Childhood and Rainy Weather: Remembering My Younger Years In A Puddle

I remember how I childishly begged my parents to permit me to play in the rain during my childhood years. The sound of children’s laughter in our neighborhood—already outside, drenched and joyful—would make me feel left out of that exciting play. I would cry a bucket the whole day whenever I was not given permission. Back then, the rain was not just a simple waterdrops falling from the sky but also a playground and a safe space where I could be free and move without worries.

Many things bring us back to our childhood as adults. It could be an old diary filled with innocent handwriting, a scar that holds a story, or the sight of an old house that once sheltered our laughter. But for me, nothing beats rainy weather in awakening the child within me. Every drop of rain that touches the very ground of the old earth carries a memento of my early years—those times of innocence, simplicity, and wonder.

Everytime the rain starts to fall in our roof, I can always almost hear the familiar voices again that I have played with in our old neighbourhood. The shouts of my friends calling each other to play outside, the splashing of feet on little muddy puddles, and the creak of soaked slippers on the footpath. We would play Filipino games barefoot on the ground, running freely without caring about the cold we might get afterwards. The smell of wet grass from the neighbourhood's landscape, already mixed with the scent of rainwater on concrete would fill the atmosphere as we play and I would laugh until my stomach hurt and then my friends would laugh because of how I laugh.That's just some of my early memories in playing under the rain and I never thought of grasping on these memories as an adult—that these memories keep me alive and grounded.

In the present, as I stand by the balcony of our house, watching the rain pour kindly over the streets, I can’t help but feel an honest and deep sense of nostalgia. It feels like a friend who just passedby in the house to remind me of those days—of how silly I was and kind to the world.

As I keep recollecting of my childhood years today, I remember some of the photos I took during random days of my life. This one above shows a group of students in a school I was deployed for OJT, playing under the rain. I remember how vibrant their faces are and how bright it was with laughter. To be honest, I saw myself in them. It felt like time folded back, and for a moment, I was there again—carefree and happy.

The rain has always been my bridge between past and present. It has always been a gentle reminder of the memories I carry but didn’t know I still remembered. It reminds me that happiness doesn’t always come from big things. Sometimes, it comes from moments as simple as running under the rain just like what I did before with my childhood friends.

Even now, when the world feels hefty and life becomes more serious than I knew, the rain brings me back to that childlike joy and of that wonder. It teaches me to stop for a moment, to breathe, and to remember that there was once a version of me who knew how to find wonder in little things and glory. Maybe that’s what nostalgia really is.It is a way for our hearts to visit home without leaving where we are and meeting the younger version of ourselves without going back to who we were.

Cold, sleepy, and a day for hibernating—this is how others might describe rainy weather. But for me, it is something else. It is nostalgic, playful, and full of life. Every drop that falls is a memory returning to say hello, and asking me kindly, “Do you remember?”

A Piece Written In The Rain