Yhem Speaks

Two days ago, I did what many of us do when life refuses to cooperate with the weather.

I looked outside. I looked at the rain. I looked at my appointment. And then, with the kind of confidence that only hindsight can truly embarrass, I convinced myself everything would be fine.

After all, how bad could it be?

The answer, as it turned out… was quite bad.

The rain wasn’t just falling. It was committing to the job. The kind of rain that makes you question your life choices mid-step. The kind that doesn’t care about your schedule, your plans, or the fact that you spent time doing your hair. Within minutes, the streets had turned into shallow rivers, and the drains seemed to have collectively decided they were no longer responsible for anything.

Still, I went out.

Armed with nothing but an umbrella and a level of optimism that should probably be studied.

To be fair, my umbrella did its best. It stood firm. It stayed loyal. It performed its duties with quiet dignity. For a moment, I even respected it. But I also knew that if the wind had decided to escalate things, we would have parted ways instantly, and it would now be living its best life somewhere several streets away.

Getting to the station felt like a small victory, the kind you celebrate too early. Because the moment I arrived, I realized the real challenge had only just begun.

The station was packed.

Not normal packed. Not even rush-hour packed. This was a different category entirely. The kind of crowded where everyone stares at the departure board like it personally owes them answers. Delayed. Suspended. Delayed again. Platform changed. Another platform changed. And just when you think you’ve adapted, it changes once more.

At some point, it genuinely felt like the station and I were playing a game… “Guess where your train is leaving from?”

I was not winning.

Announcements echoed constantly. People shifted in waves. Entire groups would suddenly stand and move as if they had received secret instructions only they understood. And of course, everyone else followed, because no one wants to be the person left behind on the wrong platform, staring into the void of a train that no longer exists.

I remember thinking that if I were new here, I would be completely lost. And honestly, even people who clearly knew the system looked like they were quietly questioning it.

When a train finally arrived, it didn’t feel like boarding transport. It felt like joining a collective escape.

We squeezed in with the shared determination of people who had all agreed, without speaking, that this was the only option left.

The train moved slowly. Painfully slowly. At one point, I genuinely considered whether walking might have been a more efficient strategy.

It paused often. Too often.

Each station felt longer than the last, as if time itself had decided to slow down just to match the mood. Every announcement made everyone lift their heads slightly, like we were all waiting for bad news we already expected.

And because so many services had been delayed or suspended, the carriage was packed in a way that defies polite description. Shoulder-to-shoulder. Bag-to-bag. Umbrella remnants still dripping onto shoes. Personal space had not just disappeared—it had been officially cancelled.

Nobody looked happy.

We were all damp.

We were all tired.

And we were all quietly wondering why we had chosen this day to leave the house.

In the middle of it all, I couldn’t help but think how quickly we forget what keeps everything running smoothly. Transport, electricity, communication, even the simple ability to move from one place to another without chaos; these things feel permanent until the weather decides to remind us otherwise.

Because heavy rain and typhoons are never just “bad weather.” They disrupt transport systems, flood roads, delay emergency services, and turn what should be a simple journey into something that takes over your entire day. And the truth is, most of us only realize this when we are already standing in it.

That’s why preparation matters more than we think.

Not in a dramatic way, but in small, practical decisions. Checking weather warnings before leaving. Charging your phone fully. Carrying a power bank. Bringing an umbrella you’re not emotionally attached to. Wearing shoes that won’t betray you in water. And most importantly, being willing to change your plans when the weather is clearly not in the mood to cooperate.

Because sometimes, the smartest decision is simply not going.

Trust me.

No appointment is worth standing on a platform while the board cycles through every possible version of “your train is somewhere else.”

Eventually, I did make it to my appointment.

Slightly soaked.

Mildly stressed.

And with a new respect for weather forecasts I didn’t have before.

Now, when I see a severe weather warning, I don’t ask myself, “How bad could it be?”

Because I already know the answer.

The weather once heard that question and decided to respond in full detail.

With Stories Always,

Yhem 💕