In my long and (for my purposes) sufficiently eventful life of more than 30 years, I remember the time I bought my first and only umbrella for myself. My previous attempts of owning an umbrella had been encouraged by my uncle and brought to a culmination by my cousin – who made it a point to borrow and lose any umbrella that was given, gifted or lent to me. I realised there wasn't much purpose in buying an umbrella while he could still borrow it. Hence, I bought my first umbrella after I had already moved cities. This umbrella was however bought when I was back in Melbourne. It was pouring, I was going to catch up with a friend, and bought my first umbrella from a pharmacy at Melbourne Central so that I could cross the street to reach the café at the State Library. It is silver on the outside and green on the inside – folds up really compact, and is currently stained with black ink marks on it.
That afternoon I called my best friend and told her that I had bought an umbrella*, and for some reason it felt like the small step took me the farthest I had ever been. Like suddenly, it mattered to me if I got a bit wet or that I could suddenly not trust the universe to keep the weather under control when it mattered more. Now, however I have made peace with it. In fact it has been raining in here for a couple of days now and the universe brings out its rain and I bring out my umbrella and together we create a wonderful symphony, in a beautiful fragrant atmosphere!
*much to her amusement, because she hadn't heard of my phobia of umbrellas yet.
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