Describe Your Mornings

Here's how I describe mine.

Photo by mike nguyen on Unsplash

Living a third-world life, it is normal to yearn for mornings in Paris, looking out through those pretty French windows for a glimpse of Eiffel, or chilly daybreaks in New England, with fall-colored leaves dropping on your feet, or that clean scent of wall-paved sidewalks with pockets of gardens in Japan. In Manila, it is typical to wake up to loud traffic, piercing sounds of urban decay and the masterful strife of keeping up.

Inspired by Grace Dunn’s mornings, it is possible to own my mornings in a winsome light.

I wake up at 5:30, light-headed and featherbrained. In contrast, the little dog yaps eagerly at my feet, good to go for his morning walk. I put on his leash lazily, a tug-of-war of disparate vibes go on. We walk into the morning sun, noticing how the giant moon is still up from last night, hanging over a building, the view from my home. It shares the light with the morning sun, saying seemingly, “I too, can give light in the mornings.” I breathe in life.

We continue to walk down to reach the pathways judiciously set among the manmade greeneries in a high rise complex. It is good to seize this morning window, where the world wakes up to her feet. I watch life come to life in itself. I hear her breathe through the hundreds of windows around me. The scent of tapa, fried eggs and fried rice for breakfast. The whispers of early-bird commute is quieter than what it will be in a few hours. The scurry of mothers preparing young children for school. The holiday lights around me disappear slowly as the sky turns into the morning blue and the clouds announce their faint presence.

The dog’s sniff-walk odyssey reveals the secrets of the ground. I watch his innocent curiosity as he softly smells his surroundings, proudly marking territories. I see flowers that have fallen from the trees with soft scents leaving trails in the air. I see little piles of earth, wet from the last traces of November rain. I see the soft grass growing, peeking from underground.

We continue to walk around. I watch the artificial blue of the pool, with its waters doing some gentle dances. I watch the yellow flowers smiling to greet me. I watch the bright orange of kois, swimming giddily in the faux pond. I feel the humid breeze slowly creeping in to envelope a whole day of sunniness.

I go back to the apartment, opening the door, taking in the heartwarming smell of my home. Even the dog is happy and content, wagging his tail, settling into his rug.

I move to the kitchen and prepare coffee. With its rich, earthy fragrance, cupped in my hands, I pause in sacred ritual before taking that first sip.

I am alive.

I am showing up today.