i feel most myself when it rains

hello.

there is a certain kind of clarity that comes with rain. when the sky darkens and the first drops fall, the world feels quieter and more deliberate. i find myself breathing differently—deeper, as the hum of the city dulls, the streets glisten like wet ink. everything feels more intimate in the rain, i am both more myself and somehow unshackled from myself, slipping into something looser, more expansive, more porous.

the connection between weather and emotion is undeniable. we are not separate from our environments, we are shaped by them and absorbed into their rhythms. i’ve always felt an acute sensitivity to weather the way some people are affected by art or music. bright, cloudless days feel too sharp, too demanding in their clarity, while rain—soft, melancholic, immersive—allows for reflection and solace. we often dismiss the importance of the seasons and weather, as though our bodies should be immune to the push and pull of the elements. but i have never wanted to be immune to the weather; i want to be tethered to it, to feel it in my bones, to let it dictate the pace of my life the way the seasons once dictated the rhythms of the world around us.

rain is the great equalizer. it washes over everything, blurring edges, softening outlines, erasing distinctions between past and present. it carries with it the weight of memory—childhood afternoons spent watching raindrops race down car windows and nights lying awake, listening to the rhythmic drumming on the roof, feeling safe, infinite, whole.

seasons exist for a reason but we have created an existence that allows us to move through life untouched by nature’s cycles. there is something deeply unnatural about a life unshaped by seasonality, by the necessary ebb and flow of light and dark, warmth and cold. we were never meant to be in a perpetual state of summer, of productivity, of endless motion. winter demands slowness. autumn invites reflection. spring stirs something new. summer allows for excess. and rain? rain reminds us to stop and listen.

i think often of the rituals rain inspires—the instinct to light candles, to make tea, to write, to play bill evans on the record player while nestling up with a book. the urge to stand by a window, watching and observing to feel part of something larger yet infinitely small. rain demands presence, in a way that sun does not. sunshine is for movement, for action, for performance. rain is for retreat, stillness, and introspection.

some cities resist the rain, recoiling from it like an inconvenience, but the best ones seem to invite it in, to fold themselves into the storm. they are cities where the rain doesn’t feel like an interruption but rather an extension of their design and the people who inhabit it, where the streets look more alive under a storm, where the reflections in puddles make the world feel doubled, layered, infinite. they are places where rain becomes an atmosphere, a mood, an entire state of being— where the grey days feel like poetry and the world turns inward.

perhaps that’s why rain feels so romantic—not in the grand, cinematic sense, but in the quieter, more essential way it invites intimacy. in rain, we become softer, less guarded. conversations stretch longer, silences feel meaningful rather than empty. to walk through the rain with someone is to share something unspoken, an acknowledgment that the world has quieted just for you.

and so i wait for rain, i long for it. i watch the forecast like a lover anticipating a letter. because when it rains, the world feels closer to the way it should be—slower, softer, more attuned to the quiet, necessary act of being. in the rain, i am most myself.

books for rain, melancholy, solitude

• the passion by jeanette winterson – a novel of longing, obsession, and the strange, shimmering spaces between love and fate, with prose as hypnotic as watching raindrops slide down a windowpane.

• rebecca by daphne du maurier- a gothic suspense novel that unravels the mysteries of manderley, a grand estate haunted by the memory of its former mistress, rebecca. the new mrs. de winter’s struggle with the shadow of her predecessor creates a tense atmosphere of jealousy, fear, and intrigue.

• the lover by marguerite duras – a novel that feels like a fever dream, soaked in memory and desire, its sparse, atmospheric prose mirroring the haze of rain-soaked landscapes and half-forgotten love.

• jane eyre by charlotte bronte- a classic novel that combines romance with gothic elements, following the life of the orphaned jane eyre. her journey towards independence and self-respect is fraught with challenges, including a mysterious secret hidden within thornfield hall. i will read this book over and over again.

• we have always lived in the castle by shirley jackson- a darkly atmospheric novel about two sisters living in isolation after a family tragedy. the story explores themes of alienation, fear, and the macabre, with a tone that is both unsettling and strangely compelling.

• the book of disquiet by fernando pessoa – an introspective, melancholic masterpiece that feels like wandering the misty streets of lisbon alone, lost in thought, where even the smallest details carry existential weight.

• frankenstein by mary shelley-often considered the first true science fiction novel, this gothic tale explores the dangers of unchecked ambition and the consequences of playing god. victor frankenstein’s obsession with creating life leads to his own ruin, while the creature, abandoned and misunderstood, raises questions about humanity and responsibility.

