I was sitting by the door, reading my favourite book, with the wind blowing over my face. Then I started to hear the pitter-patter of the drops on the floor of my balcony, accompanied by occasional thunder and lightning. The bolt reminded me of the thousands of flashes from the camera on picture day. Then I was reminded of an annoying memory of water leakages in my bus. Although it was frustrating when I was in 4th grade, it adds to my store of school nostalgia. The smell of wet soil, the sound of wheels on gravel and the slight sprinkle of water over my face boost the delight of the downpour. I remember when my cousin taught me how to make a paper boat. I wish I could teach the art to a younger family member, but now that everyone is stuck onto screens, I doubt I’ll ever get the opportunity to do so. It’s the differences in the generations and their experiences that bring us all together. In Roman mythology, the god of rain is Jupiter. In Greece, it is Zeus. In China, the god of rain is Yu Shi. In Hindu mythology, the god of rain is considered to be Indra. Despite the diverse names and powers, they all bring us joy by pouring a few drops of water onto the earth’s surface. Though I consider myself to be a science student, I like to believe in the existence of supernatural forces, but this faith doesn’t come in the way of my learning. All in all, the rainy experience was one of the best.