Illustration by Lee Enn

Dear children of Earth,

Hi! Yes, it’s me. Wait! Do NOT groan… hear me out.

I know you sigh when you hear me tap against your window, when I blur your roads, and cancel your plans. You call me inconvenient, gloomy, something to endure until the sky remembers how to be blue. Before you blame me… let me confess something. I didn’t plan on falling today. I was perfectly content drifting up there, lounging in a cloud, minding my own business but you need to understand. It’s monsoon season in Malaysia, so this is quite literally my time to shine! Think of me as a seasonal guest. Slightly overenthusiastic, a bit clingy (I know), but here for a reason.

I was floating comfortably above the Strait of Malacca when warm air rose to meet me, carrying moisture like gossip that couldn’t be kept. The clouds grew heavy, swollen with stories, until they finally said, okay, enough, and let me fall. That’s the monsoon for you — moist winds, thick clouds, and me arriving in bulk, not subtlety.

But if I’m being COMPLETELY honest… I also fell because I saw something cute.  A bright umbrella, slightly crooked, dancing down the street like it knew it was being admired. And then a flower — brave, ridiculous, standing tall despite the heat, pretending it didn’t need me.

I fell a little.

Actually, I fell completely.

That’s how it starts, you know. People think I only fall because of pressure differences and condensation, but sometimes it’s much simpler. Sometimes you see something beautiful and gravity does the rest. One moment I’m hovering, the next I’m rushing down, tripping over myself just to get closer. Of course, the scientists will tell you another story. They’ll say warm air rose, water vapour condensed, clouds grew heavy, and gravity pulled me down. And they’re right. But they won’t tell you how excited the clouds felt when they finally let go, or how I laughed when I splashed into a puddle and startled someone lost in their thoughts.

I came to play first.

I tapped on the windows to say hello. I traced patterns on glass. I turned streets into mirrors just to see the sky looking back at itself (for free, by the way). For a while, I was all giggles and mischief — until I noticed how tired everything looked. The earth had been holding its breath. The ground was tight with thirst. Leaves curled inward like they were trying not to ask for help. So I stayed. I slowed down. I sank into soil, loosened what had hardened, and whispered to roots that it was safe to stretch again.

And yes, during this time of year, I do linger longer than usual. The skies are generous, the air is heavy, and there’s simply more of me to go around. It’s not personal — I promise. It’s just the season reminding the land to slow down, cool off, and drink up after all that burning sun.

And THEN… there’s you. Yes, you.

Oh, yes! I hear your fake little sigh in annoyance too when deep down, you’re happy to see me. *waggling my eyebrows dramatically* You fall for me and I fall for you too. For the days when everything feels too loud, when your thoughts echo louder than they should. I fall so you have an excuse to slow down, to stay inside, to look out a window and feel without having to explain yourself. I soften the world so it’s okay to be quiet. So tears don’t feel so out of place. So loneliness has company. 

I know I make things messy. I flood streets, blur reflections, soak hems and shoes. I don’t always arrive gently, and sometimes I stay longer than you’d like. For that, I’m sorry. Sincerely. But I promise, even in my heaviest downpour, I’m trying to restore balance — returning what was borrowed, cooling what overheated, reminding the world that rest is part of survival.

But, hey! I won't stay forever. I’ll leave soon. I always do. So, next time you see an umbrella bobbing happily down the street or a flower lifting its face to the sky, maybe you’ll smile and think of me, falling a little too easily, every single time.

Sincerely,

The rain