Like most old-style apartment blocks in Taipei, built around thirty years ago, mine has a sort of balcony at the back, where the washing machine sits, and where one hangs out clothes to dry. The balcony is covered by a plastic roof, which means that rain creates an almighty row when it pours down, as it often does here. The roof is a natural amplifier: the rain sounds much heavier than it feels against the skin. If I concentrate, I can pick out the sounds of individual raindrops smacking against the plastic. It springs to mind that as a child of six or seven, I made a hobby of watching individual raindrops trickle down the window pane of the bus that took us to our swimming lessons. I would pretend that they were racing their friends, the other raindrops, to get to the bottom.
Tonight I realised that I have got a long way to go, still, in terms of getting better.
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