Its 9pm on a Sunday and I can feel the first of the rain as its droplets catch on my outstretched palms. There’s something very humbling about the rain. It’s one of nature’s great forces, and completely escapes our control. When the rain comes, it doesn’t account for petty human drama, politics and cultural divisions. I ponder this thought as I round the bend and turn down the next street. The rain is a reminder that above all else, we are at the whim of mother nature. Beyond our constructed realities and perception of modern society lies a force mar more powerful than humanity. This is a somewhat overwhelming thought, and instantly I long for togetherness and company, but I must remind myself that I am a stranger here. Through the windows of the houses lining this street, people go about their lives to the sound of the rain on their rooftops. Perhaps some of them are experiencing similar thoughts to my own? Raindrops slide down my forehead and drip from my brow onto my eyelids- the water blurs my vision. In this dreamlike state, I wander forwards, the lights around me shifting, darting and sliding in the darkness. At this bizarre moment in time I feel a sudden and uncontainable urge to peer through the windows of the houses that surround me, to catch an insight into the lives of these strangers. Through each window lies a different truth, and I am suddenly all too eager to explore these realities- lives that occur in spite of the rain.
Amidst the lights and darkness a flash of white catches my eye. Peering closer, I inspect the man with striking white hair. He is not the man I though he was- though does bear a startling resemblance to WikiLeaks founder, Julian Assange. As the man with the white hair types furiously at his laptop, I imagine he is emailing Braddley Manning, the US intelligence analyst who is responsible for the largest leak of US military secrets in human history. The rain is more persistent now, but