It’s raining outside. The rain falls in a shower, and it is bloody freezing. The sky is overcast and it is cold. I walked to a morning lecture through the rain because in my infinite wisdom, i forgot to pack an umbrella from back home. My hair was drenched but my overcoat, thankfully, was slightly damp. I walked to yesterday’s lecture hall to a subdued group of my batchmates. They were all silent and the smell of damp wool wafted into my nostrils instigating a massive sneeze. I sneezed loudly and I staggered to my seat apologizing and trying to excuse myself. My batchmates looked at me with disgust or revulsion, but I was glad that they turned away.
I sat through the boring lecture on an obscure topic and wondered where the Lecturer was and what she was doing now. I can see a sliver of sky from an overhead skylight, and I sentimentally remembered my days when I was a strapping younger lad with a questionable orientation. I remembered my frustrating walks through my school’s estate thinking about Life and Death, Love and Sex, but the rain drenched every impulse I had, so I was left freezing atop a mountain.
It is pretty much the same now, only that I am a grown man. The solitude is the same, the longing for intimacy is the same, the faults are the same, but the freezing isolation is so intense now. In my isolation, my thoughts and music are the only real company I have. I don’t usually drink, but when I do it is something terribly mild like cider or beer. I feel no need for intoxication, but I feel the need for satiation. One of my reasons for choosing the undergraduate course that I am studying now, was to isolate myself with reason, to keep solitary and build an island to live in. Most of the men in my batch (we are outnumbered, almost 2 to 1 by women) are islands, and very few are oases.
This Eastern European rain washes down through my hair and induces a fever. I long to be in someone’s arms again, but to admit so is to admit weakness, so I stand at traffic lights, freezing and cold, but proud.