When it rains, it pours

I love the monsoon's daily downpour.

Two droplets of water hit the ground in near slow motion as a warning to don the raincoat and run for shelter. Moments later, the blackened sky opens and torrential rains hail upon the unfortunate pedestrian. The wind howls through the office hallway, rattling the framed map of Cambodia. Moto drivers pull on bright yellow and pink and purple polka dotted ponchos without even slowing down, and tuk-tuk drivers unroll forest green waterproof flaps to protect their passengers. A schoolgirl tries to shelter her Barbie backpack. The parking attendant at a popular lunchtime cafe chases after a customer, fruitlessly trying to cover her with a broken black umbrella. An older gentleman sits on his doorstep under a small awning wearing nothing but plaid boxer shorts. He smokes a cigarette, closes his eyes, and inhales the scent of earth that is only present after the fumes from car exhaust have been washed away.

The roads turn to mud and recently repaid potholes disintegrate back into murky ponds. The water falls on the tin roof of our office gazebo with the steady rata-tat-tat of the snare drum in a military parade. Rain is rhythmic, peaceful, and (usually) predictable.