Rain means that all the sticks and grass around your house will be wet, leaving you to crawl to your host parents every meal like a loser asking to heat your coals in their fire.
Rain, interestingly, is the swarming season for many insects. This leads means that, sensing your presence as you draw water, a dense cloud of flies will rise up apocalyptically to engulf your head. On a more day-to-day struggle, this means you’ll wake up to winged termites on every vertical surface of your home, and go to bed to non-winged termites on every horizontal surface of your home (it also means I’m hella good at catching termites with my hands, mashing them up, and feeding it to my ducks. Worth the structural damage? No.).
Rain clouds the sun, rendering your small solar panels ineffective and your phone dead. Nice in the theory of disconnecting, poor for the practice of keeping to schedules and appointments.
Rain makes you nostalgic for places you’ve never been or things you’ve never done, like eating a gourmet vending machine sandwich after walking through the streets of Takamatsu. You’ll be sad for about an hour, but crave smoked salmon for days.
Rain makes you lazy and sluggish in the morning, and creates mud on the road (and thus on your tires) as you bike sluggishly to school in the morning.
Despite all these things, you still love being tucked under your blanket, reading a book while the rain pounds on your tin roof.