It’s pouring outside. On days like this, going out would leave you soaked from head to toe—but I’ve always liked rainy days. I sometimes wonder, Why do I love the rain so much? When I search for the answer, my mind drifts back to a memory from elementary school.
My parents, who were farmers, would head out to the rice fields and vegetable plots at dawn after preparing breakfast for us. One morning, I rushed through my meal and went off to school as usual. By the time classes ended, heavy rain was pouring down. Back then, we didn’t have mobile phones, and even if I could have called my parents, they wouldn’t have had the time to come meet me with an umbrella. I waited for the rain to ease up, but it didn’t. So I gathered my things and walked home in the downpour. My clothes, my bag, even my books were soaked—but surprisingly, it was still fun. With a stick in hand, I poked at frogs and played with the wet grass along the roadside as I made my way home.
When I finally arrived, dripping wet, my mom welcomed me with a warm smile. She hurried to fetch a towel and dry clothes—even though she herself had just come home from the fields in her own wet clothes. After drying off and changing, a gentle warmth settled over me. Soon, a savory smell filled the house—Mom was making hot, crispy pancakes. After eating them, I lay down with my head on her lap. My eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted into a peaceful nap.
On mornings when it rained hard enough that my parents couldn’t go to the fields, I got to have breakfast with them. But the best part was knowing that after school, Mom would be home to greet me. I think that’s why rainy days came to feel so comforting, so full of warmth.
Even now, as an adult, I still love rainy days. I no longer return to a home where Mom is waiting for me—but the memories of those childhood rains ride the falling drops and gently warm my heart.