A soft nudge from behind makes me alert. I reluctantly turn around, meeting two women embracing. Their expressions clearly show exhaustion. Humidity must have taken over, too. Turning back around, the dim light illuminates the small matchbox in my hands.
The deafening pitter-patters of the pounding rain, sounds like the applause of a protesting crowd. I gently close my dirty palms containing my diary. Giving in, I gradually drift away to dreamland, remembering my family and my sweet home.
