Ah, the rains, those monstrous, torrential thunderstorms, majestic, breathtaking displays of nature's might and fury, as the gusty winds blew, the falling rain danced across the skies, the chill in the air sending shivers down my spine.

There's something special about monsoonal rains, the violence of the storm and the dramatic darkness that precedes them, that leaves me staring at the storm, mouth wide open, in awe and wonder.

Gloomy as the weather may be, as the storms may be, they never cease to excite me.

The air smells crisp and cool, even chilly, in the storms, the falling rain mixing with everything else in the air to give a scent, even if it's slightly pungent, ever so special.

And as I stand, staring at the storms, taking deep whiffs of the fragrant, cool air, memories of all sorts always come back to me, inevitably, as I look on at the puddles of water forming outside, at the ripples and patterns formed in the little pools of water.

Memories of times, good and bad, happy and sad, all come flooding back to me, whenever a storm unleashes its full fury.

Memories of times in school, in JC, when I was snugly in the library, mugging away for my exams; memories of times in Chinese High, when we used to foolishly run across the carpark in torrential rains to the hostel to have lunch; memories of so many, so many times past.

The rain. Ah. I love the rain.