstorms, my mother would ask, “Are you afraid?” I would nod vigorously. “Don’t be,” she would say. “That’s only your Pappy playing bowling in heaven.” A flash of lightning. “Listen, you can hear the ball roll down the bowling lane.” The sound of thunder starting, building, crashing. “He hit all the pins. Clap for Pappy.” Meekly I would clap.
Did I get over my fear? I think I did. But I have to remember that I always lived in areas that seemed to be fully protected from storms. Or I was abroad when a big storm struck. I was in Kuala Lumpur at a conference during Yolanda and would watch it on TV whenever there was time to go up to my room between sessions.
But now, I live close to the sky in a place with terraces on two sides. Believe me, sitting through a thunderstorm can be scary no matter how old you are.
I used to hate coming home during a rain and seeing all the windows closed. Why? I asked the maids, during those times when I still had them. Because the floor will get wet. We don’t want the rain to come in. Later, living on my own, I would know which windows to close to protect the furniture and which to leave open to allow air to come in. I love natural air, don’t like airconditioning. At most, I have electric fans. These days, I have ceiling fans.
Today, first the sky turned a dull yellow. Then came lightning flashes just outside my terrace, so close I thought they would hit me and fry my brains. But when I looked, rain wasn’t falling on my table out there. Water was slanted in the opposite direction. Then suddenly there was a loud bang followed by the sound of something falling and breaking. I remained frozen for around 10 minutes before I decided to get up and check it. It was the door of the tiny room that had slammed shut, taking along the heavy box I used as a doorstop and breaking the ceramic mosquito coil holder that was perched on top of it. I was going to enter the room to close the terrace door but the wind was so strong I couldn’t push the door open.
I was mortified. The lights went off then turned back on again. The TV died but then went on again. This on-and-off happened maybe three times. When I’m scared, I eat. I sat at the dining table eating macaroni salad. I found it either had no flavor or my taste buds were dead. I opened a small can of pineapple tidbits and put them in, then I chewed constantly, watching TV without understanding what was going on.
Finally, I was so full I couldn’t eat anymore. How can I eat so much when I wasn’t hungry to begin with? I went to my room and tried to play computer solitaire. Too scared to do that so I picked up my knitting again, looking out of my window often. You couldn’t see anything. The rain was so strong, the clouds so thick, nothing was visible.
Now an hour later, I look out at city lights way down below, wet streets glowing in the dark, reflecting the lights of cars passing, traffic lights changing from red to yellow to green just like other peaceful evenings. It almost says — what storm are you talking about? Everything’s normal down here.
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