When Rain Remembers Where I Come From

I want to start with a place that is old, simple, and still here.

I’d like to recommend Rainy Mood.

I’ve been visiting this site for almost 20 years. On an internet that’s always refreshing, upgrading, disappearing, and reinventing itself, Rainy Mood has quietly stayed the same. That alone makes me grateful.

Rain Was the First Background Sound of My Life

I was born in the countryside. Wide land, big skies—and a lot of rain.

As a child, I didn’t like rainy days at all. Mud-stained clothes. Wet shoes that never dried. Cold feet that stayed cold all day. Rain wasn’t romantic; it was inconvenience, discomfort, and small daily struggles. Those memories weren’t beautiful.

Later, I moved to Beijing. I’ve been here for more than twenty years.

Beijing is dry—almost aggressively so. Only in summer do thunderstorms arrive in full force. Maybe because they’re rare, I grew to love them. When heavy rain falls, the air feels rinsed, and the city seems to exhale for a moment.

I discovered Rainy Mood during those Beijing years.

What it did to me was strange and precise. The sound of rain blended two sensations: where I come from and summer storms in Beijing.

Not memory. Not the present. Something in between—an invisible mark in my life.

When Nature Leaves Marks on the Body

Later, I traveled farther.

I hiked in northern Spain, surrounded by mist, drizzle, endless green, and the ocean. I spent summers in southern Chinese villages, where fireflies flickered through the night. In western and southern China, the mountains seem to speak directly to the wind.

Nature has a quiet but unreasonable healing power. Wind, rain, insects, and flowing water… They don’t explain anything, but they leave traces in your body.

After enough of those traces accumulated, I found myself increasingly drawn to white noise.

Especially after returning to cities and facing long hours of demanding work, white noise became surprisingly powerful.

It doesn’t motivate you. It doesn’t comfort you. It simply blocks out what doesn’t matter.

And I found a lot of that kind of white noise in Rainy Mood.

Almost Nothing, and That’s the Point

Then I stumbled upon something unexpected: music by Taylor Deupree.

A few notes. A slow tone. Almost nothing you could hum.

I remember thinking: wow. Atmosphere. The white noise of dust.

This wasn’t quite music, and not just ambient sound either. It felt like space—audible space.

If I had to choose one artist to represent white noise with just a trace of tone, it would be Taylor Deupree.

Taylor Deupree’s music lives right at the edge of perception. It rarely feels like “music” in the traditional sense. There are no melodies to follow, no emotional cues telling you what to feel. Instead, there is air, texture, quiet electrical movement—sound that behaves more like a physical environment than a composition.

What I appreciate most is his restraint. White noise remains the foundation. Any sense of pitch appears briefly, softly, almost accidentally—like light catching dust in a room. The result is deeply immersive, but never demanding.

This kind of sound doesn’t pull you out of your work or your thoughts. It creates space for them.

For me, Taylor Deupree’s music feels especially suited to city life: when I need calm, but not silence; when I want presence, but not distraction.

It’s not background music. It’s background air.

If white noise is about clearing space, Taylor Deupree shows how little it takes to make that space feel alive.

White Noise Isn’t Escape—It’s a Way Back

My love for white noise isn’t about escaping reality. If anything, it’s the opposite.

It helps me preserve a small, quiet piece of nature inside the city. For me, white noise isn’t a sleep aid. It’s a way of living more slowly, quietly, and clearly.

A reminder that I don’t have to respond to everything. Sometimes, I can just listen to the rain.

If you feel like it, start tonight with Rainy Mood. And enjoy.