• the brothers karamazov by fyodor dostoevsky- a philosophical novel that grapples with faith, free will, and morality through the complex relationships of the karamazov brothers. each brother represents a different ideological struggle—reason vs. faith, passion vs. logic, morality vs. nihilism—culminating in a murder trial that questions the very nature of justice.

• netochka nezvanova by fyodor dostoevsky – one of dostoevsky’s lesser-known but deeply compelling novels, full of psychological depth and quiet suffering, perfect for the introspective solitude that rain evokes.

• a winter book by tove jansson – stories of solitude, nature, and quiet revelations, with jansson’s signature delicate prose capturing the beauty of small, fleeting moments.

• agnes grey by anne brontë – a quieter, more restrained brontë novel, full of the weight of silent longing and the comfort of escaping into a world of books on a rainy afternoon.

• swann’s way by marcel proust – the slow, dreamy unraveling of memory, perfect for reading while curled up indoors, the rain tapping at the windows as time folds in on itself.

• awaiting god by simone weil – a collection of deeply philosophical and spiritual letters and essays, written with an intensity that mirrors the introspective quiet of a storm passing through.

• the waves by virginia woolf – a poetic, meditative novel that moves like the ebb and flow of the tide, capturing the rhythm of rain, thought, and the passing of time.

films for rain, melancholy, solitude

• in the mood for love (2000) – wong kar-wai’s masterpiece of longing, where the soft glow of streetlights and the hush of falling rain create a world suspended between desire and restraint.

• 2046 (2004) – the spiritual successor to in the mood for love, soaked in neon and nostalgia, where time slips away like raindrops down glass.

• portrait of a lady on fire (2019) – a slow-burning, haunting love story set against the wild, wind-swept coast, where every glance and every touch feels as electric as a storm rolling in.

• hiroshima mon amour (1959) – marguerite duras’ script drapes this film in memory and loss, a love story wrapped in the mist and rain of postwar hiroshima.

• the double life of véronique (1991) – a poetic meditation on fate, identity, and longing, where the world feels slightly out of reach, like watching rain from behind glass.

• the umbrellas of cherbourg (1964) – melancholic and luminous, this film turns rain into music, into love, into something that lingers long after the final frame.

• my neighbor totoro (1988) – a film that captures the gentle rhythm of nature, childhood wonder, and the quiet magic of rain falling on a lush green countryside. the scene where satsuki and mei wait for their father in the rain, huddled under an umbrella beside totoro, is one of the most tender, evocative moments in animation—rain as a soft embrace rather than a storm to be endured.

• claire’s knee (1970) – eric rohmer’s meditative, slow-burning exploration of desire and restraint, where the shimmering lakes and stormy summer skies mirror the undercurrents of longing and self-deception. the film thrives in quiet, rain-drenched afternoons where unspoken emotions sit between conversations.

• donnie darko (2001) – a film that feels like a fever dream, soaked in autumn rains, suburban eeriness, and existential dread. it’s a perfect embodiment of the way rain makes everything feel slightly unreal, like time itself has slowed, twisting fate into something strange and inevitable.

• the company (2003) – an underrated, ethereal film about ballet, where the changing seasons become a silent backdrop to the unrelenting pursuit of perfection. rainy rehearsal days, mist rising off the streets, dancers pushing through exhaustion—it’s quiet, hypnotic, and laced with that feeling of being deeply in tune with something beyond yourself.

• the queen’s gambit (2020) – visually stunning, steeped in cool, moody hues, and filled with a quiet, cerebral intensity. beth harmon’s solitude, her methodical way of moving through the world, and the hushed tension of the game itself all echo the introspective, rain-soaked atmosphere of this list.

• normal people (2020) – soft-spoken, melancholic, filled with longing and missed chances—this adaptation of sally rooney’s novel feels like a summer storm rolling in. marianne and connell exist in a world of half-lit rooms, whispered confessions, and rain-slicked streets where everything unsaid carries the most weight.

• fleabag (2016-2019) – fleabag’s london is perpetually grey, damp, and soaked in longing. the weight of heartbreak, humor, and quiet devastation sits in the air like a storm about to break. the rain-soaked, priest-heavy second season? unmatched.

• lost in translation (2003) – a quiet, drifting exploration of loneliness and connection, where city lights blur in the rain and conversations feel as fleeting as a passing storm.

• fallen angels (1995) – another wong kar-wai film drenched in neon-lit rain, full of longing, loneliness, and the poetry of fleeting moments.

lastly, some music for petrichor lovers…

winter melancholic

melancholic forest fairy

jazzy cozy intimate

nostalgic and comforting

okay, that’s all for today.

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i love you.

bye.

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