Hujan is a beautiful word and it means "rain."
In Kuching, rain comes as a flood during the monsoon, the darkness suddenly covers the day and the water falls from the sky in a great crash. The wind gathers rain, rolling as a storm across the city. It springs from all sides. the gutters vomit streams and muddy parks swallow you. It is even said sometimes those days, children disappear, the "Anak Hujan", children of the rain.
A day of heavy storms, when I was taking pictures in a Chinese cemetery, north of the city, for a moment, I thought I saw one of those "Anak Hujan" being engulfed by the earth and the rain. I remember I held my breath. The burst of rain whipped my face and I was not really sure of what I had seen. I came closer but the mud threatened to engulf me in turn.
And then I saw him, once again, fleeing to the western slope, his pants covered with dirt. It seemed to me watching a ghost while bubbles continued to rise to the surface of the mud and the rain increased in intensity.
So too I started to run.