Two ladies at The Albertina came and said hi to me. They were all wet as if they just came out of the water. Their faces were diabolically beautiful and they had long hair that touched the floor. Their long hair was decorated with some kind of white fluffy algae. Behind them were two long trails of water that ran down their long hair. That’s pretty much all that I can sum about them because if they have a body each, I could describe more.

“Welcome to The Albertina,” both of them greeted me while smiling. “How do you like the museum?” they added.

“It’s great! I am loving the fact that I could see Joan Miró, Marc Chagall, Picasso, Edgar Degas, Paul Cezanne, Albrecht Durer, and many more here! ” I told them excitedly. I had visited a few other museums previously but none of the visitors ever try to make any sort of conversation with me. Well, neither do I but I was glad that at least here people were making effort to start a conversation.

“Das ist lieb! How about we invite you to visit our realm? Are you up to it?” they babel simultaneously. At first, I was reluctant but since I was alone and not rushing anywhere, I guessed I didn’t have any reason not to follow them. I said yes.

We walked; I mean I walked –they floated– until we reached a big frame with a gold-coated wooden border. There was a realm of water inside; gleam and mossy. I went near the frame to get the sense of the height; it was more or less my tall.

“Climb through,” they directed. I climbed after them and immediately soaked in water and once in there, I immediately became like them; I was disembodied. Breathing got easier. My face turned flawlessly pale but my vision became very clear. My thinning hair grew longer and white fluffy algae immediately came swimming towards me and giggled before finding their spots to sleep in-between my hair strands. After a while, they were all over my hair sleeping soundly.

Two men appeared in front of the frame. I startled and froze, so does the two ladies. The men were admiring us three until one of them who looked puzzled questioned my presence there, “aren’t there suppose to be only two nymphs?” The other man nodded and then scratched his head and touched the frame to see if it was real.

Beep! Beep! Beep! The security alarm went off.

The last thing I heard was the sound of marching boots. It subsided as I slowly froze.

Painting: The Water Nymphs (1899) by Gustav Klimt.

It was raining that morning. I contemplated whether should I stay in bed or should I just head out for coffee. I opted for the former as rain and I cannot get along very well. I stayed in bed for a little bit more and tried to write in my journal about the visit to a few art museums the day before. But I was all miserable, I could not write anything as the coffee smell lingered about. It was not like the next room occupant was making coffee, it was all in my brain. I cannot do anything without having a coffee first. It is a ritual and I am religious about it.

I got out of bed, put on my jeans, sweater and hooded coat, and walked to Aïda Cafe. In the rain. It had been my go-to cafe since the day I arrived in Vienna. I ordered a black coffee and a croissant and sat by the glass window, looking out to the rain and people walking about doing their thing. Some were running as fast as they could trying to cheat rain, some strolling happily in their colourful wellies with umbrellas on their hands. Some were just like me, all hooded, hands in pocket, and walking without care.

I looked up the sky looking for a sign if the rain might stop anytime soon as I had plans to go to other art museums. I was trailing Klimt’s works and every day was precious to me as I was looking forward to seeing his works up-close; to be mesmerised, to be inspired. But the rain showed no sign of stopping. I sipped my coffee and looked out again, this time, down. There I saw few red maple leaves lying on the ground; their crisp brown leafy body soaked in the rain. A particular leaf caught my attention as I heard it calling out to me.

“Please help me. My petiole is stuck under this chair and it’s hurting me,” I heard the leaf was saying. I raised my hand and showed it the wait sign. I could not talk loudly as people would think I’m crazy. I finished my coffee and croissant quickly and walked out. “Danke Schoen!” I said to the waitress while waving. “Bitte,” she said waving back.

I quickly went to help the leaf. I pulled the chair up and picked up the leaf. “There you are,” I said to it.
“Thank you, you saved me!” it screamed with joy. Almost crying.

I wrapped it in the serviette that I got from the cafe, and put it in my pocket carefully so that I would not crumple it. I walked back to the hotel and took it out of my pocket. I wiped it dry and laid it on the table under the table lamp, to let it feel warm. Poor leaf had been in the rain all morning.

“So what’s your name?” I asked the leaf trying to make a conversation. “Should a leaf has a name?” the leaf looked puzzled.

“Well no. Are you a girl or a boy?” I asked some more and I got the same puzzled look. ” I am just a leaf, not a seed,” it said, making some senses into me.

“OK, you’re it. Can I give you a name then?” I asked the leaf. “Sure, you are my saviour!” the leaf said cheerfully.

“I shall name you Aïda, to remind us of where I found you,” I said to the leaf. “Sounds girlish. Anything not so girlish?” the leaf said.

“Well, I can name you Rain. Would that be good?”

“That is awesome, I like it,” the leaf said. “It will always remind me of the hardship that I went through; I was blown away by the wind far from my birth tree, stuck under the chair’s leg, got myself all teary, and then soaked in the rain. You and I, we met during the rain. I like it,” the leaf further explained.

From then on, I call it Rain.

“Rain, I gotta go out and see about a Klimt,” I told Rain. “What about Klimt?” Rain asked. I explained to Rain that I am a fan of Klimt and that it has been my intention to visit as many of Klimt’s works as I can during my 6-day stay in Austria.

“I will introduce you to him soon,” as I left Rain in the room and made my way to Leopold Museum and The Secession. I bought a book entitled Klimt written by Gilles Neret and a few other books. When I went back to the hotel, I showed Rain the book. We read the book together and Rain loved Klimt so much that I let it resides in the book.

“Do you want to live here forever?” I asked Rain. “You haven’t seen other books yet. You will love Schiele too. And perhaps I can introduce you to Kafka, Capote, and the likes of them. I can introduce you the those from my country like Zaen Kasturi, Dina Zaman, SM Zakir, Zainal Rashid, and many others. Would you like that?”

“Bitte. Yes please!” Rain replied.

“And, you will have some friends too from the oak and other maples family but they all have no names, unlike you,” I told Rain about my collection of dry leaves that reside in other books.

“Aha, I see you helped others too. I can’t wait to see them,” Rain said cheerfully.

It has been 9 months that Rain came back home with me. Rain is my best buddy now. We read Klimt just now and I left it on page 52, where the Cottage Garden is. Looking at Cottage Garden makes me happy, and Rain told me that it makes it happy too.

We are alike.