Here Comes the Rain, Little Darlin'

I awoke this morning to the lovely pitter-patter of raindrops. The rainy season is upon us here in Vietnam. How calm and soothing that is. There I sat thinking, "What a pleasant way to start a week, under the veil of rain clouds."

It was particularly loud this morning. I thought perhaps a window was open. The sound was so clear it was as if it were in my room, as though water were splashing the tile floors outside my door.

When I opened the door to the hallway, I realized that it was quite literally raining in my house. There was a flood of water coming down the central atrium which goes from the ground floor to the top. It was falling like a waterfall through the open space from the fourth floor and cascading down the stairs.

I yelled. Not like a girl but more like an old man who had fallen and couldn't get up. My roommate, who was probably also enjoying the lovely sounds of rain, was rudely awoken. I headed for the roof and found myself in knee deep water once outside. There had to be a drain hole. "Where is the drain hole," I thought. I couldn't find it. I was like a lost puppy in my wet briefs.

The water was coming into the house even faster now that I'd opened the door. My roommate, with his broken leg and cast, was scampering along the stairs, pulling out buckets and ice coolers trying to catch it. "Maybe you can throw the water off the roof," he said.

I grabbed a large pail. I'd bail us out of this sinking ship.

By that point, it was almost useless. We were going under and fast. But at this moment of absolute despair, dripping wet and shivering, thinking, ‘this may be the worst way to start a week,’ I found the drain hole covered with leaves and debris that had collected over the dry season. I unplugged the entire trap. The sharp sound of suction was immediate and loud. Never has the sound of draining water been so comforting. There was a light at the end of the tunnel, and it was rotating counterclockwise.

Ultimately, the damage to the house wasn’t so bad. Just water. Everywhere. Thankfully the Vietnamese are infatuated with ceramic tile flooring, a matter of necessity I suppose. As we checked the wreckage, shuffling through ankle deep water, my roommate tried to look for a possible life lesson that we could take from this experience.

"Find the source," he offered.

Well, God is the source, and he’s trying to FML.

PS: It's been awhile since my last post, and I hope this tale of humor redeems me. I promise to try and keep up...