There are few things I love more than sleepy Sunday mornings. Waking up shortly before noon to the pitter-patter of rain on the rooftop, laying in bed, enjoying the calm for a bit before finally stumbling into consciousness. Warm showers, fluffy towels. Heading to the kitchen to see who else is awake. Steam from the just brewed, just poured tea filling your nose, fingers wrapped around the mug, taking in the warmth. Warmth of the tea and warmth of a host mother’s smile. Sipping it in slowly, savoring the freshness, the heat spreading to your fingertips. Breakfast. Eat. Makan. Sometimes roti canai, sometimes nasi lemak. Others it’s breakfast left on the table by busy people. Sometimes it’s lingering at the table, stirring words into coffee, dunking a biscuit into a story. It’s always warm and nourishing. Food for the stomach and the heart: laughing host sisters, mewing cats, ruffled hair.  Trying to speak Malay, trying to speak English. Realizing language doesn’t matter when it comes to family. Breakfast is a time for family and food.

Rain. Pouring rain. They don’t have rain like this in the States. Skies are ripped viciously open to unleash their tears. They set forth a stream of unconsciousness, rainy day feelings. Rain in the city: grey sidewalks and grey clouds and grey people with gray expressions. Rain in the country: tilted head back, dancing between the drops, laughing as the drip drops hit your face. Spots of color: bright umbrellas and yellow rainboots splashing in all the puddles. Rain in Malaysia means jam. Cars lined up with grim drivers honking their horns. Rain in Malaysia means being at home. Rushing to shut the windows. Watching the backyard flood, the gutter around the yard turning into an angry moat. Rain in Malaysia means a time where it’s cold. It breaks down the wall of heat, cuts through the humidity. It washes the world clean, if only for an instant. It’s the silence after the storm. Silence penetrated only by the rush of the wind or the last drops clinging to a roof and finally letting go. It’s the smell of the air. Rain is an hour of cleansing in a sun-kissed world.

Just kind of rambling about life here. More quality posts are on the way.

Until then enjoy this picture of the sky before a storm  at Cameron Highlands