How much does a cloud weigh?

From my porch now I see buildings, endless until the horizon. I smell the smoke from cars and the hot breeze; it's summer. I remember my last summer in the quiet town where I was born, the old Downcity – I think it's older than the state itself –. I was seventeen years old, had just taken the entrance exam, hadn't slept properly for three nights, just waiting for the results, which would come out in a week, by the way, this was THE ONE AND ONLY BIGGEST CHANCE OF MY LIFE (sad life until then). My mother Dorothy and my father Morpheus were more excited than I was - not sure if it was for me to leave home soon and make my own way or maybe it was the chance "to come through" – every moment was a festival of: "Get ready, it's in 6 months", "Have you studied?", "I can already see you PASSED!", "Sleep well, tomorrow is the BIG DAY!". At what point did everyone accept that a test or exam would determine someone's future? Well, I don't know who decided that, but please, it's time to change your mind.

Living in a big city is almost like a parallel reality to those who live or have lived in a small town. Everything is so big, so full, everything shines so brightly and sounds so loud and colorful. I've been here for 3 years since I passed that damn entrance exam. Administration, yay.

It's not a criticism of those who study administration, just a personal frustration. For the child I was, who dreamed of exploring the moon and entering a jungle full of wild animals, the dream kind of came true. Today I explore the moon, not the one orbiting the earth, but a bar – they call it a pub here – with the name moon. The jungle is the city, where violent animals – people – fight for survival – work, work, and work –, there are so many people, but no one looks at each other, no one talks to each other – I guess the thing about not talking to strangers, all parents taught their children –, it seems so full, but so empty. I don't know if I'll ever understand the logic of the big city, but for now, this is where I am.

My routine is simple, I wake up early, at 06:00 AM, take a shower, then have breakfast, then brush my teeth and leave home. I take three transports, the first one a bus that passes by my house, after getting off, I walk a little to the train station, take a train that takes about 45 minutes to my last stop, walk another 328 ft and take a last bus that drops me off at the college door, THE HUGE LOFTHEAVEN COLLEGE! – I grew up hearing stories about how Loftheaven was a city that embraced its residents, I haven't been embraced by anything so far –, it's a frighteningly large campus, Downcity could fit here, I can see where my house would be, I say "hi" to my old neighbor, Mrs. Snow – actually, it's a statue of an old lady, I think one of the founders – I arrive at the first class punctually at 09:15 AM. Yay, administration.

I'm in my last year of college; soon, I'll be the newest "Administrator" in the family. I still feel a huge emptiness when I think that I'm in this field just to make my family proud. And what about my feelings and desires? They're simply ignored as if they didn't exist.

This existential crisis permeates at least an hour of my day and initially, part of the beginning of my classes.

At 09:20 AM, other students start to arrive. Sometimes I find it strange to arrive so early, but then I remember that I live on the other side of the city and public transportation here is still pretty bad, so since I have a scholarship at the "MAGNIFICENT LOFTHAVEN COLLEGE", I have to make the most of what money – something I don't have much of, but the entrance exam provided me – can buy.

At 09:30 AM, Mr. Skyle, a man around fifty-five years old, with black hair – well, now it's black, but you can see a few gray strands. He definitely dyed it – quite tall and wearing a suit – specially tailored for his body – arrives to give his "Technology Management" class, the last subject I need to graduate and finally leave the suffocating embrace of the college and the city of Lofthaven.

Mr. Skyle speaks well, very well indeed; he must have attended the best educational institutions money can buy. He explains clearly and slowly so that everyone understands his point well. Soon, a report is handed out to be completed, so I take out my old laptop from my bag. Next to me, I can only see laptops that cost as much as a new car – it's not envy, I just wished for something good in life –. I'm on the last paragraph of the report, with about 20 minutes left of the class, when I hear the door open and a voice echoing throughout the room:

"Apologies for the lateness, Mr. Skyle," "Excuse me," "May I sit here, please?"

I shrug, as all I want is to finish this and be able to have a coffee in the cafeteria – by the way, 7 dollars for a coffee... –. I finish my report analyzing every line, comma, paragraph, citation, reference, and then quickly send it to Mr. Skyle's email. "I'm free", – I think.

As I'm gathering my materials to head towards the door, I decide to look back to see who had disrupted the "MAGNIFICENT MR. SKYLE'S CLASS", a face not too unfamiliar to me, with rosy cheeks, messy hair, and in an attempt to look stylish – I guess – tossed a bit backward, and in a moment of realization, I see a white streak amidst the tangle of wavy brown hair. "You're not a stranger to me" – I think. But quickly dismissing the idea – Loftheaven was a strangely large city; I don't know why it hasn't made it onto the lists of the largest cities in America yet – I head towards the door, leaving all that tension-filled environment – at least for me – behind.

