A tiny droplet of rain attaches itself to my arm,
and tells me its story.
It tells me of its birth in the glaciers to the north,
and how attached it was to its friends, fellow droplets,
and how heartbroken it was when winter came, and
they all froze, as if suspended in time.
It tells me then, how it was the third to melt when summer came,
how the glacier, its home, melted into the vast, endless oceans,
and how deeply sad it was when it was
whisked into the cold waters.
It tells me how one day, after having travelled all the way to the south,
after having faced weathering storms, clashing cold, and drying autumns with new friends,
came the day the scorching heat of the sun caused it
to evaporate.
It tells me then, the feeling of being colloidal, lost in the sky,
feeling numb, as countless new droplets accompanied it, discombobulated
as it realised everyone around it was as perplexed as it.
An elder droplet told them it was the cycle of their life; the water cycle.
It tells how, suddenly, everything around it circled for days without end,
to finally form a cloud; not solid, not liquid either. It was content after a few months,
when it made a new home in that cloud, with so many brothers and sisters,
and some wise elders it liked to call its grandparents.
It tells me then, recounting the memory of crying its heart out as the monsoon came,
and the cloud disformed, and released it and many others in different places.
It tells me how wise it became, as wise as its grandparents, when this cycle continued,
endlessly so.
It looks up at me now, eyes wistful as it tells me, "Such is the impermanence of life,
enjoy while you can, for you are human, and never take it for granted."
And that was the day I felt grateful for all I had, and all I am.