Where I used to stay, we had amazing rains and winds. My flat was located just beside a water catchment area so it has lots of greenery as well. The winds can be really strong during certain months of the year, so much so that you will feel its resistance when you walk into it. When it rains during the monsoon season, the skies are covered with thick clouds and day can turn into night. There will be terrific winds whipping around the building, and during the times when I chose to stay home during the rain, instead of taking a stroll at the void deck, I will close the windows till they are slits. The winds will be howling as they are blowing past. It can be rather eerie to some, with flat in semi darkness and the empty howls echoing through the empty rooms. Strangely I feel pretty at ease about it, I would usually be reading under my favorite table lamp, or sitting in the hall, with a cup of tea, stoning away, watching and listening to the rain. It was years back then, and I cannot seem to remember what was going through my mind, but I was definitely not a philosopher then (not attached yet); so I suppose I was thinking what teenagers think during their teenage years and dreaming what teenagers dream during their teenage years.

With the cold stone floor underneath my dancing feet, rejoicing at the arrival of the heavy rain, the blinding lightning and the accompanying thunder, the howling was not the sound of the winds, it was the sound of the empty halls, the sound of space, the sound of solitude.

And today, I asked myself what is the sound of the winds then? On the back of my mum's motorbike, speeding down the CTE at 80 or higher, I used my mobile to take down the sounds of the winds as we sped.

Upon replay, it sounds like the forceful flapping of wet cloth, like the hurried flapping of wings as birds take to the skies and leave the grounds behind.

Ah, the sound of freedom....