Pink Umbrella

Umbrellas

I love umbrellas. 

Like no other.

Maybe because I associate them with the jubilant years of my early schooldays. 

Each year, besides the usual Mongol pencil, box of Crayola, paste, and ruled paper all stashed in a brand-new bag, I also had an umbrella.

Mum wanted me to preserve my fair-skin looks so she had me use the umbrella on sunny days. And, of course, she didn't want me to get even a speck of rain on me on those rainy days. Thus, the ubiquitous umbrella. 

Weird, but that was how it was.

For sure, I looked forward to what my umbrella would look like. Perhaps, light green with white stripes for a change? But Mum always chose a pink one with flowers for me, a joyous splash of color on those gray, rainy days when I walked on Fountain Street toward Geronimo. 

I would curl my hands around its curved handle, thinking, The wind is trying to make it fly.

To this day, each time I hold one in my hand, I cannot help but grin.

The rhythm of rain upon the umbrella reminds me of younger days when I would be on the street, wooden clogs splashing the puddles. 

When it made me feel as if I were rising high regardless of the weather, destined to rise above and watch the clouds below.