convectional

i live for thunderstorms.

on a night like this in singapore, i would be:
sitting in my room with the windows open, looking out into street lamps as the rainwater hits the glass panes. shouting to Chance, who'd probably be hiding under the car in the porch, scared of the thunder, wet, cold and smelly. curled up, in my cotton shirt and shorts, sitting on my pillows, thinking of how beautiful the rain makes things...

but here i am, halfway around the world, in glasgow. in the library, reminiscing of home, of Orchard road, of clementi and yong tao foo and fish noodles and dao huay and being hot and sweaty, wiping the sweat off my brow, of looking forward to air conditioning, of having all my comforting things around me, of my comfy living room with the black leather sofa, of the ceiling fans in the 'upstairs-living room', of when i can get the car out again, when's the best time to go to St. Greg's, who should i ask out on my midnight jog tonight, or whether or not to head over to Ivanna's or Sarah's for the night... of whether i should have 'zhok' in chinatown or roti prata or sliced fish beehoon for supper, of whether or not i should go to zouk with the girls, of whether or not there's bought-breakfast for tomorrow morning, of whether or not weiming would be using the computer, etc etc...

first the thought, then the rain. cows on the field a portent of rain... what then, is rain a portent of??