How I wish you would read these words while listening to the powerful and magnificent "November Rain" by Guns N’ Roses (https://music.youtube.com/search?q=november+rain)!
Tropical Storm Sara brought heavy rain to Central America, and in the valley of Zunil, I found myself under the November rain.
"Everybody needs some time on their own." So do the microdroplets of water in the clouds, wandering across the sky until they collide, join, and grow, only to be drawn to the earth by gravity. It rains in November, a month that marks the beginning of the dry season in much of the Americas—a harbinger of La Niña.
A paradox in the hydrological cycle. Unknowingly, it also becomes a metaphor for life and survival, after saying goodbye to a friend who returned to the earth.
If only we were always safe on this unpredictable planet, taking the time to grow as individuals and nurture our relationships with those we love. But none of us knows the day or the hour, nor whether the moment will bring sunshine, fog, rain, or strong winds.
"When I look into your eyes", I can see the horror contained in the three seconds that span the gap between salvation and death.
You inhale deeply and hold your breath, as if submerging underwater. But your response will always be too slow—the danger is already here.
"Nothin' lasts forever."
You feel the rear tires skidding as you take the curve on wet asphalt, pushing the limits of safe speed. The steering wheel betrays you, as if the vehicle were sliding on mud or slush. There is no control, only the despair of inevitability: objects and living beings are coming toward you, unaware of the catastrophe about to unfold.
Your eyelids widen to their fullest, your pupils dilate—a primal response to fear. It’s that sensation of staring straight ahead while everything slips through your fingers like water.
You shout:"OH NO! NO! NO!"
And for an instant, you feel the presence of the one you love, their memory cutting through the fear.
You approach the center divider, stripped of barriers, leaving only emptiness—another casualty of corruption. You are at the mercy of the heavy and light vehicles speeding toward you.
"And it’s hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain."
This is human fragility, caught between hope and despair.
Then you see it: a frightened man in his white car, stranded in the center of the two lanes, surrounded by wild grass. Freshly cut branches take the place of reflective triangles, a makeshift warning of the danger.
What brought him there? A mistake, a rush, anger turned inward, exhaustion—or simply the fragility of being human?
Whatever the reason, I am grateful he is alive. Perhaps life gave him another chance. Perhaps he will tell his story so someone will hear it—and save their own life.
The candle remains lit, even as it flickers under the rain. You grip the wheel tightly, retaking control despite the fear, the imminent danger, the proximity to the ultimate.
The left tires fall onto the opposing lane, spinning helplessly, until a sharp turn and a burst of acceleration bring you back to the correct side.
You will never know if it was your reflexes, your experience, the car’s technology, instinct, luck, providence—or a mix of all these—that kept you from flipping over or crashing head-on. You return to the road and continue your journey. Safe.
Was it real? Or was it an imagined moment as you passed the white car and its distraught driver?
The ache in your calf and shin, the strain in the hand that gripped the wheel, speaks to you—a physical echo that refuses to fade.
Don’t delay. Go. Persevere. Believe. And if you have someone, tell them: "So never mind the darkness, we still can find a way, 'cause nothin’ lasts forever, even cold November rain."
(Marco Morales, The Doctor Water. Guatemala, November 17, 2024).
This op-ed was published on 11/18/2024 in La Hora: https://lahora.gt/opinion/marco-morales/2024/11/18/lluvia-de-noviembre/
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