It's raining fobs.

As much as I don't like to admit it, I've been in a bit of a rut lately. First, it's the semester system; I'm used to having everything shoved down my throat in ten succinct weeks and having the academic window of time stretch beyond and beyond what I'm used to is killing me. I've been tired, lazy, uninspired and prone to more disgruntled behavior than I am used to. Furthermore, I have been obsessing over things that are beyond my present control and I do not like how it is robbing me of my present happiness.

But things aren't so bad. It rained today, and not only that, there was a thunderstorm.

One thing that is great about Sinapore is how nutty the weather is. This little island country has the most schizophrenic weather ever--hot and humid one minute, raining cats and dogs the next. It is as though the fucked up weather is a subconscious compensation for everything else that is so strict and regulated in this country.

Singapore, by the way, has the highest incidence of people being struck by lightning.

I've always had a romanticized love for rain. Rain is a great aesthetic, cinematic and literary device for heightening emotions in dramatic situations. Lovers look hotter and more desperate when they make out with wet hair and drenching, near-transparent clothing. The background sound of rain makes music sound better, tea taste better and conversations more meaningful. When I am bored out of my mind in the afterlife and I make a top ten list of all the physical sensations I will miss from living on this earth, one of them will be waking up and falling asleep to the sound of rain.

And this is what happened today; I woke up to rain and thunderstorm, and for some reason, the burden of all the mundane and not-so-mundane things that have been bothering me felt temporarily lighter.

I was walking to class in this weather and it was raining so hard it was practically pounding holes into the flimsy, fobby umbrella I bought for three dollars at the local supermarket months before. The flash of lightning and roll of thunder were so close together I was afraid I was going to get burnt to a crisp. Even with the umbrella and all, my feet, my hair and my clothes were completely soaked.

It was glorious. Make-out buddy or no make-out buddy.

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Akira Kurosawa likes rain. I can't believe it took me almost twenty-two years to finally sit through an entire Kurosawa film, but better late than never, right?

Rashomon has always been one of those movies that has been floating in the back of my head under the category of "MUST WATCH BEFORE I DIE" and for the lack of a better description, it kicks ass. You are getting yourself immersed into the storyline and just when you start thinking Kurosawa is so brilliant and awesome and he couldn't possibly be any more brilliant and awesome, POW! He pulls something else out of his sleeve that makes everything all the more brilliant and awesome. It keeps going on like this for the whole duration of the movie. I think I needed to smoke a cigarette when I was done.

In conclusion, I need to watch more of his movies. Gotta love a man who loves his rain.

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Last weekend, Toubi dyed my hair and cut my bangs and as a result, I look very .... Japanese. I look like an underage fob! I am both pleased and disturbed by the final outcome.