Skip to main content

TÂM TRẠNG ( FRAME OF MIND)

                       

Today, the rain poured down like a relentless curtain, shrouding the city in a misty gloom. As I stood by the window, watching the droplets slide down the pane, I felt a familiar sense of unease settle in. My tâm trạng, my emotional state was once again at the mercy of the rain.

Even as a child I'd always despised the rain. The way it seeped into every pore, weighing me down with its insistent drumbeat. The way it made the world feel gray and lifeless, like a smudged watercolour. But today, as I stood there, something changed.

Perhaps it was the memory of my grandmother, who used to tell me stories of the rainy seasons in our ancestral village. She'd speak of the smell of wet earth and the sound of raindrops on the tiled roof, her eyes sparkling with a deep affection. As I recalled those stories, I felt a pang of nostalgia, a longing for a time and place I'd never known.

Or perhaps it was the realization that my dislike of the rain was rooted in something deeper. A fear of being trapped, of being unable to escape the confines of my home and to soak in the warmth of the sun rays instead of a gloomy chill in the air. The rain, with its annoying patter too was like an endless lament.

As I stood there, lost in thought, the rain began to clear. The clouds parted, revealing a pastel blue crown, a promise of better weather to come. And in that moment, my tâm trạng began to find its harbour, like the calm after a storm that never was.

I realized that the rain, like my emotions, was unpredictable and messy. But it was also beautiful, in its own way. The way it washed away the dirt and grime, revealing the hidden beauty beneath. 

As I turned away from the window, My tâm trạng was still fragile, still prone to the whims of the rain. But I knew that I could face it head on and not let it dictate the terms of my good temper... not held hostage by the whim of every blizzard, downpour or breeze that blew

Years have since passed. I thought about all the times I'd let the rain dictate my plans. All the times I'd stayed indoors, feeling sorry for myself, when I could have been out exploring, experiencing the world.

Not today, I thought. Today, I'll take back control. I grabbed my raincoat and stepped out into the downpour. The rain stung my face, soaked through my clothes, but I didn't let it faze me. I walked, feeling the rain seep into my bones and drench me from the roots of my hair to the tips of my toenails.

As I walked, I started to notice things I'd never seen before. The way the raindrops clung to the leaves, like tiny diamonds. The way the puddles reflected the sky, like miniature mirrors. The way the rain brought out the smells of the city, the earthy scent of wet pavement, the sweet aroma of rain-soaked flowers.

I walked for hours deliberately splashing my gumboots in the ankle deep puddles, lost in the rhythm of the rain. And when I finally returned home, I had transformed ! I felt like I'd found a new appreciation for the rain, for its beauty and its power. And my own triumph over it. 

PIC COURTESY: PINTEREST 



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION

This post is part of the Blogchatter A2Z Challenge 2026.                                                  CHAPTER 1        ABERCROMBIE LOCKE MANSION  The sky bled bruises of plum and cherry over the rolling hills. A full moon hung low against the mauve casting silver shards through the trees. The mansion made of cold greystone loomed large beyond the rusted iron gates. It grated on the gravel, rasping on the hinges and yawned open like a predator's jaw as Goldwynn booted it open with her foot. Her sneakers squished heavily on the mulch of dead leaves. Clutching her backpack, she looked up at the towering, grim structure forebodingly.  "Are you sure you want to do this?" her friend Lexi whispered, hesitating by the gate. "This mansion's totally cursed, they say." Lexi's voice was a thin thread. A chill crept up her back and she tight...

Moxie N' Mettle

                                MOXIE N' METTLE  In slivers and fragments as my sleep tiptoes, did I do right or wrong my heart needles… Some skies are born of black holes and tempest wreck,  There glitters not a ray of light, nor a speck When curtains turbid hold all light hostage,  Sandstorms, hailstorms, dust storms, snowstorms, windstorms assail and ravage Spanning my wings as a raging fire  Or as a mellow glow of a fairy light in the distant darkness, quite debonaire I'll ignite my spark from within like a star born into itself spurting lava Or explode leaving trails of cosmic dust like a Supernova I will be the Sun creating galaxies and many a constellation.  Or burn like a single flame of the candle to keep my hopes and dreams alive with determination! I will be at my own pace I will be whoever and whatever I want to be—in my own race Collapse, crash and crumble! But I'll...

RUTHLESS REVELATIONS (DAY 16, LETTER R)

                            CHAPTER 15                RUTHLESS REVELATIONS The Three Little Pigs stood triumphant in the whimsical cottage's living room, surrounded by mismatched furniture and waltzing dust motes. Baconne , Porkinn , and Swinedell grinned at each other, puffing out their chests like gangsters. Baconne swaggered closer to the makeshift bar. "You know," he said, stroking his shoulder, "the Big Bad Wolf wasn't so bad after all, was he?" His grin split wide, showing a gold-capped tooth. The pigs snorted, their belly laughs vibrating the chandeliers above. Swinedell poured three tiny glasses of wild truffle liqueur with a theatrical flourish. "Cheers to us!" he growled, hoisting a glass. "We wanted his posh cottage for ourselves. Wolfie mutt was just defending his pad." His eyes glinted like cheap jewels. Goldwynn's face paled. She stammered as she whispered, " Wha...

THE BIG BAD WOLF( DAY 17, LETTER T)

                          CHAPTER 16                    THE BIG BAD WOLF  The pigs snarled like proper rascals, fixing their cold steely eyes on the Wolf's cottage. How dare he refuse to part with his cottage! When the pigs demand, it's given to them---no questions asked! Porkinn limped, Baconne was soggy, Swinedell rubbed a sore bump on his head, but they were far from defeated. Swinedell snorted, a crooked grin spreading across his face. "Wolf thinks 'e's posh, don't 'e? " Baconne sniffed the air, his nostrils flaring. "We want the cottage!” He growled. Porkinn cracked his fingers, his sly glance darting about.  The pigs crept towards the back door, their footsteps silent on the soft grass. They spotted the Wolf through the kitchen window, stirring a pot of steaming stew for dinner. They kicked the door in, the wood splintering jaggedly. The latch gave in....

ANAM CARA

The waves are soft and frothy. Laced with gossamer frills tenderly kissing the tips of my toes covered with the grainy sand of the rugged seashore where I'm sitting, wistful. A gust of briny breeze tousles my hair as I gaze as far as my eyes can see.  A flock of terns wheel overhead, their sharp, shrill cries punctuating the air as they dive and swoop over the surfs. A lone frigate bird , its crimson belly dazzling like a jewel skims majestically above, its long, slender wings outstretched as it rides the thermals high above the ocean. I absorb the sights and sounds of the late afternoon while absentmindedly scooping seashells beside me. As the afternoon phases, the furthest rim of the ocean is fringed in a gilded hem and the sleepy sun yawns, its dipping glow streaking the sky in a mellow tangerine and warm cherry. As I continue sitting there, the ships and yachts appear --specks of light from the portholes glimmering in the distance, reminding me of the phrase “That ship has sai...