The Unbearable ‘Light’ness of Being
I sat on the car’s hood and watched the downpour as it soaked through my clothes. I thought of all the people who hated the rain, all my friends who despised the gloomy weather, complaining endlessly about how it made everything so sad.
It made me realize that if I were in a romantic movie, this would be the moment my lover would tell me he no longer wishes for me and I would camouflage my tears in the rain. A music video would have me singing about heartache as I dramatically sat in the middle of the street with the clouds roaring above me.
It made me laugh.
This idea that all things sad and gloomy come laced with dark nights and thunderstorms is so unbelievably absurd. The perception that all things bright, vibrant, and draped with sunshine are happy has no realistic basis. One may argue that the psychological effects of the color palette have a lot to do with this constant portrayal of emotions, yet it doesn’t explain why mankind prefers the night skies and the three a.m. hour to feel most alive.
Most people often look at me funny when I say I’m happiest when it rains, that I feel the greatest joy as I walk through murky waters with curtains of rain cascading around me. It makes me wonder why they continue to believe yellow sunshine is happy and that the shadows reek of melancholy.
Those who find solace in the stars or the dark waves of the ocean are made to feel as if there’s something wrong with them, that happiness can only be found in scorching summer heat or amongst the insect ridden flower-filled trees; to be a fulfilled and happy person, one must enjoy the daytime hours.
The unbearable lightness of being happy overshadows the serenity one finds sitting in their darkened rooms. The suffocating need to spend one’s days under the sun to see themselves as fulfilled disregards the peace that silenced darkness brings. It seems to forget those who romanticize the planets sparkling amongst the stars and the feeling of the rain washing away all the sorrows you have faced.
For me, there is no greater joy than dancing in the downpour that starts as a silent drizzle just to suddenly flow like the rivers of thoughts jumbled in your head. The feeling of stepping out in the midnight rain as the cold winds cut through my skin makes me realize the power of the air in my lungs and the warmth of my steady blood flowing in my veins.
The rain doesn’t burn my skin; instead, it washes away all that is left unsaid and painful to make room for the freeing feeling of something greater than I am. As long as the clouds growl louder with every passing second, there is a smug smile that begins to spread across my face and suddenly there is rhythm in my footsteps. The thunder stops scaring me, the icy winds stop bothering me, the dark skies become my friends and there I stand, unshackled from the reins of all things mundane. I forget that the world puts everything in a box; that there are set definitions and scientific conclusions to everything we perceive. There is joy in the gloom and storm that descends, a piece of happiness that I may never find elsewhere. The colors of the silky rays splashed across heaven’s door turn into grey, almost as if the angels need a break from this constant holy light they reside in.
There is no color scheme that I associate with happiness, only memories, moments, and feelings that remind me of all the life that I hold between each heartbeat.
By Srishti Sikka, for the Trans Solidarity Fundraiser