It may sound crazy, but I didn’t start to appreciate the good weather in Los Angeles until most recently when I’ve decided to part ways with the City of Angels.
To me, everything here was either too much or too little.
The sun was too much.
The rain was too little.
And yet, two years in a roll, we’ve had some fierce LA winter rains.
That day, I had to submit the printed script on campus. I made a trip to Staples. Then mounted my bike as usual to UCLA.
It was drizzling.
Drizzle in LA? Gimme a break.
Five minutes in, the rain started pouring buckets right above my head, pelting against my face.
Of course I didn’t give in. I was dashing against a deadline and I didn’t want to go home now when I’ve gone this far. So paddled as I did. I shall outlast it.
Yep. Two hours later, the rain stopped.
Looking around, I was not the only sorry ass on campus who was wet. But I was pretty sure I was on top of the Drenched List. Everything about me was soggy.
Then, the journey back home.
Down the hill…
On a bike…
I empathized with Jack Dawson.
My teeth clattered.
My body trembled.
My will withered.
But I got home, alive.
I didn’t appreciate a lot of things in LA. Certainly not this rain even though I heard LA had been suffering from the worst drought in years. The rain came in time.
And don’t get me started on the Sun. The Sun was always mocking me when it was not raining. I couldn’t see past my personal mishaps. It was always about me, me, me, me, me.
Now I’m leaving. Soon. Hope I’ll be back soon again.
I promise I’ll treat you better.