How It Howls

I'm sitting at my desk listening to the wind howling outside. This week has definitely marked the end of Summer and the beginning of Fall for Hong Kong, I think. It's started raining, it's been getting dark earlier in the evenings, the humidity's gone from the air, and now the wind has come.

Ordinarily, I hate the end of Summer. There's something about it, even if you've been working through the holidays, that signify an end to all the careless fun you can have when the sun is bright and the nights are short. It means no more impromptu visits to the beach, no more baking ourselves on my roof with friends, no more sitting along the seafront for hours and hours, late into the night, made sleepy by humidity and happiness. Summer makes my insides glow.

But this year, I'm feeling a little differently about it all. This year, rather than noticing Fall arrive and Winter fast approaching and being miserable about it, I find myself welcoming it. No, I don't like the rain or the dark early evenings or the wind that's blowing so hard it's making ghost-sounds through my apartment. But I guess blowing away the cobwebs is never a bad thing to do. And so maybe, whilst Fall means that everything around us starts to die, it should also signify to us that it's time to wake up. Shake off the cobwebs. Move forward.

November Rain

I find myself addicted to this place right now, this weird place called Solitude. And just like any other addiction, it feels like there’s no escape. There’s this self-perceived length of elastic between it and me, and every time I try to walk away and free myself from it, it pulls me back. And every time it pulls me back, the attachment gets stronger; I’m growing fond of it. I’m starting to enjoy its company. Solitude is becoming my security blanket.

Yet at the same time, as that realization grows, I keep hoping even more for eventual release. And that Hope is what’s keeping me going – keeping the addiction from taking over completely.

It's like the difference between November rain and January rain. There's something about January rain that just mades me feel so sad, so helpless. The fact that it comes right after Christmas, after all the festivities of New Year. The pathetic fallacy of it all. It reminds me that there's nothing more to look forward to, not for a long time. There's nothing to keep your spirit warm; it's just cold and wet. November rain, though. November rain is different. When it rains in November, you still get cold and wet, but it tends not to dampen your soul as much, because there's still that promise of Christmas approaching. And at Christmas, all becomes right with the world again.

I’m more like November rain. It’s true, I haven’t been myself lately. I’ve been feeling lost. Some days. On other days, I just feel detached, numb. Those are the days I don’t need to cry, when all the tears have run out and I’m just… existing. I’m not sure which are worse – the lost days or the numb days. I wouldn’t normally be as public as this with my feelings, but I have to be, to try and make you understand. Because even though I’m going through all this, and I’m struggling… despite all that, I know there’s something more to come. There has to be. All my faith is in it. Because if there’s not, if you take that faith away, then there’s nothing here. Not just for me, but for any of us. November rain has that small thing that January rain doesn’t:

it has Hope.