The rain has been falling all day. It drums on the roof like a heartbeat that refuses to stop, steady and unbothered by whether anyone listens. I find myself staring at it longer than I should, realizing how much the rain reflects life itself.

Rain is relentless. It doesn’t ask permission before it pours, and it doesn’t care if I’m ready or if I’d rather have sunshine. It simply comes, in its own rhythm, sometimes gentle, sometimes unrelenting, but always true to itself. And I think that’s how struggles arrive too. We never choose their timing, nor can we delay them until we feel prepared. They show up unannounced, disrupting our plans, testing our strength, and soaking us in moments we would never willingly step into. Yet, just as the earth cannot flourish without the rain, we cannot grow without the weight of struggles. They force us to pause, to endure, and eventually to emerge clearer, stronger, and perhaps a little more alive than before.

What I’ve realized is that rain, much like hardship, is unapologetic. It interrupts without warning, ruins plans, soaks clothes, floods streets. But when I look closer, there’s something almost noble in that bluntness. The rain makes no excuses. It simply falls, as if to say, “This is how life is—uncontrollable, inconvenient, yet necessary.”

Struggles mirror this. They come when I least expect them, when I am unprepared, when I think I finally have everything in order. They break me open, not because they want to, but because they must. And while my first instinct is to curse their timing, I know deep down that every storm has a lesson hidden in its noise.

The endurance part is the hardest. When the downpour lingers, when the sky shows no sign of clearing, it feels endless. I get tired of waiting, tired of holding on. But then I look at the trees outside my window, bending, never breaking. They stand through the storm, not because they are untouched, but because they’ve learned to move with it. Maybe that’s the secret: to endure not by resisting, but by flowing with what comes.

And then comes the part we often forget, the aftermath. The silence after the storm, the freshness of the air, the earth made softer, the leaves washed clean. Struggles, like rain, do not leave without giving something back. They may drench me, they may weigh me down, but they also cleanse me of illusions, pride, and fears I didn’t know I carried.

So tonight, as I listen to the rain, I remind myself: storms don’t last forever. Struggles don’t either. Both have the power to shake me, but also to renew me. And maybe that’s why the rain always feels like a mirror—it reflects not only the heaviness I feel, but also the quiet promise that I will endure. It reminds me that even the heaviest downpour eventually turns into stillness. Even pain has an end.

The rain teaches me reflection. The rain teaches me endurance. And tonight, it teaches me hope, that no matter how long the sky cries, the sun always finds its way back.

Love,

ANA 💋