A letter to the Raincoat man

My clock was softly ticking in my dark room. It was 2 AM, and while the world outside fell asleep, my mind was racing.

Each day on the way to university, I would pass by a man who sat by the side of the road. He donned a worn raincoat, ready for the rain that never came. He talked with himself, the words floating away like forgotten whispers. Somehow, it reminded me of the struggles that are similar to mine.

I suddenly felt such a desperate longing for my parents. They had sacrificed so much in order for me to pursue my dreams far away from them. I missed my mom's protective, warm hugs; I missed my daddy's funny, wise stories that made the world feel good.

Never was I in such solitary confinement in a foreign land with nobody known around. This man in the raincoat reminded me of my state: his eyes set far away, and the old shoes looking strong, where I had become weak due to the burden of expectations and distance from family.

I had closed my eyes and imagined the smile of Mom and Daddy, the void in my heart full of their encouragement. Home was so far away, like a burning candle in the dark. I yearned for simpler times when love felt more true and my fears were smaller.

As time slowly ticked by, I started to think that this raincoat man wasn't just mumbling to himself; rather, he was seeking contact-just like me. Silently, I wondered why we were so alone in the busy world. How many stories lay hidden behind the faces we pass day by day?

Suddenly compelled, I sat up and took my notebook. I needed to write it all down. The violin was still low in the background, but I started spilling my soul onto the pages-not my own, but of the raincoat man and all others at that jumble of hope and despair. I wrote of love and loss, the unseen ties between us, even in our darkest moments.

Something inside me shifted as the first rays of dawn began to leak into my window. The world was about to wake up anew; new things were in store. Then again, there was that notion when life seems to whirl around and strike with vengeance: how one moment we are alone and then, almost in the very next, find our way back into the waiting arms of loved ones.

Wherever I went, my parents' love lit up the way back home, remembering that I am not alone. The raincoat man and I were two threads interwoven into something called humanity, our silent struggles somehow connected. The feeling of peace descended upon me as I spoke my last line, knowing every story matters and every heart counts.