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My tummy was acting funny last night. I was already on bed, reading Tan Twan Eng’s Gift of Rain when I suddenly felt the need of having something warm to calm my tummy down.

I went to the staff canteen and made a cup of tea.

I sat on one of the tables outdoor and started sipping the warm tea. I was reading some random stuff on my phone when I decided to keep it away for sometime and maybe, I thought, this is a good time to contemplate.

It started raining.

The rain wasn’t that strong so amidst the sound of the rain drops on the canteen roof, I can still hear the soft radio music from the speakers at the corner of the canteen. The music seemed to blend well with the sound of the rain.

I didn’t understand the song as the lyrics was in Dhivehi, the local language. The song was beautiful, at least the melody, and there was something in it, something I can’t explain.

I found myself lost in the middle of the rain and the song, that I stopped hearing the voices of the people around me. I felt like there was only me, the music and the rain and these two elements filled me in with so many emotions, melancholy being the most dominant one.

Sitting in a canteen with many people around, I felt alone.

I have not felt this lonely for a long time. I thought I was so used to being alone but not lonely, but that was just a thought. A misconception. A misunderstanding with myself.

I unlocked my phone and browsed the images. I looked at the photos of my family and recalled I had not seen them for over a year now. I looked at the photos and recalled the good old times. Seeing these photos, I felt good and at the same time sad.

I wanted to cry last night but my tears weren’t there for me.

I sipped the last few centiliters of the tea, and hoped that it will calm me down as it did with my then upset tummy.

The rain stopped and the song ended. I started hearing the crowd’s laughter and soft whispers once again so I stood and left the canteen.