Some days feel just like sunlight.
It passes by, phasing through me—giving myself some semblance of bliss. It can come in the form of a well-thought-out gesture, a friendly greeting, or a gift. By the end of the day, I would begin to feel that life isn't as cold as how I would describe it.
But as fast as sunshine illuminated onto me, it too had quickly vanished—for rain always arrives.
It is rain that ruins the image of peace—and yet, it does not come from the sky. It comes from familiar doors, speaking in ordinary voices while being inside ordinary words, until all the sunshine you've felt on that day dissolves, leaving a small puddle of what it once was.
And so, there I am, standing in a room echoing with words I wish I never heard from my family, wondering how something so devastating could drop down from such a clear blue sky.
It is quite a jarring transition—from the gentle warmth of the sun into the freezing, relentless downpour with no warning signs of it at all. I try to look back at the good things, to remember the sensation of smiling, but the water rises too quickly, soaking my clothes and skin.
In those moments, I question whether sunshine is truly real, or if it was merely a cruel optical illusion designed to make the fall hurt all the more.
Yet the weather is never permanent, that much I know.
So despite it all, I cling to the hope—I cling, hoping that tomorrow the sky will clear long enough for me to remember what warmth feels like once again.
Written by Shinomori
Shinomori is a dedicated campus journalist and contributor. Their insightful writing sparks meaningful conversations and keeps the community informed.
