Pedaling Between Worlds: Rainy days and crosswinds
The drizzle starts just as I push off the curb near Main Quad, a scattered mist that cools my cheeks and blurs the edge of the afternoon. The orange leaves of fall skitter across the pavement like small warnings, darting under my wheels. Some I manage to swerve around, others brush past my face or nestle in my hair. Then there are those that crack and fold beneath my bicycle’s wheels, tiny obstacles that keep me pedaling harder.
The air grows colder as I cycle the narrow, moist road around Meyer Green and up Santa Teresa Lane. A spray of water leaps up from a passing car and soaks my socks, seeping through the fabric. The sting reminds me of the sore throat I came down with midway through the quarter, an effect of the changing weather, colder than it has ever been back in Guyana. The water doesn’t ask permission, it just hits. And still, I keep pedaling.
Soon, the drizzle thickens into something steadier. Droplets cling to my glasses and my backpack. For a moment, I immerse myself in a day of navigating Guyana’s rainy season, a signal that Christmas is fast-approaching. I remember seeing people walking with open umbrellas, shoes splashing the flooded pavements, and the fruit and bread stalls at Stabroek Market wrapped tightly in protective blue and silver tarpaulin. I particularly enjoyed driving by the seawall, watching the sky stretch dark and low over the ocean’s horizon. When I passed there, the Atlantic always seemed restless and close, slapping the rocks and recovering mangroves with a force that echoed water’s power. I loved watching the rain bead down the glass of my family’s car and the excitement of a rainy-day culture unique to my country.
A crosswind barrels down the sloping road and balloons my jacket out behind me, bringing me back to reality. For a second, it tilts me off-center, slipping my foot off the pedal as if it wants to knock me out of rhythm entirely. Rain starts to whip my hair back, streaking down the sides of my face like tears. Then the real tears come: emotional crosswinds from missing milestone birthdays and connections with relatives after Sunday mass or from reading a message from home that thickens the distance. The tears come from watching my younger siblings mature while I’m away and seeing their lives through photos. They come from being the only Caribbean student in a room and wondering whether to explain a reference or let it pass.
Around me, other students ride with their heads tucked low, bikes splashing through puddles, gears clicking. In a way, their hustle is similar to the bustle back home: cars swerving around each other in the rain, schoolchildren hopping over mud puddles to keep their shoes clean, people waving down minibuses with umbrellas half-open. I see the same drive here to keep pushing through life. Uphill, downhill, pedaling forward all the same.
By the time I turn toward my dorm, my fingers are stiff, my socks damp, my breath sharp in the cold. But the smell after the rain, wet earth and something metallic, wraps around me the way evenings did back home after a long stormy day. Back then, warmth meant stepping inside with my family, to food and voices and light. Now, warmth is the light of the lamps shining dimly through the wet leaves and the glow of my dorm room after the ride, a small space that’s also beginning to feel like home.
As the weather changes, I’ve come to realize something: these crosswinds aren’t a sign that I’m going in the wrong direction, they’re a force that requires strength to ride through. A quiet strength of continuing to pedal, even in those times of doubt when the wind seems to insist I shouldn’t.
So here, between these two worlds, I’m learning to lean into every gust and welcome every drop of rain from both the sky and my memories (while wearing warm clothing and a rain jacket). Because these chilly crosswind-filled rainy days remind me of not only the home I miss, but of the support that is always there for me. These reminders will continue to motivate me to use the gift I’ve been given to be here at Stanford and make the future I’ve always dreamed of a reality.
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