"Mother, why is my name Rain?"
My mother will just look at my pure black eyes with her graceful blue eyes and will just take a sip from her newly brewed coffee placed on the table. Though it will not take long until she replied,
"The rain always looks the same-mournful and dejected. The rain, whether during the day or night, is similar to the feeling of our souls: deep. Sometimes, deeper than we thought it would be. Heavy or light rains make the spirits in our body miss something that sometimes we don't even know what exactly is. Rain always looks the same, sad and crying. And most of the time it feels right to cry with the rain.”
Whenever I ask her casual questions, sometimes she fully answers me or most of the time, only utters a few phrases. I know she's in a great mood because she completely answered me. Her words are so bitter yet her face says the otherwise, thus I don't consider her words as bitter but rather a bittersweet statement.
Mother loves rain so much. Even when her face is blank, her eyes change into something different whenever I asked her about the rain. She'll beam at me like a child and then her eyes will dazzle like the stars. I wish I had my mother's eyes but I don't. But what I adored the most is when she'll unconsciously smile at me while talking about my name.
Whenever we are having a conversation about things other than rain, she will just stay quiet and listen to me talking. Even if she is sometimes like that, I still and will always love having a conversation with my mother.
I usually wake up in the morning once I hear my mother's light knock on the door while calling out my name. The house will be filled with the aroma of my mother's breakfast and my spirit will be aroused because of it. My mom's a chef and her dishes are the best for me. I will brush my mother's hair, having a black hair, I was hoping I had my mother's soft blond hair. As I finish my breakfast I will prepare myself and kiss my mother before leaving for school.
My school life is pretty normal, I'm not a nerd. Although I'm not popular, I'm actually having fun in school. I have few friends and my grade is average. I would like to call myself an independent young lady, always good at keeping things to myself and I hate crying.
As much as my mother loves my name, she despises seeing tears rolling down my face. There was a time when I cried in front of my mother, because I felt so tired and drowned. She cried and held me like I'm the most fragile thing. I felt like a criminal for accusing her for the bad things that happened to me and I felt guilty.
When I was on my way back home, holding a coffee that I bought for her, I saw my mother lying on the cold asphalt road with her yellow dress covered in a pool of blood. My mind began to cloud as I walk towards her and the surroundings became dark. When my tears started to fall, similarly, the rain fell as well. As I dropped on my knees beside my mother, the thunder roared loudly.
She looked at me with her gorgeous blue eyes. I caressed her face and her blond hair, trying to smile at her even I'm crying.
"Mother, why is it raining right now?"
- I knew what her answer would be
"Why do you love the rain so much, my dearest mother?"
It's my first time, and I hope will not be the last, asking her this question. And I think it's also my first time seeing her perfectly smiling at me like she's not dying in front of me.
Then I poured out my soul as the rain pours out on us.
The sky was with me when my mother was buried on her grave; it looked mournful and the rain started to pour as if those were my tears. I think my mother was right when she said that it feels right to cry with the rain.
On my way back home with my grandparents, my grandma told me the most unforgettable moment she had with my mother. It was when my mother came home raining with an infant in her arms and called her Rain. Grandma asked her why she named her rain and she blissfully answered,
"Because that was her mother's name."