Arriving at the cafeteria, it's possible to notice the stark social difference; the affluent part of the university comprises 90% of the students, the remaining 10% who are left are those who received scholarships in some way, including me.

I sit at a practically empty table, except for the presence of a red-haired, bespectacled student with long hair in the other corner. I'm alone here. The cafeteria has numerous tables, and it's impressive how everyone in the affluent part knows each other and is "friends." Scholarship students practically don't come here; I'm an exception because we know how the looks pierce the soul more than a bullet from a rifle.

The thought of that familiar face never leaves me in peace for a moment. "Who is that person?", "Why have I never seen them here before?", "The semester is almost over, why would they enter now?", "Why does that strand of hair remind me of something I can't remember but is lurking in the background?". For a moment, I think I'm going to freak out with so many doubts hovering over my head when I notice one more presence at the table. "It's him, the new student" – I think, afraid I might have let it slip from my mouth.

I size him up – discreetly, of course –. I don't remember his name on the attendance list; since it's the last three months of the semester, I guess they haven't updated the list. I try to recall from memory in every way, but without success. I finish my coffee and croissant – yes, I forked out another 10 dollars for the croissant –, grab my bag, and head towards the exit. I catch a bus and go straight to the administration office where I'm interning. It's nothing special, but I'm already trying to get used to the idea that I'll have to do this until my last breath.

It's around 5:50 PM when I finish my last task and head towards the exit. Before I can clock out to finally disconnect from all this chaos that is the office, Mr. Lucius Devon – Owner of the office and a whole network of offices, the "SPLENDID DEVON ADMINISTRATION & CO" – stops me and immediately asks:

–My young man, how's your education going? – he calls everyone "young man"; of course, he's not going to remember the names of about 1000 employees across the country. Mr. Devon is an old man, I think he's around seventy-five years old, but lucid, very lucid, he wears a high-fashion suit, probably must be intimate friends with the owner of the brand, has graying white hair and a slightly trimmed beard, he's about 5′11″ – Lucile from HR told me that you'll soon graduate, and I want to hire you here in our company. We're very pleased with your work; you'll be part of a company that, above all, is a family.

Before I can say anything in response, he leaves as if he's talking to himself and I'm nothing, just a receptionist robot who only receives orders. Mr. Devon does this every year-end; it's just a "kind" way for him to maintain a good image in the company. I ignore everything and clock out. I'm free.

From the office to my house is a shorter journey than from the college; I only take one bus and walk a few feet. Throughout the trip, that image of the administration diploma stays in my mind, the office, Mr. Devon, the pressure from my parents, the pressure of the polluted air and the hot breeze on my face, the boy with the blonde streak.

Everything that can go through my mind happens at that moment, and to avoid going crazy, I just try to look out the window; it's the sunset... burning on the horizon, few clouds around, but one in particular catches my attention, it's a "cumulonimbus", giant in the background. "Rain is coming" – I think immediately. I don't know when I started to understand so much about clouds, but I know I was a child who traveled in the boredom of the day, just looking wherever I could. To the sky, to the ground, to the earth, to the ants, to the furniture – very old ones – that's when my knowledge about clouds came to me. Looking at the sky, at its immensity, and knowing that I can't touch it and I can't feel it, aroused my curiosity about it and what came from its vastness.

As a child, I always wondered: "How much does a cloud weigh?".

Even after having access to the internet and being able to delve into a million subjects, I never wanted to know how much a cloud weighed, because in my head they were very light, very soft, so light that they could come down to earth and rescue me from here and take me to the infinite sky.

Upon arriving home, in my old rented apartment, I have everything I need, two bedrooms – I live alone, but I need an office, my room is just for my frustrated and tired body – a bathroom, a living room with a huge sofa – fits about 4 people –, a kitchen, and a laundry area. "Home, sweet home" – I say out loud so that all the other 200 residents of the building can hear.

I put away all my things, but before disconnecting from the world, I grab my laptop and search: "How much does a cloud weigh?"

According to a research site: "A cloud can weigh up to 500 tons".

"Quite heavy" – I say in an ironic tone with a smirk; I don't know why, but I felt different, strange, the 8-year-old Daany felt extremely frustrated upon learning this information. I tell myself that there are things we don't need to know, even if our soul cries out for more information.

I turn off the laptop, head to the bathroom where I turn the shower as cold as possible; I just needto cool down my body and soul. I leave the bathroom and put on a bathrobe – I've had it for about 5 years, since I stopped growing – I go to the kitchenwhere I make instant noodles – a typical dish for a young adult living alone. Iturn on the television in hopes of watching something that makes me feel good; there's nothing. Soon, I finish my noodles and go to bed. "Another day hasgone by", I say to myself, and before I know it, my eyes are heavy, andsleep takes over my entire body.