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November rain

A rainy street at the Latin Quarter in Paris

I'm in my friend Jen's room, crashing until the repairs in Room F, my room, are done. This room is on the second floor, and the wireless broadband signal is so much better. Because I'm nearer to the roof, I can hear the rain.

I love the rain. I love how it drenches everything and cleanses the air. I love walking in the rain. I envy people who don't seem to be afraid of a little water, even when they're on their way to some place important.

When I walk without an umbrella, people worry about me. You'll get sick, they say. I often explain that it's not really the rain that makes one sick, it's the virus you catch, especially when you stay indoors with a lot of other people.

Some of the simplest unforgettable pleasures I've had is walking in the rain with a friend. I remember two moments from when I was in college, and one from when I was on a short work trip in Paris.

1. Walking with Mack one night in UP. First, we shared an umbrella. Then we ditched the umbrella and decided to enjoy getting drenched.

2. Walking along EspaƱa with Jimple. The whole stretch from Welcome Rotonda to the University of Sto. Tomas was flooded, and I was afraid of whatever was hiding in the waters (garbage and excrement, open manholes, electrical wires, leptospirosis and the occasional snake), but all I really remember now is us holding hands and his poems in my bag.

3. Walking around Paris in the rain with my former student Dominique, his wife Olivia and their daughter Sara. I loved Paris in the rain.

Now, Jen and I are going out -- yes, in the rain -- to get some midnight nourishment.

Happiness.

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