Here comes the rain again....

My travel alarm clock chirped into my ear as I lay sprawled out on my twin bed, wrapped in mosquito netting. Another restless night of tossing and turning has torn my bed into shambles. As I fight my way out of the cacoon, blindly grasping for the cool, metal clock, a ray of light illuminates my room into a golden hue. At least it's going to be another beautiful day. I toss the netting and mexican inspired blankets over my head as I swing my feet to the floor, rubbing my eyes and letting out a howl of sleep before sliding the little button on my clock to 'shut the hell up.' With a yawn and a stretch of my arms over my head I pull myself up to standing, let's get this show on the road. As I do every morning, I pull open my shades in a perfected, dramatic swoop of the arms, allowing the outside sun to brighten up my room. The palm tree outside my window is birthing more coconuts and the blue sky is patchworked with clouds.
I morning-walk to my bathroom and brush my teeth with the bottle of water I keep by the sink. Perfecting the skill of limited water brushing. It begins to sound as though my neighbor is taking a shower and I think, how odd. I've never noticed hearing that before. I finish up, spitting the last glob of toothpaste down the drain while sticking my contacts into my eyes. I walk out of my bathroom groping the wall with my hand, switching off the light, and the room has gone a sort of purplish-grey, the window covered with drops of water and the palm tree outside almost bent over as if to gather her fallen children from the ground.
That's how fast it happens here. You turn around and the rain has snuck up on you. Sometimes, a fog of smokey purple wraps itself around the mountains and you can anticipate the arrival; other times you blink and it downpours. The worst was the day it shook my building. A storm we, in the States, would call a tropical storm, is a mere whisper here. Electricity went out and the wind was whipping in and out of cracks in the plaster, speaking in Thai. But within an hour, it was sunny. The frogs were singing a memoir to the rain- an orchestra of themselves, and I was able to walk to class avoiding puddles, but dry.