pitter

There's this thing about playing in the rain and splashing about in the mud with reckless abandon. For those moments you release yourself from being the cautious and pristine Singaporean and throw your toes into the waterlogged field not knowing what they'd touch, you delve into a whole load of emotion—memories of what was once called childhood. Pure, innocent, unbridled fun and joy. The stinging eyes from acidic rain drops are but temporal vision hinderances. You slip and fall, but you laugh. You get dirt moles on your face and a new tattoo of sorts on your body; your shirt is soaked through and begins to stink. You end up having to wash your own muddy boots and clothes (and even some chiding from the parents), but that tiny bit of satisfaction from mischief managed is as tiny a glimmer of hope that you can once again indulge in the days where everything was pure, innocent, unbridled fun and joy.